Death of a Dream

In the warmth of a Georgia morning at a favorite spot on the bank of the Chattahoochee River, a young slave does what he most enjoys in life, fishing. The only thing that could top it would be a day of fishing with his father and today was just such a day. It wasn't very often that young Michael had his father all to himself. With doing the Masters' biddings and serving as a sort of spiritual leader in the community, there wasn't a lot of time for father /son bonding. As a sort of foreman of the field hands his father had become admired and respected because he never let pleasing the master keep him from being fair and just with his fellow slaves.

Now as much as Michael would normally enjoy doing his favorite thing with his favorite person today, he seemed a bit distracted. Though he was only ten he was quite adept at the art of recognizing the presence of gilled game when it began to investigate his line. He was much more likely to pull the line out of the water prematurely at the sign of a nibble, than he was to miss the concentric circles created by the bounce of his cork bobber. But today, his hook had been cleaned out on more than one occasion. Not only had he missed the bites but he failed to express is normal ire when this happened. Realizing that his son's mind was otherwise occupied, his father finally reacted. "Shuda tole me you was settin a picnic fa dem fish." "Huh?" Michael responded. "Says shuda tole me you was fixin a picnic fa dem fish! Ya ain't caught nuttin all day an it ain'tc cuz dae ain't tryin ta git caught, you jus ain't obligin. At dis rate yo repatation goin downhill real fast, look at cha line." As Michael wakened from his daydream he realized there was something on his line but by the time he tried to pullit in it was too late and the potential catch had made a speedy getaway. "Well," said his father smiling. "I hope wahtever dat was decide a come try my me next."

As the bot raised his line out of the water, he seemed to rejoin reality. But it was only for a few seconds. After replacing the bait on his hook and tossing it back into the deep, he seemed again headed for the same hypnotic state of mind that had been present most of the morning. After wathing him begin to fade again his father asked, "whas on ya mine boy?" "Huh?" was again Michael's reply. " I says, what cha thinkin bout, cuz it sho ain't fishin!" As the young boy now seemed to actually be focused on what his father was saying, he continued to look across the river with the tip of his pole leaning more and more downward as if the pole was now going to join the line in the water. "Daddy, you be sayin, Jesus died ta save us, when he gonna do it? When he gonna save us from being salve, when he gonna save us from bein niggas?" Now it was the father who stared across the water with a blank stare as if looking for the answer to his son's question on the other side of the river. You see, this wasn't the first time "Little Mike" hd posed a question to his father that was far beyond the years of most his age. He seemed to be what they called "an old soul." Now it waa his father's pole that was headed into the water. And now, Mike was looking directly at his father and waiting for an answer. After a brief pause that seemed like an eternity to the proud patriarch, he sighed and said, "I done wondered bout dat maself. Even prayed bout some. But God don't always let us in on all his plans. Da way I sees it, we be kina like da Isralites. See, dae be lookin fa Jesus da come down save dem too, only when he come, da savin he come fo wadn't da savin dae was lookin fo. See Jesus come da ta git rid a dae sin not ta git em free from ole Fayro. I guess we kina in da same padikament."

After thinking for a minute about what his father had said, Mike revealed, "Miss Becca say her grandaddy tell her Niggas was free bafo, dat real or she jes fibbin again?" Na you know I done tole you bout Niggas come from Afica where all Niggas free and ain't no White folk an" Mike interupts the reply, Naw daddy she be talkin bout Niggas free here, here in Georgia, dat be true?" "O-o-o-o-h" with a sigh of recognition. She be talkin bout Mancapation." Mike fumbles with the new word, "Man, Manipatin?" With pride in his voice the father assists his son's attempt. "Macapation Proclamation." Mike tried again, Whas Mansupr-clama-ta, whas dat daddy?" With pride as if just landing the biggest fish taken from the river, his father repeated, "Mancapation Proclamation. Yeah son, Niggas was free jus fo a few years, but lawd, folk say dem was da happiest years, (he laughs) happiest years a Nigga evr did see." With a look of horror and a sound of disbelief in his voice Mike replied, "But daddy, if we was free, how we be slaves again, how we be slaves?" As his pride was replace with disgust, he knew exactly what his son was feeling and in a way he was ashamed of the history he would now share with his child. "Well son, I gues it depend who tellin it. Now Miss Becca, she tellin how her grandaddy tell it, but dat be how White folk tell it, an ain't too many thang White folk an Niggas sees eye ta eye. So I be tellin you how we tell it an dis be more how it really go.

