Courage to Dream

Of the many profiles in courage available in our time, the example of Martin Luther King, Jr. is shining. As we commemorate his life on this national holiday, I’ve been thinking about the type of courage he possessed and wondering about the lessons it still offers for my own pursuit in 2011.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a man of controversy to be sure. At least he entered our stage at a season of controversy, a season a long time in the making. He was a catalyst, an instigator in his sheer and unwaivering pursuit of freedom AND peace–at the same time. This man who was so hated and reviled by some, but deemed leader and even savior by many ignited the actions of others like few men in recent history. This man with the ear of pastors and presidents and poll workers and paupers alike demonstrated the life-changing quality of being willing to lend his ear and the power that results when we lend our words and actions to what we see as necessary and right. He was indeed a courageous man.

As I think about the legacy of Dr. King, many lessons emerge, but of all the teachings of courage available in this man’s exemplary life, this one rises:

“I have a dream.”

For me, this courage–the courage to dream–offers a poignant lesson and challenge. Delivered in one of the most profound and memorable speeches in our modern rhetoric, Dr. King spoke not only of life as it was on that day in 1963–as it had been for many years before–but of the reality he envisioned standing in stark contrast to it. Dr. King possessed the courage to look into the face of a dark and hopeless reality and pull from it a new vision of how life could be. A dream. And dreams require courage. Dreams require the courage to look past what seems immovable, to look beyond what has become normal and dare to see it as abnormal. To reject the notion that life as we know it is acceptable when, at our very core, we know it is not. This ability to see and voice the desire for that changed existence brings hope. And often makes a path of action possible.

Several months ago, Little Drummer Boy’s school conducted a book fair. I, of course, went to the school library to peruse the books and find the selections on LDB’s wishlist. I’m always looking for books that make science and history fun, and as I looked through the educational section, I came across one called A Value Tales Treasury by Dr. Spencer Johnson. It was a book that combined an introduction to several American historical figures with lessons in character building. Right up my alley! It used a unique approach to storytelling that highlighted how each memorable person listened to their “true voice” to make the right choices and to demonstrate the character of their best selves. I brought it home to the kids to a decidedly uneventful reaction compared to the Marvel Heroes treasury I also purchased. So, I put it on their bookshelf for later days.

A few weeks ago, that later day came. Little Drummer Boy found the book and became interested in the stories. Louis Pasteur taught us the value of believing in yourself. Helen Keller taught us the value of determination. Will Rogers taught us the value of humor. And, although Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn’t included, we came to a story about Harriet Tubman–another profile in courage worth exploring, to be sure. Harriet listened to her “true voice” to demostrate the value of helping–helping other slaves find freedom in the underground railroad, as she had been helped herself. It was a lesson in paying it forward, so to speak. And, for Little Drummer Boy, a lesson in a new idea. The idea that someone might be treated unfairly because of the color of their skin.

After we finished the story, he wanted to turn back the pages to examine a few points he didn’t understand. The first was the concept of slavery where one person could be owned by another. Then, he turned to the page where Harriet had to ride home after the Civil War in the baggage compartment of the train. And how Harriet told her story. How it shocked many who read it and prompted them to work to change how others were treated. Little Drummer Boy was curious about this. He asked me, “why did Harriet have to ride with her suitcases?”

Realities.

I explained that at one time people were not allowed to go places or do things because they had dark skin. It was a powerful moment for me in realizing that this thought had never occurred to him. Thank God. I further explained to him how very important it was that Harriet let others know about her experience so that people could learn how they needed to be different. “In fact,” I told him, “we enjoy the results of what Harriet shared today.” His face told me another “why?” was coming. (LDB is nothing if not inquisitive.) “Well,” I asked him. “Who is your best friend?”

A smile broke across his face. And a light of understanding. “E,” he admitted in recognition. “E” is a 6-year-old African American classmate of several years and LDB’s best friend. It was his first recognition that E’s dark skin might be anything more than an interesting cosmetic feature that took a back seat to E’s amazing ability to kick and catch the ball or discuss the continuing saga of Transformers. And while in many ways it pained me to introduce the reality that there was a time when people might not have seen “E” this way, I was thankful for the opportunity to teach him that fairness is important for everyone. It’s important so that we are free to see friends near and far for the wonders they really are.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.”

As important as this lesson in racial equality was, the lesson in courage is even more powerful for me at this moment. You see, in my bedtime reading with Little Drummer Boy, I saw the reality of Dr. King’s dream realized in the most innocent and uncontrived circumstances. I saw a young boy who took no thought of the color of his friend’s skin. And, while I certainly don’t take full credit for that reality as his mother, I am grateful for it. And while I can’t claim that this reality is true for all in our nation, I’m thankful for the collective actions and experiences with others in Little Drummer Boy’s life that made it possible for us.

Dr. King never saw the fruition of his dream. But, the courage to dream that dream did, in fact, move what seemed immovable. I’m spurred toward his courage in my own day-to-day struggles, no matter how they pale in comparison. The courage to conceive of a life that is more than the one I see before me. The courage to believe in the best version of myself to make that life possible. Inspite of fear. Inspite of detractors. Inspite of the incredibly overwhelming “normal.” The courage to dream.