Beatrice, meet Dr. King

I just read the I Have a Dream speech to Beatrice before putting her to bed. I have a book form of it that takes about ten minutes to read. She sat quietly through it, though there wasn't a picture anywhere, then refused to let me take it away when it was done, instead bringing it to bed with her and putting it under her head like a pillow. I intend to read this to her every year on this day. I defy anyone to read it aloud and not at least choke up. On the back cover there's a photograph of Dr. King dwarfed by a giant waving American flag. I showed her his photo and told her a few seconds worth of info. I told her his story has a sad ending that I'll tell her when she's older. How will I explain that? Today I feel keenly aware of all the sad lessons that Beatrice will someday learn. In due time she will learn about hatred, ignorance, violence, and all the 'isms. For now though I am grateful for this precious time and this age of wonder that is twenty months, a time when I am and I have all she needs, as well as all the answers. A time when a peek-a-boo brings utter bliss to her face, a bowl of noodles brings thirty minutes of joy, a new book offers endless happiness, a hug can comfort anything, and falling asleep between Mama and Daddy is pure ecstasy. These truly are the best of times.