The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [71]
Three days before the trip, a miracle happened. My dad left for Mexico because my grandma got sick. I got up the nerve to ask my mom if I could go. I was afraid she’d say no, too. Even though she was scared of my dad and said that we were both taking a huge risk, she wanted me to go. If he came home, he would beat her and me up for sure. He’d never let me leave the house again. He would probably hold a grudge and blame everything that went wrong on me! But for some reason, even though she was scared, she said I had to go. She said that I deserved it, and I might not ever get this chance again. Wow! I couldn’t believe my mom was willing to sacrifice so much for me.
It was the first time in my life that I felt hope. I wanted to go so bad. I prayed that it wasn’t too late. So, the first thing I did the next morning was run to Ms. G’s class. Luckily, the baseball team made it to the playoffs, so our star athlete wouldn’t be able to go on the trip. Ms. G said I could have his ticket!
From that point on, everything was a blur. I had never felt so free. I was so nervous, running from place to place trying to pack. Since I’d never been on a vacation, I had no idea how to pack. What should I take? What was I going to wear? I never even had sleepovers when I was a little girl, so this was all new to me.
All this was new for my mom, too. She was so scared because I’d never been away from her a day in my life. What if something happened to me? This trip was really for the both of us. I want to share everything with her, every detail: what we ate, what we saw, who we met. Everything!
This morning when I left, all my relatives were there to say good-bye. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I kissed my mom good-bye. At that moment, I had doubts about my departure. So I asked my mom, “Are you sure you want me to go?” I thought she’d change her mind, but I was wrong. She hugged me and said, “Make good use of this opportunity and don’t let me down. I’m so proud of you.” Her words gave me so much motivation and inspiration, that I can’t explain. Now I was ready to say good-bye and leave Long Beach. I headed off on my adventure, an adventure that I’m sure I’ll cherish for a lifetime. Her excitement gave me the courage to hop on a plane for the first time. Yeah! I was afraid, but it seemed like nothing else mattered. I can’t wait to share everything with her when I get home.
Dairy 81
Dear Diary,
I’m writing to you from Washington, D.C. We went to Arlington Cemetery today where J.F.K. and many soldiers were buried. As the bus pulled up, I could feel a flood of tears forming in my eyes. I saw the cemetery filled with rows of graves. Like these soldiers, I, too, have witnessed many die. Many of my friends have been shot in the head, and stabbed a number of times, yet their deaths will never be recognized like these men and women. To me, my friends are soldiers, not soldiers of war, but soldiers of the street. With them, it wasn’t a fight for territory, it was a fight for their lives.
I didn’t want to enter the cemetery to see the rest of the graves and memorials for the lost soldiers. I was not being disrespectful, but it made me think back to when I was twelve years old and my father died of AIDS. He never had a headstone to commemorate his life. To this day, he still has nothing but a section of grass that you have to use a map to find. He was just another number, another statistic, someone that no one knew.
It makes me sad to see the media only concentrate on the deaths of famous people. I’ve always asked myself, “Why do only famous people make the headlines?” The media makes a big deal out of a movie star breaking a leg or fracturing a toe, but if a man with as much wisdom as my father passes away, no one cares.
Diary 82
Dear Diary,
I would say this