By Emily Dick
The American Dream.
A white picket fence.
Financial stability.
Summer trips abroad.
Maybe a boat.
I don’t dream of that.
I dream for my daughter,
For my son.
I don’t dream of the American Dream for me.
Do better,
Be better,
Seek better,
I tell my kids.
I dream for them to have dreams.
I dream of giving them that.
I have what I need.
I did better than my parents,
My siblings,
My childhood friends.
My dream is to be what my parents couldn’t,
And to give that same opportunity to mine.
American Dream?
A funny concept.
I don’t dream of material possessions
Or owning the nicest car and a boat we never use.
After all
A dream is just a dream
And I want change.
Goals.
Not broken promises.
My goal is freedom from worry,
The kind of peace that isn’t bought but earned
Through love, patience, and quiet strength.
My goal is a world where their voices
Are louder than their fears,
Where their hopes stretch further
Than the boundaries of my imagination.
My goal is kindness,
In their actions, their choices, their words—
A kindness that ripples outward,
Softening sharp edges,
Healing what is broken.
My goal is doors open wide,
Of paths untrodden,
Of them building bridges
Where others might burn them.
My goal is small joys:
Laughter over dinner,
Christmases spent together,
A life not measured in milestones,
But in the moments in between.
My goal is that they will learn success
Is not a ladder, but a garden—
Something to nurture,
To share,
To leave blooming for those who follow.
And in these goals,
I dream for myself—
To see them thrive,
To see them shine,
To know that what I gave
Was enough.
This is my dream,
Not American, but ours.
A legacy of love,
Of better.
D is…
- X Years old
- Male
- Puerto Rican
- Straight
- Upper Middle Class
- Raised Catholic