We’d like to show the side of the world you don’t normally see on television.

A Story Passed From Our Ancestor's please pass it on..

I am the dream

Our Ancestors, the people called slaves,I call them our founding fathers.They built this land… and that which we call a American dream was their greatest nightmare..The foundation for the financial system we today call wall street,leherman brothers and goldman sach to just mention a few…. ,were purchased from their blood sweat and tears.and shattered dream

I write this for our ancestors who were called slaves. It doesn't seem right for me to call them slaves;It doesn’t seem right to indelibly etch this inferior title upon them, that even in death, they cannot have what they sought so dearly in life; a name. I am the dream of my ancestors. I am the dream that one day their children would be free . Iam the dream that one day someone would speak out for those who's voices were silenced….and it is for those who today I speak…………

It was a Sunday morning and master allowed us to go to church. He wore his Sunday best and I wore the tattered clothing that he once owned. I listened from the back house as the minister preached about the love of God, and love for our fellow man. I almost cried…I almost had hope when I heard the choir sing my favorite hymn "Amazing Grace"”How Sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me” afterward they went back home and had Sunday dinner and fed me with the scraps from the table.

The next day master rose early and came out to the place where I stayed and master beat me…. Master beat me hard….from within the sting of the pain from his whipping, I couldn't even think of why he was whipping me? After he was done I felt so numb. My mind wandered passed the pain of my mortal wounds he inflicted. I wondered how a man can treat another like that? How could he walk so proud in the Lord's house just one day earlier and then wake up the next morning and beat me damn near death??

I worked hard that day. The burning sun roasted my wounds to scabs, while the sting of the sweat dripping into my flesh reminded me not to forget the whipping I got that morning. I was so tired that night as I collapsed on the dirt floor. I dreamed a dream that night….I dreamed an impossible dream … not for myself that one day I might be free…for that dream had been beaten out of me a long time ago….

I dreamed the dream that my children would some day be free and tell my story; that my children would write, read, learn and tell the next generation my story…. I wanted them to know that the only thing that kept me going was the belief and hope that one day they would be free… I want them to tell humanity the truth…. I wanted them to declare that the same God that they spoke about that Sunday at church was the same God that made us both. I wanted them to tell the world that the color of my skin was just that; Its Just skin. I begged you to tell them that I was a man just like them and the reason I looked different was because God wanted it that way. And finally, I wanted to tell my children that if they continue to mistreat you or any other man after I had fallen asleep in death….. if things changed, but not enough to right the wrongs for all men and woman of the human family…please promise me to do every thing in your power to make it right and pass my dream on to your children.