A Strange Dream

We were sitting in what seemed to be a church, filled with rows of white folding chairs. The place was packed. At the front was a white man with a microphone. We were all singing a Christmas song. Beside me sat a beautiful little girl with her medium brown hair in a ponytail. She had wire rimmed glasses and she looked to be about seven years old. She had Cerebral Palsy, and I knew her to be my daughter.

The man with the microphone was moving through the crowd, asking those who would like to sing to stand up. It was karaoke in the church. A few people stood up, my little girl included. She wanted to sing very badly. Everyone who wanted to had a chance to sing in front of the group, except for her. She was incredibly hurt. This man had hurt my seven year old daughter, because she had CP.

My dream shifted, and the church crowd cleared to go outside. It seemed that they were having some kind of event. Little girls dressed in leggings and t-shirts were filing in, getting ready to start their dance routine. The man with the microphone was setting up the music for them. They were dancing to Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon." I picked up my daughter and went to confront the jerk.

"My little girl wants to sing in front of an audience," I told him. He would not even look at me. He just stood there fidgeting with his musical karaoke gear. I felt furious and helpless. There were people standing around him. A man said, "Dude, can't you see she has CP? Just let her sing." But the man with the microphone just ignored us. So I picked up my daughter and took her out of there.

My dream shifted again, and I was outside. I walked through rows and rows of white folding chairs set up on a bright green lawn. There were many people, some sitting, some standing, some walking around. I could here voices echoing on microphones. Perhaps it was some kind of auction. It was a very warm summer day.

I walked into another building, this one dark and cool. Perhaps it was another part of the church. I know I was heading for the parking lot. I then ran into Catherine Wells, a woman I used to work with. I hadn't seen her in a long time. She complimented me on my daughter, and asked why she was crying. So I told her what had happened, until I started crying too, in anger and frustration. And then I woke up.