Parks, Martin, Obama

Rosa sat so that Martin could walk and Martin walked so Obama could run and Obama ran so our children can fly.
---Unknown Author

For so many years, the black, negros, and African/Americans have been judged by something hate has no reason to rest upon, and even if it did, what control would there be over it?

Race. Color. If you belonged to one that the white found different, you would be treated as no human should ever be. What would our nation be if Rosa Parks hadn't decided she was a person and she should be treated as one? If Martin Luther King, Jr. hadn't spoken through the meaningful words he did? And although many disagree with Jesse Jackson, he stood for something.

I think Obama just made it. Achieved the dream, proved what these historical people claimed. Good president or not, he is a person. He has made it, people voted, he was let in.

Only several decades before my own birth, a man like Obama couldn't get a decent job. I was born in a racist environment, for the part of the country in which I live in feels more like they are supirier to any other race. I am not apart of that.

As I saw the election occur, my parents told me about how this was something important. Almost like when women could finally vote, only stronger. So as I listened to McCain's graceful speech and Obama's victorious, I pictured what I'd tell my children---especially grandchildren.

"Grandma, were you there when the first black president was elected?"

"Why, yes, yes I was."

"Really? That long ago?"

I had been distracted by my homework that night, but I was in front of our television set, listening to what was said. I had heard the prediction. Was it true? Could Obama win despite the critism I heard at school?

But it happened. McCain's speech was wonderful, there to remember. Yet alas, it was but his rejectence speech. Obama's speech come on, and so did his family. It felt good to watch, seeing the first African/American president promise his best. My parents both got teary in sight of the victory. It was the first time I saw my father cry.

How could you not feel at least glad for those who won victory? Those who had waited so long?

I HAVE A DREAM . . .