It's been kind of a surreal day here in MEM with all the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of MLK's death. Whenever we have social justice-type rally's or marches, it usually ends at the Lorraine Motel (part of the National Civil Rights Museum, which is amazing). It's sobering to look across the street to the balcony of that hotel, knowing that some of my friends and people I work with were, or had parents who were part of the struggle of the 60s and so honored to have Dr. King in town to support them.

But the funny thing is that I used to very seriously date a guy who was serving a mission here on that day. We were both in our 40s then and divorced. But I couldn't even fathom this city when I'd hear those stories. I'd never been East of the Rocky Mountains. His tales of the inner city, the dangerous things they did as Missionaries, the pandemonium of that day and the fact that they were on their own, as there were no cell phones then for the MP to tell them what to do, were just kind of blah stories. I'd love to hear them now. But he died of cancer many moons ago.

It made me realize, though, why we oldies tell stories about how different the church was back then--the 60s time frame. And how different missions were. And I realize that missions could have been fun when they were so spread out and the only real communication you had with mission headquarters was your home phone or mail. Not even fax. Easy to fake numbers, ignore calls (cause you were really out tracting, yeah right) and do sightseeing instead. But when dangerous things happen, it took days or weeks for parents to be assured that their missionaries were safe. I guess it's a trade off.

Finally got a chance to read that. So interesting. I remember also how happy my father was when “that Commie Ni****” was shot. He had a bunch of JBS books on his shelf and totally bought into the mindset. And now he is so in love with the Commie-loving Orangutan he voted for and couldn’t figure out the irony even if he was promised an extra 20 wives for his eternal harem. I’m sure he survived MLK50 Day with his Sirius radio headphones tuned to Faux News—his safe place.