I listened to Martin Luther King's speech again
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:
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