In terms of my day job, the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday is just another day. We only get New Years, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas off. More often than not on Christmas Eve I don't get in until after 6:00 pm. It is the nature of my industry. No lunch, no break, no holidays.
I had forgotten that MLK day was coming up, to be honest. My alarm still sang at 3:00 am, and I was still out of the house before 4:00 am, like usual. The traffic is always light at that time of the morning, so a lack of cars on Murrieta Hot Springs Road, and Interstate 15 was not alarming. Inspecting the big rig, firing it up, warming it up, clocking in, and driving to the quarry was uneventful. The quarry, however, was less populated with rigs more so than normal. "Nice," I thought. "I won't be stuck here an hour."
The freeways in Southern California start to bunch up around 5:00 am, and by 5:30 am are complete murder. Leaving to go towards Los Angeles only ten minutes later than you had planned could cause a 45 minute greater delay because of the rapid growth of bumper to bumper traffic. However, when I took the 15 to the 91 Freeway, to head west, the bridge that connects these two freeways was not backed up like usual, and I got through Corona in mere minutes, rather than the near hour it usually takes.
It was at that point I knew something was up.
Until that moment in time, I had left the radio off, reflecting in my brain on the various projects I have going on in my other life, when I am not in the truck, and not a husband at home. I juggled various ideas I want to write about, thought about the proof I would be receiving on Tuesday of my book, kicked myself mentally for not finishing all of the editing on Sunday for the Constitution News Quarterly. Thinking about the slide show I still had to put together for Thursday's class. Juggling language for a speech I was writing for a couple of presentations I would be doing during the first weekend in February. But, now that I had a new curiosity, namely the barren freeway on what should be a busy Monday Morning, I had to switch on the radio, and let those thoughts return to hibernation, for a short while.
It didn't take long to realize the reason for the ease of my escape. The talk stations were all talking about the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. The music DJs were even making mention of the importance of the day.
I got to my jobsite where I was supposed to dump a material called "blended fill sand" forty-five minutes earlier than I had planned, but pulling my computer out to get some work done immediately became an after-thought. An older gentleman, one graced with a gift of gab that even can challenge my own talkative talent, came trotting up to my door with a grin on his face, and a camouflage hunters cap on his head.
"Well, hey there, Mr. Douglas V. Gibbs. How the hell are ya."
I put the computer back behind the passenger seat, pulled on my jacket, and exited the cab.
"I am well," I replied. "How about you, Sir."
"Just finished walkin', but now I got all this time. I forgot it was Martin Luther Coon day."
His less than acceptable remark in mixed company was not unexpected. This gentleman was an old guy from a generation long before my own that carried a line of thinking very different from my own. I disregarded his attempt at humor (or perhaps he wasn't trying to be funny, and it was just what he called the holiday), and began talking to him about other things. The conversation quickly turned to happenings on a jobsite last week where the nightmare included good-sized rocks getting stuck between the dual tires, uneven ground that prevented a number of drivers from being able to transfer their boxes, and a turn-around that required exceptional back up skills with our double-pivot draw-bar and trailer systems. . . which was murder for the newer drivers whose back up skills still leave a lot to be desired.
The time passed quickly, and before we knew it, the customer had arrived, and it was time to dump our material.
I thought about my co-worker's "coon" remark as I drove back to Corona for another load. Was he truly being racist? Or was it just an off-color remark that didn't really mean anything except that he has a bad sense of humor? In today's society, outside of our conversation, his remark would have been immediately scorned, and he would be labeled a racist.
To be honest, I am not sure if the guy is a racist, or not, and I really don't care. That is between him, and his Maker, as far as I am concerned. Labeling him and attacking him for being a racist wouldn't accomplish anything. Attacking people like the Left constantly does doesn't solve anything. It all comes down to what is written on somebody's heart.
But what about the other side? What about those folks of color that use terms like "whitey," or "creepy ass cracker?" Are those acceptable, or should we scorn those remarks, as well?
In one of Martin Luther King's most famous speeches, he said that he longed for a day when, "people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."
It was a dream Dr. King had for his daughters, that one day their accomplishments, or their internal character, would be more of a gauge regarding who they are, than the color of their skin. I wondered if my trucking buddy was capable of such a thing. I was curious if the American People as a whole are capable of such a thing. After all, President Barack Obama was not elected, or re-elected, because of the content of his character, but because of the color of his skin. Barry's election into the White House has been hailed as historic, and as a fulfillment of Dr. King's vision, but in reality, I believe it says the opposite. Though "whitey" may have come a long way when it comes to race relations, except maybe a few like my trucker friend, it seems to me that racism is alive and well, elsewhere.
When whites let go of the last vestiges of racism in their culture, and blacks stop hating whites and turn that energy inward into self-reliance and an independence from the democrats who have maintained the plantation, but moved it to Washington, then content of character will reign supreme.
In other words, opportunity, without the government interfering, and playing the class warfare game, is the answer. Success, based on hard work and self-reliance, will break those barriers. When we are so busy taking care of business, and creating a prosperous nation through our hard work and successes, we will recognize how petty class warfare, racism, and wearing our pants below the bottom edge of our ass cheeks really is.
Racism will never go away completely. We are slaves to our "birds of a feather flock together" instinct. That's fine. But the true answer to making the situation better is not more government, and more entitlements. The answer is prosperity. The answer is limited government and a free market. The answer is for us all to work as individuals, in a country where the sky is the limit, as Americans.
Years ago I interviewed Allen West, a black conservative who served in the House of Representatives in Washington for the State of Florida a few years back. When we talked, it was about America, conservatism, prosperity, and what it truly means to be a part of the grand experiment called the United States of America. We spoke as Americans.
To be honest, during that conversation, I didn't forget he was black, or pretend he and I were the same, or as the Left calls it, suddenly become "color blind." He was still who he is, and I was still who I am. It just didn't matter. We could care less about if we had those differences. We were concentrating on what we had in common. . . as Americans.
That is the dream Dr. King had. That is the America he envisioned.
-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary
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