That We Have a Dream

4 Pages 960 Words

I open my eyes. The first things I see are my sons. They have a strange look in their eye. Almost like they never expected to see my eyes again. Maybe they’re right. Maybe this is my last time to see. Maybe this is my last chance to speak. Maybe this is my last moment to live.
Having just realized this, I ask all but one of my sons to leave. Martin will pass my words. He is the oldest, and the only one mature enough to feel them in the way that I do.
I’ve stared into his longing eyes long now. They have been tortured, and they have been hated. Yet they are still human. And they are still forgiving. I am again reminded of the hope to come of our people. That Lincoln fought for our well-being, so that one day there will never be a black man with countless scars across his back. We may be ‘indentured’ to the white men for life, but one day we will have our health.
I open my mouth dryly to speak to my son. But in that moment, I am sad. I am a man who cannot protect my dearest obligation. My son Martin will never escape the unconditional hate. He will never escape his fear of being forced to war. I know and feel it. He will forever be separated from any respect, only because the color of his skin. Even when the nation we have been forced into was changing, we blacks have had a constant reputation: as slaves, unworthy of any respect.

I had been born into a world of constant change. The faces of my family were forever changing, for family was composed of the others like me. They were ‘the others on the farm.’ I do not remember a first home. For since I had been born, I was traded, sold, or run to a new farm. I never knew peace and relaxation. There had been no law to protect my rights, my body, or my possessions. Even where I lay to sleep, I was fearful. Scared of the next day. Scared of the greedy, hungry family that lay beside me. Scared of life. Scared to wake up to the same hopeless li...