The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [113]
Nothing has been the same since my parents started smoking crack. The house is always filled with the smell of stale, burnt cocaine. The odor is left behind in the pores of their skin. So, when I go to give them a hug, the smell still lingers. I hate seeing their eyes all big and bulging, their bodies twitching like a fish out of water.
After watching them hit the pipe like there is no tomorrow, I know that they have a serious problem. Getting high is their daily routine. It is like they don’t care if they have children or not. All they really care about is feeding their urge for drugs. Because of their behavior, I sometimes starve. There is never enough food. I try to study and do my homework to keep my mind off of the food shortage, but the sound of my stomach growling doesn’t help. I’ll go to watch TV and all of a sudden the lights will cut off. I’ll go to find the power switch, but it’s not the power, it’s because my parents didn’t pay the utility bill. We are always behind on our car payments and rent, too. I once brought a friend home after school and there was an eviction notice on the door. I was the laughing-stock of the neighborhood.
When I was younger, they would lock me up in the closet because they wanted to get high and beat up on each other. One day it got so bad that my father smashed my mother’s head in between the couch and the wall. I became so used to being in the closet that I put snacks in there and a mini TV to watch. All I could hear on the other side was screaming and yelling. I felt as if there were some type of war between my parents and the drugs. Of course the drugs were winning. Being in the closet was my only escape. I felt like Anne Frank in her attic, except the Nazis were roaming outside her attic and my parents were outside the closet door. Even though the closet was my safe haven, I never felt completely comfortable inside it. I always wanted to be set free. I felt as if they were going to forget that I was in there.
I can’t believe it’s a few days before my graduation and they’re still taking! They don’t get it. When is it going to stop? My parents took more than they ever gave. It’s like they had no conscience. Unfortunately, there are people who are like my parents, who shamelessly take from others with no remorse, but I will break that cycle and be a giver. I realize that I am like Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree and my parents are stealing all my apples. Soon there will be nothing left for me to give. I know that tomorrow they will be doing it again. They will be getting high from my gold charm. Now I see what is really special to them…the drugs instead of me.
Diary 139
Dear Diary,
I can’t believe it! I’m actually going to be the first person in my family to graduate!!! I have so much excitement to share with my relatives that I can hardly contain myself. I wish that each one of them would stand in that crowd in six days and scream my name as I cross the stage, switching my tassel from left to right with a diploma in my hand.
But it hurts to say that I don’t have their support. In my relatives’ eyes, my destiny is like the rest of my cousins’. My parents and I fight to prove to them that I can make it, that I will make it. But often I feel like they just want me to fail.
The only true family that God has given me is my loving parents and the supportive Freedom Writers. They have all motivated me to go above and beyond everyone’s expectations. They saw potential in me that no one else saw, including myself. Recognizing my potential is what