Grandfather was a philosopher,custom airblown christmas and like a lot of philosophers, I guess, he was a mild-mannered man who was always ready to admit that there are two sides to every question. So when people got to arguing with him, or around him, about things that they got heated up and illogical about, like politics and religion,1 he would tell this story that Doc Eaton told him one day up on the Hill.
It happened a long time ago, when the town wasn't all steel and concrete and automobiles; when you could still hear the whir of a lawn mower without taking a streetcar out to the suburbs, and still see a horse lazily switching at the flies on his flanks under almost any sycamore tree.2 The Forest City had a lot of trees in those days.
And it had a lot of people that didn't always see eye to eye,3 like a lot of other cities. And it had a rich man, like almost every other town. And this rich man was a pillar in the Baptist Church;4 and people didn't see eye to eye about him, either.
There were those—and Grandfather's eyes twinkled when he said it—that claimed the rich man was an old hypocrite5, that he was ruthless in his business dealings, that he was so tightfisted he wouldn't spend a nickel to see an earthquake,6 that when he went to church on Sunday morning he was almost as important as God to a lot of people.
Then there was the other school of thought7. It asserted that just because a man had made money under conditions as they existed was no reason to call him a lot of hard names.8 In fact, they asserted stoutly, the people that called him names were merely envious of his success9. They maintained he went to church not because he was a sanctimonious old fraud10 but because he was at heart, and for all his money, a simple, deeply religious man.
It was while these two groups were hot at it that the rich man gave a party. Well, it wasn't exactly a party, Grandfather would explain. It was more like a shower for the pastor of the church.11 One group of parishioners saw in their invitation nothing but a kindly, neighborly gesture. The other just said it showed how miserly the old buzzard was12—getting other people to do what he could have done a thousand times over without feeling it a mite.13
Grandfather said even then he had the sneaking feeling that the rich man wasn't so insulated and isolated by his money14 that he didn't know what people were saying about him, and that was the real reason he gave the party.
But both sides of the question went to the party. A lot of them were pretty curious about the inside of a rich man's home.
They brought offerings for the pastor, as they were requested. Some people brought apples, and others brought sides of bacon and onions and other homey old-fashioned things like that15. But nobody was really much interested in what the other guests brought. They were all waiting for one thing. What would the rich man bring out? Even Doc Eaton, the preacher, according to Grandfather, couldn't help wondering about what was coming. You could feel the undercurrent of suspense.
And then the rich man16 brought out his offering.
It was a bushel of potatoes.17 They were nice potatoes, extra large and scrubbed white and clean. But still and all, they were only a bushel of potatoes that anybody could buy in the Old Market for a lot less than a dollar.
Well, sir, Grandfather chuckled, you could practically see what people were thinking. They were the people who were saying to themselves and to everybody else, "Well, what did I tell you??And then there were those who made it perfectly plain that they thought it was mighty tactful of their host not to make an ostentatious parade of his money18 before a lot of neighbors and friends.
But the host went around as if he didn't notice anything, though Grandfather always insisted that he detected a little twinkle in the rich man's eyes as he shook hands with all his fellow parishioners and wished them good night.
The preacher toted19 his gifts into his house, and just because they had been the center of interest, so to speak, he picked one of the big white potatoes out of the basket. Then he noticed that one end of the potato had been opened. He investigated, and discovered that a silver dollar had been neatly inserted through the opening. He examined every potato in that bushel basket, and there was a silver dollar in every single one of them.
At this point Grandfather usually sat back and plucked benignly at his white beard20 and smiled. Then he'd turn philosopher and say:
"It takes an almighty pile of gall21 for a man to sit up and say what is going on in another man's mind, don't22 it? I mean one way or another. When Doc Eaton told me that story he didn't bother to point out any moral. By the way, he don't do any preaching any more. He's been a congressman from New Jersey for years and years. But I guess the story has a moral, all right. Always sort of tickled23 me, like it must have tickled Doc's rich parishioner. "
2009年12月2日星期三
The Twilight Zone
This applicant shows that her interest in public interest law flows naturally from her volunteer activities and life experiences. When you finish this essay, do you have a sense of unity and completion? She tied her conclusion both to the highlights of the body and her lead.
