Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

Trayvon Martin, a 17-year old black american citizen was shot while wearing a dark hoodie on his way home from the super market. Zimmerman, the shooter defends himself, by saying he was doing it for self defense, because he thought the boy looked suspicious. Obviously though, Zimmerman called the police who told him not to shoot the boy, after having seen Trayvon in the street. 

So the first question: How can prejudice lead to injustice? Isn’t the the real question how can prejudice not lead to injustice? My parents always taught us to walk in someones shoes before judging. I must say, this changed my life. If you do this, you get to see what another persons life might be like. I guess it’s the same thing if you want to shoot a person. Personally, I really have not been in this situation, but I think this would apply for this case too. Think before you shoot. 

Individuals, should try to fight against cases like this, with all they have. Many individuals have already started this. Dozens of people have already gathered, clad in hoodies as a protest to give Mr. Zimmerman a trial. As a country, this has not really changed anything. Post racism has been going around the country for as long as anyone can remember. This is sad; a country and individuals should do something about it. 

Having a father that is a lawyer, and a judge as a mother, my brother and I were raised to have an open mind, trying to accept everyone for who they are. For both of us, this has made life a lot easier. My grandparents raised my parents the same way. My two grandfathers both fought in the world war, and few in my family were killed during the war. Grandpa always stayed strong though. He told me the most bloody and saddest stories, but in the end, he always told me: ¨Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.¨ 

He also always told me, that if you don’t know anything about something, it’s not your subject to judge. 

So this little boy was walking, and Mr. Zimmerman found it suspicious. Nothing did he know though, about how Trayvon went to get candy for his little brother. George Zimmerman knew nothing about the candy part, and judged, and obviously learned nothing from the civil war. 

This kind of goes into sterotype even. Black boy + hoodie = danger is what Zimmerman must have thought. And that is why he shot him. Sterotyping is so unfair. Me as somewhat of a tomboy, I experience gender stero type a lot. For example, I wanted to join the football team, but the coach would not let me, because I was not a boy. It took half a year of convincing. For colored people, it has taken more than 60 years to convince us whites of their race. 

letter to zach

Tiburon, August 15th 1980

Dear Zach,

Remember when we first met in the sweltering Tiburon heat? Remember how we celebrated your 15th Birthday together? Remember May? Remember August? Remember how much trouble i got us all into?

I still to this day feel bad about how I got you apprehended, arraigned and shackled. I never meant to. I swear. May’s death. Also my fault. Some times, I lie under the oak tree in our backyard, watching the stars at night, and I remember those days. It seems like May lies next to me then, giggling her happy laugh, her pigtails bouncing wildly around her head. I miss her even though I didn’t know her that well. Do you think she would ever be able to forgive me for what I did? Then remember Augusts death? She looked so emaciate in the end. I caused so many mournful calamities in my short life; the August one was not my fault though. Lets move to the more happy events.

Our story. Remember? It was published, and is now a best seller. It seemed imminent then, that we would get married after that, but time elapsed, and we did a bunch of important things before that. You going to law school. You becoming a lawyer, and having your first case. Us going to visit T.J. You and your people being assimilated into society. You interrogating me to marry you. I think that was the happiest day of my life yet. I love you Zach. Then our little girl. Amy. Our small innocent little girl. Her birth, her first tooth, her first time walking, her first day of school... It all seems so long ago. 

We might have had a few dissensions about a few things, but I always loved you. Time has elapsed, and it doesn't hurt that much anymore remembering. I will always have that hole in my chest, that will ache for my mother, May and August. Thank you Zach for making my life the way it is today. Thank you for  making it less bizarre. I couldn't have done it without you. You lionized me. You were meticulous to all my problems. You have made the bumpy road my life is build on more flat and smooth. I love you Zach, and that is why I want you to have the happiest birthday ever. 

Let our story live on,

Love you,

Lilly 

Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

The problem we all live with, painted by Norman Perceval Rockwell is most likely the most significant painting for African-American History. It was painted in 1964, to call awareness to how evil the world was/is. 

The painting shows a scene in the South of the U.S, during the 60’s. In it, the little six year old black girl Ruby Bridges is walking to school with her notebook, a ruler, tow pens, and a book. She’s not walking alone though. She is walking in-between four Deputy U.S. Marshals. Two walking in front of her, and two walking behind her. The side walk they walk on, leads them along a wall spray painted with the words ¨KKK¨ and ¨Nigger¨. A tomato lies at the foot of one of the Marshals, that has splashed against the wall, probably nearly hitting the girl. She looks like none of this is bothering her though, her eyes are fixed straight ahead, as she takes long strides in her little white shoes and her pressed white dress to catch up with the Deputies in front of her so the ones behind her can catch up. 

