"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." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

"Why is your hair weird? Make it straight. Be normal." I specifically remember one of my first grade classmates telling me that. The little girl had gotten all of her friends around me and they were asking me why my hair was so curly and so big. They wanted to know why my skin was a different color. They wanted to know why I wasn't normal.

Normal.

I carried that word with me like it was a burden. I put different faces on that word and dressed it up in the multiple trends that were around me. No matter how many times I avoided the sun or straightened my hair or denied my black or Asian heritage, I never felt normal. When I got to high school, my reputation wasn't based on my grades or my kindness, it was based on my race. My name wasn't Becky, it was:

Chink

Squinty eyes

Mutt

That mixed girl

Half breed

Mixed Nigger

My identity wasn't based on who I was, but what I was.

So, when I saw the news Friday morning informing me about the Dallas shooting, I was upset. It struck a cord in my soul. It struck a cord with that little girl, fourteen years ago, who was judged by her skin. In a land where I was suppose to be free, I actually was a slave. I was a slave to my color. America is still a slave to color.

America is still in a bond to a people who think that all black people are thugs. America is still in a bond to a people who think that all whites are racist. America is still in a bond to a people who think all cops are corrupt. America is still in a bond to a people that think all Muslims are terrorists. America is still in a bond to a people that think all Hispanics are poorly education and illegal. America is still in a bond to a people who think all Native Americans are lazy. America is still in a bond to a people who think that some lives matter more than others.

We live in a world where black lives don't matter. We live in a world where white lives are misunderstood. We live in a world where Hispanics are looked down upon. We live in a world where Muslims can't walk into an airport without getting judged. We live in a world where we say we are equal and free, but we aren't.

So America, who do you want to be? No, who do you choose to be. When you wake up in the morning what do you stand for?

America, will you still choose to dream?