Bout a hunert year ago , bout da en a da Civil War, "Whas da Civil War?" Mike interupted. "Well, back den, some good White folks mostly in da North starts ta sayin havin Niggas as slave was wrong. Dae say it be a crime agin human kine an a sin agin God. Dae keeps pressin an pushin an fo ya know it mo an mo White folk sayin da same thang. Cain't ha slaves no mo, got ta git rid a slavery. Well, all da massas in da South like da loose dae mines. If ain't no slaves who gonna chop da cotton, the sugar cane, who gonna pick tabacca? So, a-a-all the bigges massas gits tagether an says no sa. we ain't givin up are slave. Ta Hell wit da North an ts Hell with da U-nited states of Amarica. We gonna make are own country. So dae decides dae gone fight ruther den loose da slaves. So, da North and da South start fightin an dat be da Civil War.

Now, da leader of da North be Mr. Abaham Lincoln an he gots a idea make all the slaves free, lotta slaves leave da South an come north maybe join da North army. Dae say in dem days Niggas was leavin plantations like rats leavin a sinkin ship. Cours, a lot em was killed cuse massas wasn't bout ta stand dare an watch his Niggas leave. Niggas he done paid good money fo. An not evabody tried ta leave. I gus some was jus scared an some jes din't buleve, but a lot got back den." Now Mike was really confused, "But daddy, what happen? If we was free, hoe we be slaves now?"

"Well" his father continued, "like I said , not all da slaves was free an dis gits ta botherin sum a dem good White folks up north so dae cides ts do sumpn bout it. so dae gits da i-dea da have dis educated colored man talk wit Mr. Lincoln soze he know how many still be slaves. Dae figures dis man be able to get Mr. Lincoln da do more bout it and dis man let Lincoln know Niggas good fa mo den walkin baine a mule. So dae gits dis man name a Fredrick Duglas while he at sum picture show or sumpn. But somehow, Lincoln git killed an Dugalas be da blame. Lotta stories gits around bout why Duglas wuda done it. Sum say he be paid by som massas from da south or his family prisoners ta make him do it. Some say he jes hate White folk an wanna kill da most powerful one he can. But nobody kin ask why he did it cuz he dead. White man name a John Boof spoza caught Duglas in da act, gits da gun from him an kills him, says he shot Lincoln, shot Mis Lincoln too. Course, dae all bleve what Boof say.

So now, da man dat want slaves free be dead an who take over, a man dat want Niggas da stay slaves. So now White folk start thinkin if Niggas be free dae gone start killin White folk to pay back how Niggas been treated all deez years. Well, wi t da White folks already scared out dae mines didn't take much fa da new presisdent, I think, a- Johnson ta convine da gobment ta git rid a Mancapation. So, Niggas be slave again, mostly in da South, but no body worry bout Niggas bein free no mo." So now, Mike was both puzzled and fascinated. "So, you mean Niggas up North not slaves, be free?" His father continued, "Well, wudn't exactly say slaves. Gits ta work an gits paid fo it, but pay so little maze well be slaves. Still has ta treat White folk like dae all da massa, ya sir, no sir, yes em, nome. Magin a grown man hafta say ya sir, no sir to little White chile jus like down here. Cudn't go an come like ya pleze. Hada be off da street by certin time, hada repote ta da gobment office ery week. Cudn't leave da state witout pamission. Naw wudn't xactly say free.

But thangs change a little afta da War." Mike chimed in, "Da Civil War." "Naw, naw was anotha war, long time afta dat. War w-a-ay cross da ocean. Thangs got so bad ova dare gobment start lettin Niggas join up ta figh an promise dae be free when dae come back, if dae come back. Some say rather be a dead Nigga den a live slave an joins da fightin right off. Others say death come soon nuf, ain't chasin it. Some went over da seas an died ova dare. Some didn't die but didn't come back. But da ones come back make da gobment start ts lookin at Niggas different. Lotta us died ova dare but a lotta us did a loota good thangs dat made White folks see we was good fo mo den diggin a hole or choppin cotton. Some dem good White folks in d gobment start sayin Niggas, Negroes need da be educated. Made it not illegal fa Nigg, Negroes to read,git a little schoolin. Still hda be careful bout what ya readin, but as time pass dae see we can do most anything dae can do. Some peolpe gits what dae calls a-a-a- sponsa. Git you one a deez sponsas, hear tell soma us (he paused looking toward the sky) even gone ta college." Mike almost whispering, "Whas college daddy?" "College be a big fancy school where you go to live and all day long ya don't do nuttin but learn bout different thangs." "No chores?" "No chores son." "What kinna thangs you learn bout dare?" "All kinna thangs, ahhh, animal, cypherin, doctorin, (he pauses) the Bible. In college you can learn bout anythang dare is to be learned." Mike is now so excited that doesn't notice his fishing pole about to dragged into the river. "Can I go da college daddy?" Pointing to the wandering pole his father says, "For you go runnin iff ta ollege, better grab dat pole." Mike retrieves his pole completely from the water and with great anticipation repeats, "Can I go da college daddy? Iwanna learn da read an write an study bout all kines a thangs. I wanna go da school an be smart like Miss Becca."