The last thing I remember is falling asleep during a late night rerun of the Twilight Zone. So when it happened, it was especially eerie,commercial Inflatable Arch like I had stepped into a lost episode, but Rod Serling was nowhere in sight; for moment, neither was anybody else. At 4:31 AM a merciless shove pushed me off my bed. I crawled on the floor, trying to escape the cruel, uncontrollable shaking, but it followed me. It followed me down the stairs and underneath the dining room table where my family joined me. Little did I realize that before the morning sun rose again, I would see everything differently.
My world changed. The 6.7 earthquake which crippled the Northridge area on January 17, 1994 rattled and ripped apart the fibers of security in our neighborhood. Our home was ruined; smashed glass, crumbled walls, and the lack of electricity, gas, and water made it uninhabitable. Without basic utilities, we slept and "lived" in our car for nine days while guarding our home from looters.
The damage was everywhere. A personal landmark, the Granada Hills Kaiser Permanente Medical Center, collapsed. The site where I had volunteered as a teen advisor — lobbying for and improving the quality of the teen health clinic while working one- on-one with underprivileged, problem teenagers — no longer existed. Only an empty lot and the memory of a valuable and productive medical and psychological outreach program for troubled youth remained.
As much as Northridge and its surrounding regions changed externally, so did the lives of the victims internally. Following this traumatic experience, I developed a keen awareness of the fragility of life and a newly restored appreciating for the simplest of my old comforts. As vulnerable and edgy as I was with every aftershock that rolled through the area, I consoled myself with reminders of how we were spared.
With a profound sense of gratitude for our relative good fortune, within weeks of the initial quake I volunteered at the American Red Cross Earthquake Relief Center.
As my family and I rebuilt our home and our lives, I translated for Iranian earthquake victims and performed various clerical tasks. Yet, my most valuable contribution to the earthquake relief team stemmed from the moral support I was "qualified" to provide. With my earthquake experience, I was able to comfort the teary-eyed victims who approached us for help. I gave them the hope and understanding they sought from a primarily out-of-state staff. I benefited too: My work for the Red Cross aroused my curiosity in public interest law.
I had the opportunity to explore this new interest in the summer when I interned in Washington D.C. for Congressman Howard P. ("Buck") Smith of California. That summer I was responsible for attending meetings and informing the Congressman's staff of the issues discussed. One of the issues I followed dealt with a proposed guideline to prohibit religious expression in the workplace due to its allegedly offensive nature. Defining such acts as wearing a Star of David or praying silently before a meal as "religious harassment," the bill attempted to equate these acts with verbal or sexual harassment.
Still the most fulfilling experience of my internship was serving the Mr. Smith's constituents when they wrote, called, or visited our Washington office. Their concerns covered many issues, including city maintenance and the enforcement of FCC regulations on local radio stations; yet, most cries for help grew out of the January 17 disaster.
My experience in the earthquake proved to be useful in my internship. After all, I was working with Mr. Earthquake himself. As the only intern from Northridge, I was assigned to the Earthquake Project. I acted as a liaison between constituents and the Small Business Administration, Federal Emergency Management Agency, and other manufacturer Inflatable Advertising governmental agencies that handled quake reconstruction monies. Because of my experience, I was again able to empathize with victims in a way that neither the staff nor the other interns could. As a result of my work, I gained a more profound grasp of the legal process and how it was able to help Northridge residents with their post earthquake problems.
The last thing I remember is falling asleep during a late night rerun of the Twilight Zone. So when it happened, it was especially eerie,commercial Inflatable Arch like I had stepped into a lost episode, but Rod Serling was nowhere in sight; for moment, neither was anybody else. At 4:31 AM a merciless shove pushed me off my bed. I crawled on the floor, trying to escape the cruel, uncontrollable shaking, but it followed me. It followed me down the stairs and underneath the dining room table where my family joined me. Little did I realize that before the morning sun rose again, I would see everything differently.
