America came up to me today and She asked, “What’s wrong my child?” Where is the Hope that used to live in your eyes? Why has the light been dimmed? I can feel that your heart has submitted to the beat of a drum that is not your own, She told me. Look in the mirror; tell me, what do you see my child?

I sigh – if you only knew, America. If you are willing to open your mind and Listen, then perhaps I can make you Understand.

And so America sits and She waits. And so I begin.

We focus on ensuring that No Child is Left Behind in the education system, while children are being left behind everyday in the immigration system – left in deserts, left in detention centers, left behind in schools because their words don’t sound like your words; left at home while mama and papa toil in pesticide-ridden fields, babysit in mega-mansions, push janitor’s carts in skyscrapers, all in search of a better Life. They are left out of the parade of Opportunity, left out of Little Leagues and Ballet Classes, left out of the innocence of Childhood and the angst of Adolescence.

America is quiet. Then She says:

I want you to be true to yourself. But now I see that you can’t, because I never gave you a chance to find yourself, to create yourself, to live within yourself, or to even love yourself. The self that I have given you is no person at all – it is a stigma, a burden, a weight sitting so heavily on your chest that it is no wonder that so many of my immigrant children can’t Breathe.

Now I see that it is no wonder that so many of their parents are so busy making a living that they forget to make a life, that so many families are becoming separated by a gorge that runs deep and wide, a gorge that is filled with only ICE and Emptiness.

On one side of this gorge, parents and grandparents are stuck reliving memories, both good and bad, of the only Home they knew, while slaving in their new Home to ensure a greater destiny for their children, a home that forgot to put out the Welcome mat and leaves them to sleep on the cold, hard concrete. But they are grateful for the concrete because it is better than the Dirt of the past, the Blood and War and Strife and Hunger and Oppression of the past. Concrete it may be, but it is Concrete tinged with Opportunity, and for that these parents and grandparents are willing to face each day with hard resolve.

On the other side of the gorge are My Children, children who Dream of nothing more than the opportunity to make their own memories in the only Home they have known – me, America. But I have failed them, because this Home of theirs chooses to leave the door locked and the porch light turned off when these same children come knocking. So they, too, sleep on the cold Concrete and breathe in wisps of Opportunity in their sleep.

America lets out a deep, weary sigh. But by Golly, I think She gets It. And if She gets It, then She gets Me. And if She gets Me, then maybe, just maybe, She can finally Accept Me. I wonder if that is too Ambitious. Ambition tends to run high when you Dream a lot. And so I ask:

How can you not Believe in Me America? You who knows me better than anyone, as you are me and I am you. As Langston said, I, too, am America, remember?

I ask you to have a little faith in me America, that I have your best interests at heart. Though I feel shunned by you, my faith in you and your ideals has not waned to this day.

I am so Proud of you America; why are you so Ashamed of me?

America doesn’t answer.

I don’t expect these questions to be answered overnight. But to avoid such somber conversations such as this America, I leave you with this advice:

You start with one Child. Take that child by the hand and instill in them the Power of the limitless bounds of their Imagination. Lay the world at his feet. Challenge him to Dream and Equip him with the resources needed to realize those dreams.

Live in the moment. Cherish each and every one of his smiles. Feed his curiosity. Promise to Never Squash his Potential.

Give this child a chance and he will add Value to this world ten times over.

Tread softly America, for you are treading on his dreams.

I have no more left to say.

America smiled at me today, and from the shadows, I smile back.

If you could speak to America, alone, what would you say to her?