"Class," said Anthony DiMartino, turning away from the board to face the room full of mostly blank or vapid stares, "does anyone know what Monday is?"
No one volunteered an answer. He wasn't surprised, in his twenty years teaching history and civics very few student ever raised their hand to give an answer. In his experience, those who volunteered, with no reluctance, thought they were building up a cache of favors they could call on in the future; they were all sorely disappointed when they discovered he didn't see things the same way.
Anthony could also remember what it was like when he was in highschool. He didn't volunteer either, even though he often knew the answer. At a military school, one could never be sure if having knowledge and sharing it was going to earn a pummeling from an upperclassmen or two.
He turned on his most frustrating student. "Kevin," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice at having to deal with such and idiot, "will you enlighten us with what you know about Monday."
"Uh," the football player stammered then paused for a few lenghty seconds, as if he was actually thinking. "Monday... Monday's the day after Sunday?"
Anthony wondered if any sentence out of that boy's mouth was ever declarative.
"Kevin," said Anthony, "you'd get a gold star i--"
"Alright!"
"You inerrupted me, Kevin. I said you would get a gold star if you were six and still attending Lawndale Elemenary." He heard a few of the students chuckle. Most of them didn't like Kevin either. "Yes, Monday is the day after Sunday, but what's important about this coming Monday?"
"We don't have to come to school?" squeeked the bubble brained blonde sitting next to Kevin.
"Yes, Brittany, the school is closed next Monday, but why is it closed?" He didn't wait for silence, he turned toward the girl in the back of the room with too much eyeliner and poorly dyed hair. "Andrea, why are we not coming to school on Monday?"
She stared at him. He stared back at her. She kept her face passive and expressionless, but he could see the contempt in her eyes. She expected to be ignored. No one was ignored in his classroom, though, not on a day when getting an answer to a simple question was more painful than Janet Barch's shrill voice.
Andrea turned her eyes away from his and said, "It's Martin Luther King, Jr's birthday."
"Correct," he said, finally getting the answer he was looking for. He turned away from Andrea and toward the only useful football player he'd seen in the last several years. "Michael, tell us why we get Martin Luther King's birthday off."
"He was a civil rights leader." Michael said.
Anthony stared at the boy. He wanted more.
Michael said, "He supported and led boycotts throughout the south for equal rights for African Americans."
Anthony continued to stare.
Michael squirmed in his chair and said, "Because he was assasinated?"
Anthony turned away from the boy. He didn't want to crush the spirit of one of the few students he had who actually seemed to enjoy learning.
He turned to the class and said, "The answers you just heard were correct if I had asked other questions." He ticked them off on his fingers as he said, "Who was Martin Luther King, Jr.? He was a civil rights leader. What did he do? Among other things, he support boycotts because there is no such thing as separte but equal. And what happened to him because of his efforts? He was shot and killed. But what I'm still asking is why? Why do we celebrate the day of his birth?"
He looked out at the students. Some faces weren't looking at him; they were looking anywhere but toward the front of the room. Most of the faces were just as blank and passive as they had been when he first asked about Monday. A few, very few, maybe enough to fill up one handful of fingers, looked curious or interested. His face still held its scowl, but his insides glowed brighter than florescent tubes that lit the room. Those few, and others like them scattered through the day, were the reason he could continue doing this thankless job.
"We celebrate his birthday, class, to placate the masses and fool them into thinking that celebrating the life and efforts of a man who did great things is the same thing as going out there and continuing the work that he helped to start."
"Mr. DiMartino, how can you say that?" asked Jodie, one of the students who choose to learn.
"How can I say what, Ms. Landon?"
"That his day is a joke."
"I don't believe I said that it was a joke."
"Okay, maybe not a joke, but you certianly implied that it was a way to distract people."
"Ah," said Anthony, "I most certianly did suggest that."
"How can you say that?" she asked again, then added, "It's a way of remembering his legacy." She paused. "Of inspiring people."
"Does it actually inspire people, Ms. Landon?"
"Yes," she said with the firmness of a true believer. Poor girl would be crushed by the world after college, if she survived the insane amount of extra work and guilt her parents piled on her.
"Daria," said Anthony, turning to another student worth teaching, "what are you going to do on Monday?"
She looked up at him through her large, round glasses and said, "Sleep until noon."
The class laughed.
Anthony smiled. Always an honest answer from Daria, even if it was dripping with sarcasm. "Do you plan on wathing television?" he asked.
"As much as I can."
"And eating snack food?"
"Only if my dad doesn't beat me to it."
"Class," Anthony barked, "how many of you plan to sleep late, watch TV, and eat artery clogging snacks?"
Of those paying attention all but Daria and Jodie raised their hands. Most smiled. Some laughed.
"But that's not fair," said Jodie. "Your twisting this by asking highschool students. Of course they're going to take advantage of a day off to sleep in. They don't represent a crossection of the adults in this country."
"You," said Anthony, pointing to a red haired girl in the back corner of the class, "what are your parents doing this weekend?"
"They're going to Vermont for the long weekend."
"You," he said, pointing to a boy with a picture of a giant head on his shirt, "your parents?"
"Uh, I think my dad's going fishing. You know, as long as the weather's okay."
He turned toward Jodie. "And what are your parents doing?"
She blushed, "Dad's playing golf and my mom's probably taking my brother to his play group."
"Jodie," he said, lowering his voice, "what do you think most of the adults across this great nation of ours are going to be doing on Monday?"
She glared up at him, her face still flush. She didn't answer.
He looked at the class and went on as if she had. "And while they watch TV, will they see retrospectives on the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr.'s life?" Some of the class nodded. "Will they see clips of speeches and sermons he gave?" The same students nodded. "Will they hear speeches by our" -- He paused, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the next word, but it was the best one he had, at least that he could say in class without upsetting parents. -- "leaders praising the works this man did?" The few nodded again. "What are any of them doing to actually carry on his legacy?" They looked at him. "Does anyone carry on his legacy?"
"What about the NAACP?" asked Daria.
"What about them?"
"Don't they continue the work Dr. King and others like him started?"
"I don't know. Do you think getting a flag taken off a state capital building is something he would have been concerned about? Or would he have been more concerned about the disappearing industrial base? Or the failing educational systems of so many states? Or maybe the gang violence in so many cities?"
She frowned at him, blinked, then looked away.
"But things are better now than they were back, aren't they?" asked Michael.
"Are they?" Anthony put back at Michael, who shrugged. "With whom does most of the wealth reside in this country? Who lives in the economically unstable neighborhoods in the cities? What are the proportions of people in the overcrowded prisions? Who performs most manual labor for the lowest wages? Who has the most outstanding and over due credit?"
"But Mr. D.," said Kevin, "I don't think the answer to all those questions is black people."
"Ah, a flash of brilliance," said Anthony, genuinely surprised. "Kevin, much to my amazement, is correct. African Americans are not the answers to all of those questions."
"Alright!" said Kevin, pumping his fist into the air.
Anthony rolled his eyes then asked, "Do you think Dr. King only wanted equality for one group of people? Do you think that even if he could get everything he wanted for the people who shared his skin color he would have been content to sit down and watch TV for the rest of his life?"
He looked around the room. He could see that some brains were chewing on what he'd asked. The room lapsed into silence.
"Do you think that day off from work and is the best way we can honor a man like Dr. King?" He leaned back against his desk and asked, "Why do we celebrate this man's birthday?"
The bell rang. Before the sound stopped echoing around in his head, his classroom was empty.