My world changed. The 6.7 earthquake which crippled the Northridge area on January 17, 1994 rattled and ripped apart the fibers of security in our neighborhood. Our home was ruined; smashed glass, crumbled walls, and the lack of electricity, gas, and water made it uninhabitable. Without basic utilities, we slept and "lived" in our car for nine days while guarding our home from looters.
The damage was everywhere. A personal landmark, the Granada Hills Kaiser Permanente Medical Center, collapsed. The site where I had volunteered as a teen advisor — lobbying for and improving the quality of the teen health clinic while working one- on-one with underprivileged, problem teenagers — no longer existed. Only an empty lot and the memory of a valuable and productive medical and psychological outreach program for troubled youth remained.
As much as Northridge and its surrounding regions changed externally, so did the lives of the victims internally. Following this traumatic experience, I developed a keen awareness of the fragility of life and a newly restored appreciating for the simplest of my old comforts. As vulnerable and edgy as I was with every aftershock that rolled through the area, I consoled myself with reminders of how we were spared.
With a profound sense of gratitude for our relative good fortune, within weeks of the initial quake I volunteered at the American Red Cross Earthquake Relief Center.
As my family and I rebuilt our home and our lives, I translated for Iranian earthquake victims and performed various clerical tasks. Yet, my most valuable contribution to the earthquake relief team stemmed from the moral support I was "qualified" to provide. With my earthquake experience, I was able to comfort the teary-eyed victims who approached us for help. I gave them the hope and understanding they sought from a primarily out-of-state staff. I benefited too: My work for the Red Cross aroused my curiosity in public interest law.
I had the opportunity to explore this new interest in the summer when I interned in Washington D.C. for Congressman Howard P. ("Buck") Smith of California. That summer I was responsible for attending meetings and informing the Congressman's staff of the issues discussed. One of the issues I followed dealt with a proposed guideline to prohibit religious expression in the workplace due to its allegedly offensive nature. Defining such acts as wearing a Star of David or praying silently before a meal as "religious harassment," the bill attempted to equate these acts with verbal or sexual harassment.
Still the most fulfilling experience of my internship was serving the Mr. Smith's constituents when they wrote, called, or visited our Washington office. Their concerns covered many issues, including city maintenance and the enforcement of FCC regulations on local radio stations; yet, most cries for help grew out of the January 17 disaster.
My experience in the earthquake proved to be useful in my internship. After all, I was working with Mr. Earthquake himself. As the only intern from Northridge, I was assigned to the Earthquake Project. I acted as a liaison between constituents and the Small Business Administration, Federal Emergency Management Agency, and other manufacturer Inflatable Advertising governmental agencies that handled quake reconstruction monies. Because of my experience, I was again able to empathize with victims in a way that neither the staff nor the other interns could. As a result of my work, I gained a more profound grasp of the legal process and how it was able to help Northridge residents with their post earthquake problems.
Never Too Old to Live Your Dream
The first day of school our professor introduced himself to our chemistry class and challenged us to get to know someone commercial Inflatable Castle we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.1
She said, "Hi, handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?"
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze.2
"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?"3 I asked.
She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel."
"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
"I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one !" she told me.
After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.4 We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized5 listening to this "time machine"6 as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the school year, Rose became a campus icon7 and easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students.8 She was living it up.9
At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet and I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium.10 As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three-by-five cards11 on the floor. Frustrated and a bit embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery.12 I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me!13 I'll never get my speech back in order to let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began:
"We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy and achieving success.
"You have to laugh and find humor each and every day.
"You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and they don't even know it!
"There is a giant difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability.14 The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change.
"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."
She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.15
At year's end, Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.
She said, "Hi, handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?"
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze.2
"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?"3 I asked.
She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel."
"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
"I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one !" she told me.
After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.4 We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized5 listening to this "time machine"6 as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the school year, Rose became a campus icon7 and easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students.8 She was living it up.9
At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet and I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium.10 As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three-by-five cards11 on the floor. Frustrated and a bit embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery.12 I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me!13 I'll never get my speech back in order to let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began:
"We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy and achieving success.
"You have to laugh and find humor each and every day.
"You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and they don't even know it!
"There is a giant difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability.14 The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change.
