Mlk Kueehl's Early Childhood

MLK

On one cold, autumn night, when the air was crisp and the cool wind whistled, the Kuehl household was awakened. At approximately 11:47 p.m., Velma Menneke Kuehl went into labor with her third child and was raced to the nearest hospital with her family. After nine, long, grueling months, all were anxious to finally meet the highly anticipated member of their kin. The nurses and doctors scrambling around the institution sent Velma into the delivery room, rolling her around the in a squeaking wheelchair through the polished hallways. At 3:23 a.m., the morning of October 28th, 1962, my father, the man the world would know as MLK, was born. Now and throughout his youth, childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood, he has remained one of the
He spent the majority of his young life growing up in DeWitt, Iowa. As a child, Mark would say his days as a youth were pretty traditional; there wasn’t much he found of value about that time in his life, other than the day his mother bought him a new pair of boots. During the time Mark had been in kindergarten, radiating innocence and sparking curiosity like any other little boy his age. When asked about what he did as a child, he told of a pint-sized ditch next to the old Junior High the neighborhood kids would jump in and out of. As it was told, he’d always wanted to join in on the watery fun, but never could. He didn’t own any boots, so all he could do was sit and watch in envy as his peers splashing around in the mud and murky rainwater. But on the day his mom brought home a refined, rubber pair, he couldn’t have been more animated. The boots were tall and boxy, grazing the bottoms of his kneecaps yet leaving room for a breeze to tickle his calves. They were a solid, clean scarlet that glistened under any light. Upon receiving the gift, Mark immediately slipped on the boots and ran to find the other kids playing in the hole. Just as he’d always dreamed, he was finally, FINALLY able to play in the splurge of puddles. But as he hopped in, the experience was nothing like he had hoped. Tarnished liquids sprayed all over his layered clothes, chunky muck and blobs of gunk drowning his
You know where it is.”
Neither daring to cross her instructions, Mark and Jeff shuffled out the door and down the street towards the doctor and dentist’s office, which was four blocks away from their home. In the end, both brothers were stitched up and sulking. In the months after his high school graduation, Mark was sent off to Central College in Pella, Iowa. There, he participated in football and got a job outside of his studies. To support himself, Mark worked as a manager at Pizza Hut for all four years he attended school. When I asked about his life as an undergrad, he told me going off to college provided some of the best years of his life. However, having to show up to every practice and event for football while trying to hold down a job and pay tuition proved to be more challenging he expected. Two years after he arrived, Mark decided to retire from the Central College team and transfer to the University of Iowa, home of the black and gold. In the course of this transition, Mark learned how to pay bills, take money, and balance his time accordingly. After his graduation in 1985, Mark was hired to become a head football and baseball coach at a high school in Ventura,