Anna May's Fight For Freedom

“Daddy, why are you white and mommy’s black?” Amani asks.

  She’s always been curious. Curious about everything, she reminds me a lot of myself when I was her age. Louis gets a thoughtful expression on his face and a sparkle in his eyes, and I know he’s about to say something inspirational. That's what I've always loved about him, he always knows the right words because I sure don't know how to put that in a child's understanding.

      “Baby, love goes beyond the color of the skin. Love is that special way you feel about a person, how you would sacrifice anything and everything to be with them, love recognizes no barriers, and love is forever forgiving, love, is the strength that person gives you to carry on when times are tough." He takes a breath, "your mama may be black, and I may be white but we both have hearts. We both are exactly the same on the inside” Louis says holding Amani as he points to her heart, making her giggle. She looks up at him in adoration.

       “That was beautiful,” Alana comments before climbing in her daddy’s lap alongside her sister.

 Louis just kisses her forehead in reply. Seeing how happy my family is every day makes me happy I made the choices I did, to fight for my freedom, jobs, and my love. If only my mother could see me now, she would be so happy to know that our hard times weren't going to last forever. God rest her soul, she deserves it for all the equality she had to fight for. Sometimes when I think about her it's like she’s still here with me, encouraging me with her soft delicate smile, gorgeous ombre sisterlocs, and as weird as it sounds; her food. Man, that women could cook better than anyone I've ever met, sometimes it’s as if I can taste her soft, fluffy cornbread, or her spicy savory grits.

         “Daddy tell us how you met mama,” Alana asks her dad.

 Louis smiles brightly with a sparkle in his eye.

         “I’d rather let your mama tell you, she tells it best,” Louis replies lovingly.

         “Mama, tell us the story of when you got to march on Washington,” Amani asks in only the innocent way a child could.

          “Fine, how about I tell you both, they are closely related. Get comfortable, it's a long story,” I say as I pull up the other rocking chair. Alana and Amani smile from ear to ear cuddled against their father.

It a crisp autumn day in August, August 28th,1963 to be exact. Blacks and Whites were bustling about the streets, more busy than usual. I could even hear birds chirping, as if they knew. Everyone awaiting the historic events that were going to take place this very day. Every black American waiting for change, even me. Today was the day we march on Washington for our freedom and more jobs for African Americans. I want to march just like everyone else, but I know mama isn't going to let me.

She’s too afraid the Freedom March is going to be just like Bloody Sunday, the peaceful protest turned massacre back in 1972; that's how we lost daddy. He told mama he wanted change no matter the cost, he wanted his freedom just like every white man. I remember what he said to me before he left, little did I know that would be the last time I saw him.

He said, “baby girl you deserve a world without hate, you deserve to live without being judged based on the color of your skin, or having to go through the back entrance of a grocery store, and be treated like you’re worthless when you are worth everything”.

Ever since daddy was beaten to death, mama has been a little overprotective of my brother and I. I still remember the first time he tried to cook breakfast, I can still smell his burnt pancakes, mama had to throw away the whole skillet. It always makes me sad thinking about him, but I feel like if I ever stopped; I’d forget him. I gather my thoughts and prepare for the day. I skip down the stairs quietly, because I hear mumblings, or rather whispering. As soon as I get to the bottom of the stairs, the amazing aroma of sweet blueberry waffles and salty Italian pork sausages washes over me.

“So what are you guys whispering about?” I question as I eat.

My brother Lawson and mom look at each other for a minute before staring back at me.

“Nothing much Anna May, just the weather and such,” mom lies, I know she’s lying because she’s pouring way too much syrup on her waffles.

“Um mom, your waffles are drowning,” Lawson states solemnly.

Mom notices and hurries to clean up her mess. As soon as mom leaves the room Lawson leans towards me.

“We were talking about the March On Washington"

"I'm going,” Lawson announces with his mouth overstuffed with waffles.

I swallow my food before asking,

“Can I come, please?” I whine to my older brother.

“Sure, if I can convince mom you’re going to make it back in one piece.”

“You’re going, so she might actually let me,” I say.

Lawson nods at me as mom walks back into the kitchen.

“Mom, Anna May’s going with me to the March On Washington,” Lawson states as he grabs my plate and his and puts them in the sink. Mom turns around slowly and just stares at Lawson.

"Over my dead body," she says without missing a beat.

"Ma-" she cuts me off quickly

"You know what happened to your father! Absolutely not!"

"I will protect her with my life, you know that. Dad would have wanted this." Mom closes her eyes for a second and says one word.

“Ok,” she says.

With our goodbyes, we exit the house. The radiant light of the sunbeams down on us heavily, making me forget yet again its autumn. After zipping up my jacket I finally look up to notice the large crowd of people marching along the street, feet pounding against the pavement in sync. Blacks and Whites arm and arm. Someone taps Lawson on the shoulder and hands him a large sign that says, “We Demand Equal Rights Now!”. He nods thanks and holds it proudly. Then we march, but as I'm marching, someone calls out my name. I look around and notice the voice belongs to Louis Davis, a white boy whose parents own the colored/ white theater. I've seen him a few times, all he does is stare. I guess he’s shy. He runs up to me with a sign in his hand that says, “We won't let segregation WIN” and offers it out to me.

I awkwardly grab it,

“um thanks,” I whisper.

We both stand there staring at each other.

“No problem,” he replies.

What does a white boy have to march for? He has his rights, he has his freedom; he literally could get any job he set his pretty little eyes on. I gather enough courage to ask him the question.

“Why are you marching?,” I ask curiously. He stares at me for a second, making me regret I asked the question, but I've been known to be rather nosy.

“What, because I'm white I don't want to change? I see how awful African American people are treated, good people, and I feel bad. So I want that to change,” he responds firmly.

I smile brightly because I've never heard any white person say anything nice about my race before. He smiles back, and man is that one pretty smile. I look and notice he’s carrying a sign that reads, “Black, or white we ALL deserve F R E E D O M.” He offers out his hand for me to shake, and I surprise myself by shaking it. If mama could see me now she’d probably give me a tongue lashing for shaking hands with a boy, let alone a white boy.

“Hi, I'm Louis,” he says formally introducing himself.

“Hi, I'm Anna May” I announce proudly.

I notice we’re still holding hands, but neither of us lets go.

“Anna May!” Lawson yells from farther up.

 Louis and I look up and notice we’re getting left behind, we run to catch up. Lawson looks at me, probably about to scold me for almost getting lost but he looks down and notices Louis and I holding hands, and just smiles. He looks just like daddy, a freedom fighter. Every sign that is held by someone represents something great, a sign to my right reads, “Racism is a grown-up disease, WE must STOP using our children to spread it.” A white man to my left holds up a sign that says, “Racism is something you learn, not something you’re born with.” We march, from the Washington Monument to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, together as one. Not just blacks, and not just whites; but PEOPLE.