"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."
She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.15
At year's end, Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.
2009年12月1日星期二
I Have a Dream
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years' ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today,signeed the Emancipation Proclamation.giant Inflatable Santa This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hOpe to millions of Negro slaves, who,had been seared in the fIames of withering in justice. It canie as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later,the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chainL of discrimination. One hundred years later,the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense, we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of lndependence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that aIl men--yes,black men as weIl as white men--would
be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life,liberty,and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note 'insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. lnstead of honoring this sacred obligation,America has given the Negro people a bad check: a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we've come to cash this check--a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of new. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of Democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlight of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. New is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It wouId be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equaIity. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and wilI now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of 'revolt wiIl continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our
thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physicaI force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a
distrust of all white people,for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today,have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And, they bave come to reaIize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who ask the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?"We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies,heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaIler ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfed as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No,no,we are not satisfied,and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty
stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you batteted by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi,go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina,go back to Georgia,go back to Louisiana,go back to the slums and ghettos of our Northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today,my friends,so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:"We hold these truths to be self-evident;that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood;I have a dream-
That one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice; I have a dream-
That my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character; I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification,one day right there in Alabama littIe black boys and black girIs will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers;I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, and rough places will be made plane and crooked places will be made straight,and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be abIe to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together,to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together,to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day....cheap Christmas Inflatables This will be the day when all of God's children wilI be able to sing with new meaning. "My country 'tis of thee,sweet land of liberty, of thee l sing. Land wbere my fathers died,land of the pilgrim's pride,from every mountainside, let freedom ring, "and if America is to be a great nation--tbis must become true.
So let freedom ring--from the prodigious hill-tops of New Hampshire, let freedom ring; from the mighty mountains of New York,let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous sIopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring !
Five score years' ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today,signeed the Emancipation Proclamation.giant Inflatable Santa This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hOpe to millions of Negro slaves, who,had been seared in the fIames of withering in justice. It canie as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later,the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chainL of discrimination. One hundred years later,the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense, we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of lndependence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that aIl men--yes,black men as weIl as white men--would
be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life,liberty,and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note 'insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. lnstead of honoring this sacred obligation,America has given the Negro people a bad check: a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we've come to cash this check--a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of new. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of Democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlight of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. New is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It wouId be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equaIity. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and wilI now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of 'revolt wiIl continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our
thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physicaI force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a
distrust of all white people,for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today,have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And, they bave come to reaIize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who ask the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?"We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies,heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaIler ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfed as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No,no,we are not satisfied,and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty
stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you batteted by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi,go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina,go back to Georgia,go back to Louisiana,go back to the slums and ghettos of our Northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today,my friends,so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:"We hold these truths to be self-evident;that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood;I have a dream-
That one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice; I have a dream-
That my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character; I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification,one day right there in Alabama littIe black boys and black girIs will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers;I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, and rough places will be made plane and crooked places will be made straight,and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be abIe to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together,to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together,to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day....cheap Christmas Inflatables This will be the day when all of God's children wilI be able to sing with new meaning. "My country 'tis of thee,sweet land of liberty, of thee l sing. Land wbere my fathers died,land of the pilgrim's pride,from every mountainside, let freedom ring, "and if America is to be a great nation--tbis must become true.
So let freedom ring--from the prodigious hill-tops of New Hampshire, let freedom ring; from the mighty mountains of New York,let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous sIopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring !
A Friend
He wasn't a guy of big words, and he seemed to live entirely in his own world. I remember that during the days he worked with us none of us exactly knew who he was, where he came from or what he was looking for, and afterwards he disappeared.giant Inflatable Santa Claus Nobody knew where he had gone, what he was doing or if he had friends or a family to stay with. I guess, we didn't even know his name----and even if we did, I've forgotten it anyway.
