Waiting For My Fathers Miracle

My lungs inhaled sharply as we awaited the last few moments before Martin Luther King Jr. emerged from the crowd. The moments seemed like hours as the enormous mass of people shifted and swayed anxiously, we would all be in great trouble if a riot broke out. I stood up tall as my mother and I huddled close to stay together, if a riot broke out staying together may be our only chance of survival. I looked around for suspicious figures or shady characters, no one would ruin this for my father, no one. Suddenly the crowd seemed to hold it's breath as daddy walked out on the platform, then an enormous roar erupted from the throats of the people. Applause echoed around this rather small area, loud enough to make even the biggest thunders storm hang it's great ugly head in shame. My Father held up his hands and the crowd fell silent. With hard set eyes he looked down at us, scanning the deep horizon of people all returning his gaze. My mother always said I had Daddy's eyes, the same look of determination resting within the deep pools of brown. I looked up at my mother and she looked at me. I could tell she was nervous, but she smiled at me reassuringly. Her warm weathered face relaxed as I returned her smile, but secretly I was Frightened too. Then my Father stepped up to the microphone and began the speech I had only ever heard him say while in his office, practicing. " I have a dream...." He said, as his deep serious voice commanded the silence of the crowd. I beamed at my father, and as he continued his eyes locked with mine. A wave of pride swept over me, and I willed him not to panic. My mother and I weren't supposed to be here, but he let his gaze wander throughout the rest of the crowd. Perhaps he didn't see me, I thought to myself. I breathed a silent breath of relief, and sent a silent prayer up to my grandfather. Keep him safe. I thought, and as I look back up at my father, I see a ray of sunlight shine across his bold face. Thank-you. I thought. Thank-you.