First thing you think when you look at the painting, is ¨Oh good, looks like Martin Luther King Jr’s dream came true. Little black girls, and little black boys can finally join hands with little white boys and little white girls, and walk on the same side walk together¨ Then you look at the painting more closely, and you see whats actually going on. The white guy is her bodyguard, protecting her from the evil surrounding her. You see the tomato on the floor and the tomato stains on the wall. The Deputy U.S. Marshal name tags that the guys walking with her are wearing, the dirt on the and the road, and the mean words on the wall. Then reality hits. Little black boys, and little black girls don’t hold the hands of little white boys and little white girls to sing together yet. Little black children have to be brought to school with bodyguards so they can safely arrive at a white school, so they can be taught in a room by themselves because no one wants to be in her class room. It hurts. It hurts to see how mean the world can be, and how life can change path suddenly to your surprise, and leave you standing alone and hurt.

Norman Perceval Rockwell painted this painting to call attention to the unfairness of life. To call attention to how the blacks had to suffer. To call attention to the scared and the hurt. It is important for us to try to understand the hurt, evil and hatred we have caused, but we must try to forget and move on. But, we are never to forget the scares we have left behind. We must move on remembering the life’s that it has cost us to reach the point that we are at now. We must keep walking down the road called life with the memories, and the intention to change things. And like my grandfather had already always said: Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

The painting is originally painted on a canvas, with oil paint. The colors are dull, but still full of life. Every stroke of the brush seems to be painted by the hand of hope and loss. The painting is painted, so that you can not see the heads of the Marshals, or the crowd throwing tomatoes, as it is painted from his/her point of view.

Dear Diary. SAVE ME!

Dear Diary,

Let me depict what life is right now:

We embarked upon the boat about three hours ago, and now we are sailing into the sun set. A reddish, pinkish, yellowish haze has fixed itself in front of us, and the giant fire ball is dipping into the sea, painting the dark blue, almost black water, a faint pinkish red. It might seem like a serene scene to you, but every time I think about what we are doing tomorrow, I begin to shiver, and my palms grow sweaty. Sometimes I even think about talking my mates into mutiny, so we can just turn home. But then again. I need the money. Isabella needs the money, and our little baby Maria needs the money to.  

I have an inkling, that the other pirates are lackadaisical, and won’t help me when the big moment comes. I feel like I am the only one thats actually audacious here on this boat. The others need the money too, so I don’t get why they would leave this to me.

If we are on track, we should find cruise ship tomorrow morning at about 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. It should have a profusion of jewelry, money, jewels. We are not planning to pilfer. We are planning on taking confiscate every single dime on that boat! We must make a conscientious and prudent plan for this though.

What we are planning on right now is that we will steer our boat so we will be heading right for the boat. We will keep heading for it, even if they try to turn away. This will rankle them, and they will start yelling over their professional and expensive loudspeakers that we should turn away. Thats the time that we will steer into the wind, and we will all jump of the bow, so that it looks like we are falling off. We will scream for help, and the curies ship will hopefully let a rope down or something so we can survive. Thats when we will strike. 

God. Just thinking about it scares me. I have to go to bed. I’m scared dear diary. The slovenly bed looks inviting, even with the sheets have torn. I must go to bed. Please look out for my dear Isabella and my baby Maria. I miss them so much. Let me find peace, until I will do tis horrible sin. Dear god. please don’t rebuke me for this. I need the money. I don’t know what else to do. I have tried to bring money home but I can’t. I tried my best. 

I will lull myself to sleep, as we head into the now pitch black sky, and then into the brightness again as the fireball will begin to rise out of the ocean again, until we will reach the luxury that will look before us. 

Good night dear diary,

Eduardo

Writers Police

Sometimes writing is personal. No? Like you want to keep something to yourself. Isn’t that why you you write personal diary entries? What ever. I don’t really know about this stuff. I’m not the type of girl that likes to write that kind of stuff. I prefer writing novels. But I know a bunch of girls that write into a journal or a diary every day. Take Maha for an example. She writes in a diary, and then takes it to school, so that her mom and dad and whoever else lives in her house wont read it. Then she walks around school with her journal in hand. Sometimes I wonder if she is trying to get people to see it, so they will want to read it, and then she will be able to say: ¨No. It’s personal. I talk about my crush and this and that in it, and I dont want you to know about it¨. The girls here would just be like: ¨Oh my god! Let me read it!¨ And then she would be the center of attention for a day or so until she shows them the journal. No one ever asks though, and then again. We are talking about Maha here.

Anyways. So Mrs. Meadows, our English teacher, makes us write a lot. I like writing and all, but she goes around picking up journals and making up stories. She picks up a random book, and reads: I love bla bla bla. She or he is amazing and every time she looks at me, I blush. bla bla bla. She reads, and the ¨writer¨ turns red, and looks away. 