Those days were more than hard for all of us. There seemed to be no escape from the greyness of our everyday life which was the only colour that surrounded us. The huge concrete blocks we lived in was grey, the grey of the factory dust, even the colour of our clothes, that once might have been white was grey. It must have been a bright and shining white... and I can't exactly recall how much time I spent trying to imagine the kind of white it might have been. Since white was the colour of the kind of paradise I so much longed to live in someday, grey left behind nothing more than a bitter taste of emptiness and depression. I can remember how I noticed once, that any other colour must be a symbol for something, a feeling or whatever. Only grey seemed to stand for absolutely nothing. This was the world I lived in, and so did he.
Having our job in the factory was still luxury though, considering the fact that most of us had families to feed. And not long after he started to work there, I would always find him working at the machine next to mine. We'd work for hours next to each other, staying quiet, with our thoughts drifting away to a different place but still aware of our hands doing the same movements over and over again. We were doing that until the bell would ring to end the work for the day. I used to work in a mechanical way, following the same rhythm over and over again, and so did he. But every time I was about to give up, he would lift his head and give me a little smile, as if he could guess my thoughts. I think it was actually his eyes that impressed me most. They were so dark and straight, and though they seem to be hiding anything, I couldn't get rid of the impression that somehow he must be hiding something.
Since I first saw him, he had always been around, and every time he gave me one of those smiles, he would spread a bit of warmth into my heart, a bit of friendliness. I guess, at the end of the day it must have been him who gave me the strength to go on somehow, just by being there.
Well, to make a long story short, he died only a year after he started working with us. It was a car accident and he didn't have to suffer very long. I must have been his only friend in town, at least that was what I thought when I went to his funeral. The only person I met there was an old lady, maybe his mother. She told me that he had lost his family just the year before and after that he didn't speak any more. He hadn't said a single word. First I didn't believe her. I just thought that he was a fairly quiet person; besides there was nothing much to say anyway. But suddenly I realized that I couldn't recall ever having heard his voice at all. Only then did I realize it!.
He gave me so much and I knew so little about him. He had been my friend and now I had lost him without having had the chance to give anything back. He had been so strong that he was able to give whatever had happened.
Those days were more than hard for all of us. There seemed to be no escape from the greyness of our everyday life which was the only colour that surrounded us. The huge concrete blocks we lived in was grey, the grey of the factory dust, even the colour of our clothes, that once might have been white was grey. It must have been a bright and shining white... and I can't exactly recall how much time I spent trying to imagine the kind of white it might have been. Since white was the colour of the kind of paradise I so much longed to live in someday, grey left behind nothing more than a bitter taste of emptiness and depression. I can remember how I noticed once, that any other colour must be a symbol for something, a feeling or whatever. Only grey seemed to stand for absolutely nothing. This was the world I lived in, and so did he.
Having our job in the factory was still luxury though, considering the fact that most of us had families to feed. And not long after he started to work there, I would always find him working at the machine next to mine. We'd work for hours next to each other, staying quiet, with our thoughts drifting away to a different place but still aware of our hands doing the same movements over and over again. We were doing that until the bell would ring to end the work for the day. I used to work in a mechanical way, following the same rhythm over and over again, and so did he. But every time I was about to give up, he would lift his head and give me a little smile, as if he could guess my thoughts. I think it was actually his eyes that impressed me most. They were so dark and straight, and though they seem to be hiding anything, I couldn't get rid of the impression that somehow he must be hiding something.
Since I first saw him, he had always been around, and every time he gave me one of those smiles, he would spread a bit of warmth into my heart, a bit of friendliness. I guess, at the end of the day it must have been him who gave me the strength to go on somehow, just by being there.
Well, to make a long story short, he died only a year after he started working with us. It was a car accident and he didn't have to suffer very long. I must have been his only friend in town, at least that was what I thought when I went to his funeral. The only person I met there was an old lady, maybe his mother. She told me that he had lost his family just the year before and after that he didn't speak any more. He hadn't said a single word. First I didn't believe her. I just thought that he was a fairly quiet person; besides there was nothing much to say anyway. But suddenly I realized that I couldn't recall ever having heard his voice at all. Only then did I realize it!.
He gave me so much and I knew so little about him. He had been my friend and now I had lost him without having had the chance to give anything back. He had been so strong that he was able to give whatever had happened.
