As I woke up, I put my bare feet on the torn-up wooden floor and looked in the crooked mirror hanging on my scratched closet door. I saw a scruffy looking, African-American boy with bags under his eyes. I pulled up my ripped, dirty jeans, and pulled on my collared shirt. It was August in Charleston and there wasn’t much for me to do. Everywhere I went I heard people yell, “You filthy dark skin, go back to Africa!” It wasn’t easy being African-American in Charleston. Since it was in the south racism was at its highest. I don’t remember a day where I haven’t faced racism. As I walked down the short hallway I slipped on my socks and sat down in the kitchen. 

“Honey, I’m going to make you a nice breakfast and then I want you exploring, I don’t want you staying inside all summer,” said ma. She put on her pink striped dirty apron and went right to work. She was a home cook at a wealthy white man's home. Every day she would leave at eight and come home at about seven-thirty. She works so hard to help our family and my cousin's family. Now that my brother was in the military though, there would be less on her plate to do. As I finished breakfast, I asked mom for a ride to my cousins house, Jerry. As I put my hand on the car door I could feel the paint chipping off, and the finish turning into rust. 

“Mack, I don’t want you getting into trouble.” Mom said in a nervous tone. 

“I know that those boys always threaten you and Jerry, but I want you to try as hard as you can to stay out of it.” She said.

“But Ma, it's not easy, everyone despises us,” I said.

“Mack, you need to just ignore it, it's not going to go away anytime soon.”

As mom pulled up to Jerry’s house I hopped out and walked up to the door. As I knocked on the cracked glass screen I heard a voice yell from the inside.  

“I’m coming Mack, wait right there!” he hollered. As he opened the door, he was still putting on his old torn sneakers. 

“I was thinking that maybe we can go down the school field and play some football,” exclaimed Jerry.

“Yeah sure, I guess that sounds good,” I replied.

As we arrived at the school we started to toss around the football. Then we saw three light-skinned boys, one with brown hair, and the other two had blonde hair. These boys have been bothering us the whole summer and were ready to give us a hard time. 

“Hey you, I thought I told you guys never come here and play football again.” The boy with the brown hair said.  

“C’mon Jerry lets just go,” I said in worry. 

“Hey, I am talking to you, little man.” His two friends walked up in front of Jerry with smirks on their faces. Oh no, I thought to myself. Jerry and I started to walk faster but we could hear the gravel behind us crumbling. We started running as fast as we could. We ran through the stream and across to the other side. As I look back I could still see them chasing after us. As Jerry and I paced, we ran through the open fields, but Jerry tripped in a small ditch. As I turned back I saw one of the boys kick Jerry in the back. I ran back and shoved the boy and tried pulling up Jerry, but another boy hit me in the back of the head. As I tried getting up I was hit by what felt like a thousand kicks and punches. 

“Next time I see you on our field, it's going to be worse.” One of the boys with blonde hair said. 

 As we slowly walked home, I could see tears running down Jerry’s face. I wasn’t shocked that this had happened. Everyone hated us and wanted us dead. Although we had faced this before Jerry has not dealt with it that well. After all, he was only eleven years old, while I was fourteen. I had dealt with this a lot more than him, and so I got used to it. It wasn't only Jerry and I that were experiencing this though. Millions of African Americans faced racism. But people were trying to stop it too. There had been protests and boycotts, but many people participating had been put in jail. As we got back to my house we sat down on the torn up couch. As we sat there we heard footsteps by the door. As someone opened the door I heard someone say, 

“Hey Mack, I got off my shift early today someone is tak-.”

Mom cut off mid-sentence and just stared at me and Jerry on the couch. 

“Oh my lord, what in God's name happened to the both of you?” She said. 

“We got into a fight,” Jerry replied with a frown on his face. 

“Let me patch you boys up, I can’t believe this, this is the worst it's ever been.” Mom said.

As she rubbed alcohol on my scratched leg I reached for the radio next to the couch. As I turned it on I heard a voice that sounded familiar.   

“Five score years ago, a great American, whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation.” I recognized the man's voice. It was Martin Luther King. He continued to speak on the radio with his delicate but demanding voice. 

“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 the content of their character.” As I looked around the room I saw ma and Jerry listening closely. I could see tears in ma’s eyes as she stopped bandaging my scabs. I knew what they were thinking. I knew that they wanted it to end but we had to be patient.