As a child, the third Monday in January was nothing more than a day off from school. I knew the day off had a name, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, but I never really understood why until I was a teenager. Even then, it was hard for me to fully grasp its significance. Call it white privilege or growing up in the North, but the reality of racial oppression was not something I observed firsthand. I knew people of different races and ethnic groups and enjoyed getting to know more about different cultures. In my bubble, I just thought that was normal for everybody.