Father’s Day
When I was five, my biological father committed suicide. It left me feeling as though I'd done something wrong; that if I had been better somehow,cheap Inflatable Snowman maybe he'd have stayed around. My mother remarried shortly thereafter, and this man was my dad until I was nineteen. I called him Dad and used his name all through school. But, when he and my mother divorced, he just walked away. Once again, I wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn't keep a father.
Mother remarried again, and Bob was a wonderful, kind man. I was twenty now and no longer living at home, but I felt a great love and attachment for him. A few years later my mother was diagnosed with cancer and was not given long to live. Shortly before she died, Bob came over to my house alone one day. We talked about a lot of things, and then he told me that he wanted me to know that he'd always be there for me, even after Mother was gone. Then he asked if he could adopt me.
I could hardly believe my ears. Tears streamed down my face. He wanted me - me! This man had no obligation to me, but he was reaching out from his heart, and I accepted. During the adoption proceedings, the judge commented on all the undesirable duties of his profession and then with a tear in his eye, thanked us for brightening his day as he pronounced us father and daughter. I was twenty-five, but I was his little girl.
Three short years later, Bob, too, was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within the year. At first I was hurt and angry at God for taking this father away too. But eventually the love and acceptance that I felt from Dad came through again, and I became, once more, grateful for the years we had.
Mother remarried again, and Bob was a wonderful, kind man. I was twenty now and no longer living at home, but I felt a great love and attachment for him. A few years later my mother was diagnosed with cancer and was not given long to live. Shortly before she died, Bob came over to my house alone one day. We talked about a lot of things, and then he told me that he wanted me to know that he'd always be there for me, even after Mother was gone. Then he asked if he could adopt me.
I could hardly believe my ears. Tears streamed down my face. He wanted me - me! This man had no obligation to me, but he was reaching out from his heart, and I accepted. During the adoption proceedings, the judge commented on all the undesirable duties of his profession and then with a tear in his eye, thanked us for brightening his day as he pronounced us father and daughter. I was twenty-five, but I was his little girl.
Three short years later, Bob, too, was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within the year. At first I was hurt and angry at God for taking this father away too. But eventually the love and acceptance that I felt from Dad came through again, and I became, once more, grateful for the years we had.
China Through My Eyes
As best I can recall,cheap Inflatable Castle my first visit to Beijing, in the hot summer of 1990, was
an almost overwhelming experience. I visited a wide range of places over a
three week stay, including some truly amazing historical sites like the Great
Wall, the Old Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, etc., as
well as a Chinese University, markets, an old courtyard house, restaurants,
parks, book stores, and hutongs. Amongst it all, what struck me most was the
friendliness people showed me, and their genuine desire to converse, in English
or in Chinese, about a range of topics – from political issues, to AIDS, to
what Australia was like, and so on.
There were a host of almost topsy-turvy differences between my own country and
China. Aside from obvious differences, such as the food, and the weather, one
could not help but be overwhelmed by the vast difference in population not just
in terms of people, but there were so many bikes and many less cars (very few
of which I could recognize)! I was also amazed to see donkey carts in the
capital of such a major up and coming nation – something I had certainly not
envisioned! While life at that time seemed tough for many people, there was a
tremendous sense that something extraordinary was taking place and that China
had a great future ahead of it.
It was during this exciting three-week period of exploring a very foreign
culture that I met, completely by chance at a party at my younger brother’s
University, a young Chinese woman student who would change my life. We spent
many hours together exchanging ideas and information on where we lived, on what
films and books we had read, and so on, until finally it was time for me to
return to finish my University degree. While completing my degree in
Australia, I continued to keep in touch with my female friend in Beijing, and
decided to return to Beijing upon graduation to study Chinese for six months as
a self-funded student.
After arriving in Beijing again, with a University degree under my belt, I
began my first experience of living overseas without my family. It was both
lonely, as well as exhilarating to live in a somewhat segregated dormitory – a
world of foreign students from a wide range of countries – floating amongst a
sea of Chinese students.
