I marched down the scorching concrete. The bright California sun was beating down on my face, sweat dripping down my face. It was my first week of kindergarten, and I was protesting. Actually, I had started a protest. A march. 

A few days before, I was sitting at my small desk, crowded and stuffed next to kids who wouldn’t stop moving. My attention snapped back to my teacher. She was older. Her hair was starting to grey and her romper and cardigan looked like the same outfit she wore every day. “What if I said that all people with blonde hair are dumb?” She announced to the class. “What if I also said that white-colored people are better than dark-colored people?”

 I don't know how to describe it. But at that moment, a fireball lit alive inside of me. Though not of rage, but ardor. Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up and declared with all the passion in my heart that all people are equal and that no one should be discriminated against based on their appearances. I also made an oath to my class. I said that I will never discriminate against anyone based on their looks. And to this day, I have done everything in my power to stay true to my oath. 

Immediately, I started to make a plan. I chose a time when my class could get together and protest against discrimination. I decided to dedicate the march to Martin Luther King Jr. In my progressive, private school, we had learned about him. He was my role model. I admired how he had persevered through discrimination in a racist society and fought for a career in civil rights, how even though most people were discourteous to him, he continued to stay focused and calm. The next day after school, we would march. And we would march until our cause was recognized and acted upon. 

The next morning I woke up with a pep in my step. I was going to march. This would be the first day of my life and I would be fighting for a cause bigger than myself, my class, and the state of California.

I hastily ran to my locker to grab my sign. The hubbub around me slowed me down, though. But in the throng of kids, I finally made my way back to the exit. When I opened the exit door, a gush of hot, burnt, fresh-ish air assaulted my face. I stepped back to get used to the abrasive temperature and lighting. A few seconds later, I marched out the door and onto my handcrafted political battlefield. I felt confident in this protest, and I couldn't wait to see what positive effects it had on society. I knew what was right, and I was going to fight for it.