Happy Human Rights Day!

In order to appreciate what I am about to say you have to understand that I am descended from solid Scandinavian stock. My maiden name is Scandinavian, my physical features are Scandinavian, I served a mission in Scandinavia, I lived there as a child…do you get it? (By the way, at the risk of being condescending and insulting, we all know that Scandinavia isn’t an actual country but a reference to a particular geographic area, right? Just checking. I had a boyfriend when I left on my mission that wrote me 6 weeks into my mission to say he was a little confused as to which country I was really going to Scandinavia or Denmark? And if I was going to Scandinavia then he was really confused because he couldn’t find that on a map! Is that too telling about some of the people I’ve dated?) Anyway, despite what you would think would be a deeply ingrained heritage, I grew up wanting to be black. Seriously. I use to wonder if there was a black girl somewhere who really wanted to be white and if some tragic mistake had been made in our mortal assignments. I love the color of brown skin, want to be able to braid my hair in a million braids and not look comically stupid (sometime I’ll blog about the year I tried to braid my hair for girl’s camp), have a deep passion for all music R&B or gospel, sometimes want to shout "Amen" during people’s testimonies on fast Sunday, and love studying black history. So given this background, I felt it was really important to get out of the house and give my children a real "multicultural experience" on Martin Luther King Day. Given the location I live in, finding an appropriate outlet for this need to express was not easy. I opted for the candlelight march on BYU campus and enlisted the aid of my sister since I may be slow but not entirely stupid to think that I could pull this off alone with 3 children.
We arrived at our destination with a double stroller carrying 2 rowdy boys, a Snuggli with my 7 week old newborn, a pink, fluffy diaper bag (I may be a mom but I don’t have to carry plastic Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bags…no offense to anyone who does) and a somewhat dampened enthusiasm since it was cold and we had just carried a double stroller up a lot of stairs. There was a large crowd gathering at the bell tower…the most un-multicultural looking group of people I have ever laid eyes on. Each of us were handed a used candle with a BYU catering services plastic cup around the middle and terror struck my heart when I realized they were actually lighting these candles in this tightly packed group of hair-sprayed, coifed co-eds. My sons pleaded to have their candles lit (they are 3 and 2 years old) and Carrie and struggled to join the march back down the million stairs without setting anyone or anything on fire. My favorite moment was when the group started the march and began singing LDS church hymns. I couldn’t join in. First I felt too stupid and then I couldn’t stop laughing. I just kept hoping that either Martin Luther King, Jr. could appreciate the good if not slightly misdirected intention in all this or that he had chosen to attend another memorial service that night. I laughed the whole way to the Wilkinson Center where we attended a meeting that was really quite good although the Black Student Choir that sang actually had more white students in it than black. I’m not sure what my 3 darling, rambunctious children took away from the whole experience but I was grateful we were there. I realized it wasn’t about having "multicultural" experiences as much as it is having really "human" experiences. I hope my children will spend their lives seeking out people and experiences that challenge them, enrich them, and uplift them. I hope they are never afraid to carry lighted candles in a march or laugh at all the silly moments life hands us. I hope celebrating Martin Luther King Day will always be important to them and that they will remember the crazy although well-intended experiences their mom tried to give them.
Anyone know a good place to celebrate President’s Day??