Since all our classes were held in the same building as our dormitory rooms, we
had relatively few opportunities to meet Chinese students. The main
opportunities were to meet at English corners, the Chinese students cafeteria
(most foreign students ate at their own better quality, more expensive, private
and segregated cafeteria), at restaurants, or on the sports field. But through
patience and a strong desire to mix despite our differences, we overcame the
language barriers, the differences in income, the cultural barriers, and the
barriers set by the University, and mix we did! Today, 10 years later, some of
my best Chinese friends are still the friends I met at University in 1991.
An enormous amount has taken place during the 11 years since I first visited
China. During that time I have lived in China for more than 8 years, most of it
in Beijing, but with a year spent living in both Nanjing and Guangzhou. My own
views on China have no doubt also altered over that time as China has
experienced such rapid growth and change, and as I have, over time, and through
travel to most parts of China, gained a better understanding of the size and
diversity of your country.
No longer do I find China such a bewildering place as I have come to
understand,adult Inflatable Slide if not always to agree, with Chinese views on such important topics
as the new world order, the death penalty, family planning, human rights and
maintaining the stability essential for economic growth. Having now spent more
than half of my adult life in China and being married to the same Chinese girl
I first met 11 years ago, I am the proud father of twin daughters who are half
Chinese and half Australian. I sometimes feel much the same way myself!
an almost overwhelming experience. I visited a wide range of places over a
three week stay, including some truly amazing historical sites like the Great
Wall, the Old Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, etc., as
well as a Chinese University, markets, an old courtyard house, restaurants,
parks, book stores, and hutongs. Amongst it all, what struck me most was the
friendliness people showed me, and their genuine desire to converse, in English
or in Chinese, about a range of topics – from political issues, to AIDS, to
what Australia was like, and so on.
There were a host of almost topsy-turvy differences between my own country and
China. Aside from obvious differences, such as the food, and the weather, one
could not help but be overwhelmed by the vast difference in population not just
in terms of people, but there were so many bikes and many less cars (very few
of which I could recognize)! I was also amazed to see donkey carts in the
capital of such a major up and coming nation – something I had certainly not
envisioned! While life at that time seemed tough for many people, there was a
tremendous sense that something extraordinary was taking place and that China
had a great future ahead of it.
It was during this exciting three-week period of exploring a very foreign
culture that I met, completely by chance at a party at my younger brother’s
University, a young Chinese woman student who would change my life. We spent
many hours together exchanging ideas and information on where we lived, on what
films and books we had read, and so on, until finally it was time for me to
return to finish my University degree. While completing my degree in
Australia, I continued to keep in touch with my female friend in Beijing, and
decided to return to Beijing upon graduation to study Chinese for six months as
a self-funded student.
After arriving in Beijing again, with a University degree under my belt, I
began my first experience of living overseas without my family. It was both
lonely, as well as exhilarating to live in a somewhat segregated dormitory – a
world of foreign students from a wide range of countries – floating amongst a
sea of Chinese students.
Since all our classes were held in the same building as our dormitory rooms, we
had relatively few opportunities to meet Chinese students. The main
opportunities were to meet at English corners, the Chinese students cafeteria
(most foreign students ate at their own better quality, more expensive, private
and segregated cafeteria), at restaurants, or on the sports field. But through
patience and a strong desire to mix despite our differences, we overcame the
language barriers, the differences in income, the cultural barriers, and the
barriers set by the University, and mix we did! Today, 10 years later, some of
my best Chinese friends are still the friends I met at University in 1991.
An enormous amount has taken place during the 11 years since I first visited
China. During that time I have lived in China for more than 8 years, most of it
in Beijing, but with a year spent living in both Nanjing and Guangzhou. My own
views on China have no doubt also altered over that time as China has
experienced such rapid growth and change, and as I have, over time, and through
travel to most parts of China, gained a better understanding of the size and
diversity of your country.
No longer do I find China such a bewildering place as I have come to
understand,adult Inflatable Slide if not always to agree, with Chinese views on such important topics
as the new world order, the death penalty, family planning, human rights and
maintaining the stability essential for economic growth. Having now spent more
than half of my adult life in China and being married to the same Chinese girl
I first met 11 years ago, I am the proud father of twin daughters who are half
Chinese and half Australian. I sometimes feel much the same way myself!
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