Almost chastising his son he warns, "Don

't you worry bout bein or doin nothin like nobody but Little Mike. Dat Miss Becca ain' smart as you thank. She jus talka lot. Side, most dem sponsa fa ollege be up North, never hear bout no body like dat down here." Dn one deez daze I'm goin up North."His father quickly grabs the child by the are and almost lifts him off the ground. "Now you listen da me. I don't neva eve want you da say nothin like dat out in public. An don't you neva eva say nothin like dat ta dat flip Miss Becca, cause jus like she be tellin you stuff she hear from other folks, she be tellin other folk what she hear from you. Massa hear you been tlkin bout goin North, he fix it soze you don't go nowhere eva agin,you hear me? Mike nodde his head in recognition.

His father continued, "You gotta understand son, thangs jus ain't the same down here as they are up North. Up dare you a man wit sum color in his skin. Not equal ta White folks, but with sum doctorin an polish an a little book learnin, you might be able to work an take care of yaself maybe even a family. But down here, you jus a Nigga an you belonga ta massa." As they looked into each other's eyes the father could see that the excitement and anticipation that beamed from his son's face just a few minutes before had been replaced with confusion and doubt. As dim as the hope for the future is no father wants to leave his son with none. Taking Mike into his arms and holding him with a loving embrace he began trying to reassure him. "Someday all dis gone change, you see, keep thankin bout college, but you got ta keep da talkin and da plannin jus tween you an me." He took Mike's small round face into his large hand looking deeply into his eyes to be sure Mike had heard what he said, "You hear me?" Mike replied with a slight tremor in his voice, "Yeah daddy, I hear."

His father now holding him by the shoulders continued, "Youz young, lotta thangs cud be different when yu gits ta dat age. Lotta thangs be different since I wa yo age. Whole worl be changin, specially afta dat second war ova da seas, White folks gots da change someday." He moves his right arm around his son's shoulder and holds him close. "Wr gots dem telephones with people talkin ta each otha clear cross da country. Hear tell dae got smpn call T.V. wit pictures of people walkin an talkin inside a little box (he-he-he laughing in amazement). Hear tell dem Russian dun put a man in sumpn call a rocket and shot him (he makes a blast off sound while extending his left arm to mimic the launch) rith off da earf, rite up into da sky. Hm--m-m-, I don't know how God gonna feel bout dat. An ya know, we got dis new president, and he be talkin bout sendin a man to da moon." Mike interrupts, "To da moon daddy, you mean da moon up in da sky, dat moon?" "Dat moon" his father replied. "Yeah, thangs be changin, thangs gotta change. An ya know dis here new president might jus be da one we been waitin fo. He seem da talk a lot bout us. Bout what we doin, what we ain't doin, what we need to be doin. Yeah, he might jus be what dis country need. What Niggas be needin, (pauses) cuz iss sho time fo a change."

As he ans hi son sit in silence contemplating ll that has just been said, the privacy of a special father/son time together is intruded upon by a male voice calling in the distance. "Ma-a-artin, Ma-a-artin, Ma-a-a-artin." Mike's father replies, "Here, ova here, I'm ova here." As the voice gets closed the sound of his heavy labored breathing mixes with the russling of the brush he wrestles through to reach the pair of fishermen. Still breathing heavily, "Cora say you gotta come home." The tall thin man struggle to grt his words out as he struggled to get air in. "Whas wrong?" Martin quickly rose to his feet sensing the urgency and danger in the voice of his messenger. Now fully oxygenated the messenger replied, "He dead, he dead." "Who dead" Martin responded. After a pause the messenger says, "Kennedy, President Kennedy. Sumbody dun shot him ova in Texas, he be dead." "Dead? Dead? President Kennedy, Dead? After a long pause due to disbelief, "It cain't be, cain't be, he cain't be dead!" He pauses again, this time longer than before as if getting a revelation from some source outside his body.

"They did it agin, they did it agin, it's happnin agin, all ova again. Ever time look like sumbody might be able ta make thangs a little betta fa Niggas, dae gits shot, dae git killed. Same thang happen da Lincoln. Good man, musta been a good man da thank bout slaves, but he gits dead. Now Kennedy talk like he might wanna do sumpn ta help Niggas, maybe talk like Niggas be peole jus like White folks, now he dead. Why dae hate Niggas so much? Why dae hate us?" Another long pause and Martin continues, "Ain't right, jus ain't right. Try da live wit White folks, try d do what da Bible say, what Niggas git? Folk try da help Niggas, gits dead. Ain't right, jus ain't right. Fo hunert years tryin, waitin, waitin on Jesus ta save us." He pauses again. "Maybe it be time ta stop waitin. Maybe dem dat went ta war was right, better da be a dead Nigga den a live slave. Maybe Jesus tryin da tell us God help dem dat help dae self. Maybe time da stop akin like Niggas! Maybe time da stop akin like Slaves! Maybe time da start akin like, (he pauses again), like KINGS!