I Had a Dream

I listened to Martin Luther King's speech again

on Imus.com

since I knew he would have it on.

Just as MLK talked about the mountaintops,

a tear came to my eye,

such a perfect speech in form, content,

feeling, message.

The sun came up over the mountains

and I snapped this one, above.

I wanted to tell a story today of my dream.

In the Second grade, I had a dream.

It was 1965 or so.

I had suffered the first grade with learning to play with others,

something I still struggle with.

My 2nd grade teacher was always there, smiling and loving us.

We knew all of us were loved.

The words I was learning to write,

and their meaning.

the words together,

started catching my interest more

and more.

One day, a fellow student

(he is a black child, though I have no idea he is different in anyway)

and I decided we would write a book.

That was one of the most exciting thoughts to me.

A Book,

like the ones on Mom's bookshelf,

like the ones in the library,

like the ones that made people famous,

We made plans to meet after school,

We were writing a

Book.

Fast forward to my neuro appointment last week,

My doctor saying,

"You missed your calling,

you are a good writer"

and me sitting there,

thinking of my little friend

in the second grade

I am 3rd from right in the front row.

Many years later, I saw this photo again and realized he

was the only male black child in my class.

When I announced to my father that I was going to write a book

with this young black child,

My father went ballistic.

That is when I learned what racism was.

I fought with him hard and lost.

I could not go to

that neighborhood...

aka

lower town...

I was so angry with him and have had a little anger in there left.

Still my father grew up in the south side of St Louis

in a German neighborhood. As time went on, urban blight

destroyed some of the neighborhoods. Blamed on black people.

Dad also delivered mail and told me he knew a lot

about people by the mail they received.

That confused me more than reassured me.

Now I know it is a lie.

You really do not know what people are about

by their mail.

I had a dream to write a book,

missed my calling, and gave up a fight with my father,

All while 7 years old.

Today, the dream,

remembered,

through MLK's voice,

resounding,

powerful,

gentle,

real.

My father,

I will always love dearly,

and I forgive,

in all his prejudice,

he was trying to protect me and was there for me.

He did not know it is not the color of a person's skin

that tells their character.

he learned it,

prejudice is learned

and can be

un-learned...

Them is us

We are them

We are all

I have a dream.

for Martin Luther King's info:

http://www.mlkonline.net/