In Search Of Dreams

Episode 2

“He is so inspirational,” Lori whispers to her
brother in the dim, tears shining in her eyes as
she watches the broadcast, Dr. King’s face on
the screen of a large television on a cart
positioned at the front of the gym.

“Yeah,” her brother agrees, glancing at her rapt
face with its shining eyes. “I just hope important
people are listening. Really listening.”

“Me, too.”

“I have a dream that my four little children will one
day live in a nation where they will not be judged
by the color of their skin but by the content of
their character.”

Elliot hears his sister’s breathing hitch into a
quiet sob. She is crying now, and she is not
alone. Lori reaches into her purse and
withdraws a handkerchief, nothing more than a
small square of white linen with a L
embroidered on the corner by her own hand,
and dabs her eyes. Elliot puts his arm around
his sister.

“I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama,
with its vicious racists, with its governor having
his lips dripping with the words of interposition
and nullification; one day right there in Alabama,
little black boys and black girls will be able to join
hands with little white boys and white girls as
sisters and brothers.”

“You’re thinking about your students, ain’t ya?”

Elliot leans over and whispers in her ear. Lori
nods, dabbing both her eyes and nose now.

“That’s all I want for any of them. To grow up
knowing that they matter,” she says, her voice
shaky.

“They know they matter. You tell them they do,”
he reassures her. “You are the best
kindergarten teacher at this school, Lori. At
any school, black or white.”

“Thanks,” she sniffs.

They sit quietly for a bit, listening to the speech,
punctuated from time to time with various
outbursts from the crowd, ranging from quiet
“Mmm-hmm”s to shouts of “Preach it, Dr. King!”

“And when this happens, when we allow freedom
to ring, when we let it ring from every village and
every hamlet, from every state and every city, we
will be able to speed up that day when all of
God’s children, black men and white men, Jews
and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be
able to join hands and sing in the words of the
old Negro spiritual, ‘Free at last! free at last! thank
God Almighty, we are free at last!'”

The crowd erupts as one, rising to their feet,
cheering, applauding, whistling, hugging
everyone around them.