In the United States, today is given over to the commemoration of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s something on which I’ve remarked before, which is not necessarily a surprise; I’ve been blogging in this webspace for a while, now, and I’m getting old enough that things repeat themselves for me anymore. I stand by my remarks at that time; I am really not the person to comment extensively on the commemoration, and it is the case that we’re not near the ideal the man espoused, with many still kicking and screaming (and worse) as they are dragged, slowly, toward it.

Why, then, make note of the day as the day?

Because it is a set aside holiday, and as a day set aside, it invites contemplation. Though I did not succeed in my career intentions (yes, plural), I remain a person given to contemplation. A sanctioned opportunity for it is therefore welcome.

Because it is a public holiday, and I am a member of the public, and so there is an effect on me even if I am not the target audience for it.

Because it is an event that will receive and has received much attention, if I do not make at least some comment about it, there will be some concern about me that is not warranted. (This leaves aside the concerns that are warranted, of which there are a few.)

Because I have had more substantive comments upon it, it seems fitting to consider whether or not they still apply. They do, more’s the pity, but a scant few years is too short a time to redress great wrongs without great upset, and such upset is likely to have unintended consequences that will work to the ill of those who ought, instead, to be supported.

There is ill enough in the world without adding to it. Perhaps the commemoration will help. I do not think it will hurt, save those who probably ought to be hurt.

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I‘ve written before about the birthdays of people in my family, notably those of my wife, my mother and my father, and my maternal grandmother. I’ve mentioned my own and that of my daughter as they have approached and happened, as well, though I make more of others’ than of mine. It befits, then, that when it happens that my brother’s birthday coincides with one of my regular posting days, I would make some comment or another about it. And since today is such a day, I am making such a comment.

I’ve commented on my brother before, and at some length, if some years ago. It is the case that things have changed; he’s not with the same bands now as he was then, for example (I’m not certain if the Juantanamos or PlayIt4Ward are still going), although he is active with a few others (such as Mothership, Q, and Daniel RedCliff). Now, as was not true then, he is a father, and he is doing more than decently with my nephew; he also continues to be a good uncle to his niece my daughter. He does remain focused on his music more than most else in his life, however, and I remain somewhat envious of him that he can continue to pursue his passion in a way that is closed to me for mine. And I continue to love my little brother, as well.

So, happy birthday, Daniel Elliott! I’ll hope to see you for more than a few more of them!

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November tends to be a celebratory time for my family. For one thing, we like to eat, and November in the United States offers a holiday focused largely around sharing a large meal (as opposed to Christmas, which centers on buying lots of stuff, though it features a large meal). For another, many of the family’s birthdays are in November. My own is early in the month, I’ve got a cousin whose birthday follows promptly, and a late uncle came into the world later on in November, many years back.

Today, however, is my father’s birthday. By the time this goes live, I will have called him and made sure his gift is where he can get it. He’s a father well worth being a dutiful son towards, and more than that, he’s a solid human being, hardworking and personable, with whom most anybody ought to count themselves privileged to interact. I’ve gotten to be around him more than most, and I’ve certainly been in a position to learn more from him than nearly anybody else, even if I haven’t always been as good a student to him as I ought to have been.

Even so, I’m glad to be his son. And I hope he continues to have a happy birthday, today and for many todays to come.

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I‘ve commented before on the events commemorated today and upon the problems attendant upon that commemoration. I do note hearing less about the matter this time around than previously, which I am not sure is a good thing–or even consistent with other issues. There are a lot of failures, setback, and evils that get repeated and propped up, and I am in favor of pointing out the problems in things. (Yes, I am great fun at parties; why do you ask?) At the same time, I am not in favor of praising those who are not praiseworthy, and I am not unmindful that the political circumstances that lead to certain acts of praise beginning are no longer in force. (Others very much are, to the collective detriment of the world and my small part of it.) So there is and remains some tension in my mind and thought, and I remain uncertain how to resolve it.

So much said, I recognize the position I occupy in that regard as one privileged. I am not burdened by the outcomes of the events in question, except that I choose to be; I could follow the example set by a great many, no few of which remain on live, and simply not give a damn about such things as the perniciously persistent inequities and erasures that are at work in the world. I could simply let things be, not digging deeper into “old shit” that “doesn’t matter,” even if it is the case that my tax dollars are paying for the maintenance of commemorations to what amounts to the beginnings of genocide. (Taking time off costs money, too, you know.) I could shut my eyes to the plight of others plain to see, seal my ears against the mourning plain to hear–and there are even justifications I might give for doing so. There are enough other problems in the world, after all, and I can actually do something about some of them, now and again; I would not be wrong to focus my attention on those problems and work to address them, rather than to give even so much attention as this to something that lies almost wholly outside my abilities.

But that “almost wholly” nags at me, one of many such things to do so.

I readily admit that there is not much I can do in this world. I am trained in the humanities in a world that does not value them and barely pretends to do so, and I labor to the extent that I am able (I am looking for work, by the way, but people have to be willing to hire for me to find it) under a load of debt that I took while believing–because I had been told as much, repeatedly across many years, by people I was supposed to be able to trust to know what they were about–that my doing so would lead to the kind of job that would allow me to repay that debt and the concomitant interest and to have a comfortable life in which I could understand myself to be doing some good for some people. Each inhibits what I can actually do. But if all I can do is to keep in mind the wrongs done in the world of which I am aware, then I am obliged to do it by my ethics and morals. (Yes, I do have them.) Thus something like this, in which I note what I see is and how I see it, though I do not know how I can make things better.

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