I have a dream. I have a dream that one day people won’t hate each other.
I have a dream that, someday, upon the West Texan soil, the Lakes of Minnesota, the hillsides of the Carolinas, the peaks of Colorado, the foothills of Alabama and the shores of Sandy Hook, Connecticut, that we will all share the blessed bread of friendship.
I have a dream that someday we Americans will actually grow to like each other again.
I have a dream that one day the tenderness of humankind will not only be demonstrated in the public forum, but within the walls of the home, within our schools, and on our phosphorus blue-lit phone screens.
I have a dream that people will someday listen to one another, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. I have a dream that all who oppose one another will—and I know this is possible—find a common ground.
I have a dream that our children will forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who root for the wrong football team.
I have a dream that someday all gasoline-pump card readers will accept my debit card without computer error.
I have a dream that my internet service provider will stop experiencing mass outages approximately every six minutes, especially during extra innings. Spectrum Internet, I’m looking at you.
And I have a dream that someday you will only need one password for all your internet accounts, instead of 2,731 passwords, each of which must contain at least 14 characters, one uppercase letter, six numerals, a special character, and the blood of a nanny goat sacrifice.
I have a dream that, one day, less American children will want iPhone 13s and more kids will want Crayola 64s. I have a dream that video games will be less important than building forts.
I have a dream that kids will once again embrace their heaven-sent right to attach baseball cards to their bicycle spokes.
I have a dream that someday God’s name will not be used as a weapon.
I have a dream that the 17 million children who face daily hunger in America—6 million more than before the pandemic—will eat supper tonight.
I have a dream that someday the 450,000 foster kids in the U.S. will know, without a doubt, that someone wants them.
I have a dream that one day, in the near future, the 1,752,735 people in America who are diagnosed with cancer each year will be cured by science.
I have a dream that the 800,000 who die from suicide each year will choose to live, and choose a life of meaning. I have a dream that each one out of five Americans who suffers from mental illness might find relief for their troubled minds, and rest for their browbeaten souls.
I have a dream that someday the 630,505 people who get divorced annually will learn to love without condition, listen more than they talk, and above all, put the toilet seat down.
I have a dream that one day art will be the means by which a person intelligently expresses oneself instead of The Comment Section.
I have a dream that someday men and women will not be judged by the color of their skin, or by their level of education, or by their bank account balance, or by the God they worship, or by the spouse they choose, or by their culture of origin, or by the party with which they are affiliated, or by the ideas they hold dear, but by the content of their character and the quality of their heart.
I have a dream that someday the 57 nations in this world who are not free; who are riddled with violence, totalitarian governments, poverty, murder and crime, will find their freedom. And, Lord, may they find it soon.
I have a dream that freedom from hatred and sorrow and ignorance and apathy will ring from all global villages and hamlets, from every state, every county and every city, to speed that day when all God’s children, Black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, addicts and angels, preachers and prostitutes, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old spiritual: “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God almighty, we are free at last.”
I wish it were more than just a dream.