I was in a community setting; out doors but not primitive, like a street party. Either I was the only white person there, or I was a black man in my dream. I was not out of place but was part of the celebration as part of the community.
The celebration was of several boys having birthdays in the community, as if they picked one day out of the year for this community party. Their ages – they were all early teens – indicated that this was a “coming of age” celebration.
My part in the celebration was preparing the meal. The dish was a casserole with sausage and sauerkraut. There was more to the ingredients than that, as it came out of the oven more congealed than liquid. Taking the casseroles out of the oven – one per celebrating family – I brought them one at a time over to their table.
There is excitement and anticipation on the faces, not only of the honoree but his parents and siblings as well. As I approach the table, the whole community is singing. They are not singing one general “Happy Birthday” to all, but the same song is sung to each one in turn as I bring his dish. I place the dish in front of the honoree as the climax of the song is sung with great, united force by the community: The fact that you were born strikes a blow against injustice.