Dream

I held Mama’s hand tightly as we moved through the enormous crowd. Everywhere I looked, people stood shoulder to shoulder. Some carried signs. Some sang songs. Others talked quietly while we waited near the Lincoln Memorial.

I was only nine years old, and I had never seen so many people gathered in one place.

“Why did everyone come?” I asked Mama.

“Because they want America to be fair for everyone,” she said.

The August sun felt hot on my face. My feet hurt, and I wished I had brought more water. Then Dr.

Martin Luther King Jr. stepped forward to speak.

The crowd became still.

His voice was strong and steady. He talked about freedom. He talked about justice. Then he began speaking about his dream for the future.

I looked up at Mama. Tears filled her eyes.

“Why are you crying?” I whispered.

“Because I want that dream for you,” she answered.

Suddenly, the speech felt different. It was not only about grown-ups or laws or things that had happened before I was born. It was about children like me.

I imagined schools where every child was welcomed. I imagined neighborhoods where people were judged by their kindness instead of the color of their skin. I imagined growing up in a country that kept becoming better.

When the speech ended, people cheered and hugged one another.

On the way home, Mama asked what I would remember most.

I thought for a moment.

“That a dream can belong to everyone,” I said.

And somehow, I knew I would carry that dream with me.