Member-only story
I Too Have the Same Dream: A Reflection
Growing up in the South meant inheriting a legacy — every road carried stories that shaped how we saw the world. Those warm, mosquito-filled summer nights hummed with cicadas, church potlucks piled high with fried chicken, casseroles, and sweet tea, and life seemed to drift along at a slower pace. Now, I’d call it more intentional. But beyond the charm and Bible Belt traditions, there were deeper truths — legacies of struggle and resilience that lingered in the shadows of our region’s history.
In school, I remember learning about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. — the preacher from Georgia whose powerful voice called for justice and whose dream filled our classrooms. Back then, his story felt so distant, almost like ancient history. That changed the day we watched Mississippi Burning as a family. I can still hear the stories my parents shared, bridging the gap between his life and mine, making it all feel so much closer. His life was cut short by a senseless, hateful act just nine years before I was born. That realization hit me hard — his legacy wasn’t just a chapter in a history book. For so many of us, his dream still feels unfinished, like a song waiting for its next verse to be written.
In my hometown, just an hour north of Atlanta, Dr. King’s impact was both obvious and hidden. Streets in several cities proudly bore his name, but not every…
