MLK Week: A Recap. Goodbye, Semester One. Hello, Semester Two.
2025’s Wednesday’s Peace March. Image courtesy of Antonella Dominguez
Nothing says goodbye to semester one, hello second semester like a good old MLK symposium.
We kick it off with Peace Chapel. Adorable lower schoolers singing. Gracenotes with another hit tune that echoes themes of social justice and belonging. And of course, the residual feeling the all-school chapel merriment leaves you with.
After getting yelled at by various deans for Jay walking by, I head to my first workshop: the U.S. and Venezuela, an objective chat with Dr. Nathan about what happened and the reasoning used to justify the capture of Maduro. Every seat in the auditorium was filled with eager students waiting to discuss and ask questions about this very relevant current event. I left the workshop with more clarity about what I see as a fairly muddy situation. Shout out, Dr. Nathan, for leading an informative and enlightening workshop.
Workshops were great to say the least, but the highlight was the service day, the crown jewel of MLK week. We juniors went to JASA, “an industry leader in providing safe, affordable, and accessible apartments for 2,280 older adults and disabled individuals“, and made some new friends. I, for one, learned how to play spades, dominated in Uno, and listened to Hank’s personal experience living during the MLK era. For those of you who don’t know Hank, I’ll provide some info. He is about yay high (imagine my hand at around 5’10), and he wears his keys in his belt loops. He shoots hoops, too.
Another notable character was Joanna. She wore raspberry colored lipstick on her lips and teeth, and reminded me of the word “feista.” She asked us about the 67 craze. We laughed, then we explained, then she laughed. “Your generation is puzzling,” she said, sounding a bit like Benoit Blanc. Joanna also knew all the answers to the MLK trivia questions. She was quite a smart cookie, but kept it a secret between her and us. She would whisper the answers to us, have us shout them back, and then nod her head. “Now you know.” We all flocked to Joanna; she was magnetic and comforting in every sense you would want your grandmother to be. While everyone was fighting over Joanna like pigeons over a prime New York hot dog, I found Shirly. She was armed with a deck of cards and a pocket full of menthol mints, which she would periodically pop into her mouth between sentences. We played spades. I lost, only making 3 or 4 bucks a game. It was nice to lose. I wanted her to have the win.
Serena H. ‘27, the author, is the Junior Deputy Editor of The Grace Gazette.