MLKFC

I may be the wife of one of the most politically incorrect men on the planet. It's not that he goes out of his way to be offensive, or that he's confrontational about it, or that he's a bigot. Rather, he's no respecter of persons--in a quiet, gleefully obstinate refusal to give anyone special treatment, for any reason.

I don't know what's at the root of it (I do have a few theories), but while it embarrassed me a bit for the first few years we were married, I've gotten used to it. I don't even roll my eyes anymore or pretend I don't know him.

Here's an example: at our house, the third Monday in January isn't Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. It's MLKFC. That's right, the whole family piles into the car and observes the holiday by going out to fried chicken.

I know, terrible.

Apparently this tradition started a couple years before Jim and I got married, when he and his best friend Matt were having what I'm sure was a cringe-worthy discussion about the holiday. For the first couple years Jim and I were together, I boycotted MLKFC. Jim accused me (and probably rightly so) of being brainwashed by the Seattle School District's progressive liberal agenda (busing, anyone?) and regaled me with reasons why King shouldn't be idolized after a a life riddled with both professional and personal dishonesty. Which is true, but (I think) no reason to devalue the tremendous contribution he made to human rights; our nation's history is fully of deeply flawed individuals who still worked great good for people everywhere.

So Jim and I agreed to disagree. And now, at the risk of being a hypocrite, I go to MLKFC because 1) those buttermilk biscuits are SO good; 2) my kids need to hear another side of the story so they can make up their own minds about the Reverend Dr. King; and 3) let's face it: if I don't have to do the dishes after, I'm there.