The Dream (King's, Not Trump's)

I was born into a segregated America. I remember visiting my relatives in South Carolina and being instructed on how to behave when walking through the upscale part of town which was populated exclusively by white people.

I remember April 4, 1968, the day that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assasinated. I recall visiting the westside of Asbury Park, NJ, my hometown in 1970 after rioting, looting and ghetto fires left the vibrant core of the black owned business community in a smouldering heap.

I remember going to a Christian fundamentalist Jr. High School run and attended by people who made the Klan look like the Boy Scouts. I remember our cross country class trip to Bob Jones University, the last segregated university in America.

How much has changed? Probably not as much as you would think. I traveled back home last week. The section of New Jersey where I grew up is just as segregated now as it was in the late sixties. But I am yet hopeful.

I was walking down Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley this afternoon when I saw Sister Ruth Turner in the distance. She and I are longtime members of the Allen Temple Baptist Church in East Oakland. While still a half block away, I hollered with great joy, "Hi, Family!" A group of Anglo folks who looked as though they could have been tourists, walked between Sister Turner and I. They thought I was talking to them. One man said, "Hello! How are you doing?" He had heard the words, "Hello Family" and assumed that I was talking to him and his loved ones. It brought me back to Dr. King's dream. I recalled the words, "I have a dream that one day right there in Alabama little black boys and little black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers."

Tonight when I arrived home, I found a text message from a little girl from Texas named Hope. You can see it at the top of this page. It is Dr. King colored in with many different shades and hues. Above the words, "I Have A Dream", you will find the word "Hope" in blood red letters. Dr. King died hoping for the day when the country would celebrate diversity and appreciate a rainbow of people as broad as what you see in little Hope's picture.

No matter, what the tiny brained merchants of hate speech say, I'm holding on to little Hope's dream. Happy Birthday, Dr. King.

#TrumpandKing #BobJonesUniversity #HopeforDiversity