About a week before Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday I was picking Charlotte up from school. We got in the car and while driving she announced:
"On Monday we are celebrating a dead man."
Comments like these are not uncommon. Charlotte asks the most bizarre and grownup questions, forcing me to become accustom to this. In fact, I would say a full 1/3 of our time together is spent with me grappling for appropriate answers to the questions she has come up with regarding reincarnation, death, the responsibilities of a motherhood, right and wrong, childbirth, etc.
My response to this little gem:
"Oooh, you mean Martin Luther King, Jr.?"
Charlotte: "Yah. He's dead right?"
Cut to Friday afternoon. Charlotte hands me a profile picture she has colored of the said man. While handing it to me she nods towards it (like a politician) and states the obvious:
"The dead man."
(For those offended by this, my apologies. She had a long lesson about the amazing things he has done, so don't worry. My purpose here is not to review his greatness, but show some insight into Charlotte's amazing and hysterical sense of humor).