Luckily it has never happened to me. I try to work quickly and quietly, so she wont choose mine. (She usually picks the people that don’t work as fast as others). I try to always be ahead of the game, and have at least a paragraph more than the class. But it’s hard. I must confess.  She patrols the class, looking for people with not much work done. She walks around the class, a smile on her face, waiting for the next victim to pass by. 

 

People always think something's all true. (J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 2)

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger was originally banned due to it’s bad language, mocking of religion, sexuality, and because it wasn't "appropriate" for youth. (Chasan,1). But after having read this book I must disagree. Many books, have way worse language. More sexuality, and there are definitely books, that are less appropriate. 

Now I must say though, it does have quite a bit of ¨inappropriate¨ parts in it, that might shake some people up. So I don’t think you should read it to a young child. But if you are in Middle School, it should be no problem. You can’t hide the big and bad world from kids like the main character Holden always tries to do. The novel prepares you for life, and shows you that not everything is fair, and that life is hard, and that one day you will grow out of your innocence. Holden deals with coming of age issues just like every other teenager. This is a reason I think The catcher in the Rye should taught in schools. Even now in 2011, we go threw the same issues that Holden went threw.

According to the article ¨Why J.D Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye still provokes book bans¨ this book was banned for three main reasons. Mocking of Religion, sexuality and the use of profanity. The book in general teaches teenagers that they're not the first adolescent in history to experience angst. 

Bad language: Goddam, phony, hell, son of a bitch, snob and ass. Yes, they are bad words. But many books have worse words. And I mean give me a break. Every school has people that cuss, and you probably hear about ten bad words a day. At least. So I don’t see how it would make a difference in the book, and that this would cause a book ban.

Sexuality: Sexuality is a big part in the world right now. I mean you can’t go anywhere without seeing some kind of sexuality. (people kissing in the street, people hugging...etc.). I know it’ a little more intense, and a little more graphic in The Catcher in the Rye, but come on! We are growing up, and like I said. You can’t stay innocent for ever. So I don’t see how this would be a problem either. Many books have more sexuality in them. If you have read Please don’t be true by Phyllis Reynolds you know what I’m talking about.

Religion: Now I see how this could hurt someone if you were really religious. The book does kind of mock religion a little. Like for example when Ossenburger is giving the speech, and he says that he talks to jesus all the time, even in his car, and Holden says: ¨That killed me. I can just see that big phony bastard shifting into his first gear, and askingJesus to send him few more shifts¨ (page 23) or when he is talking to the nuns with the ¨cheap¨ suitcases. This can be dealt with to though. If you c^know that you are really religious, then don’t read the book. This should still not cause a book ban. 

But this is really not the reason I think the book should be unbanned. The main reason I think it should be available for everyone to read, is because the writing is just amazing! The whole book is about finding the deeper meaning of everything Holden Caufield says. So I have no idea why people would try to ban the book.

Holden was a very annoying character, and the story line sometimes might have been a little boring, but I think it was one of the best books I have read. So much deep meaning. So much description, and so real. Banning a book so real, and with such great writing is just wrong, and I could not imagine being J.D Salinger. Working so hard for the final product, and then having it banned. 

Since there are three reasons the book should be banned, I have for why it should not be banned.

One: its a relatable story students can relate too 

Two: it shows how not to live

          

Three: No book should be banned because book banning is the refuge of those who are fearful of ideas and opinions different than their own.

I don’t care what others say, but I will recommend this book to many other people.

Being held by a dead person

Piled upon the dew covered grass the crusty brown leaves whirled around in a circle like a small tornado sweeping the beautiful park. The mystifying colors of the sun shone onto the pile glistening brightly as the smell of the ocean breeze bitterly blew over my shoulders and neck, which gave me that tingling sensation everyone gets at the beginning of autumn. She walked in front of him, her steps heavy but shaky. 

¨Grandma?¨ I asked.

¨Yes,¨ she asked, not slowing down.

¨Grandpa is really sick. Right? He wont survive this. Right?¨

¨Sarah. Don’t talk such nonsense,¨ she hurried down the road even faster, wrapping coat around herself tighter.

¨But I already lost one grandparent. I don’t want to loose another other one.¨ I said, as I quickened my steps to catch up with her again. I was half running, half walking when she answered again.

¨He is in our prayers Sarah. He is in many peoples prayers.¨

¨What do you mean?¨ I asked.

Silence. The cold air bit at my cheeks, and I pulled my hat farther over my ears. 

¨Just stop talking, and hurry along.¨

I grabbed her big and boney hand, and she grabbed my little tinny one. We walked in silence for a few blocks, the wind blew against us, whispering in low murmurs.

¨Grandma?¨ I asked again as soon as we round the corner.

¨Yes?¨ she asked quietly, her voice shaking faintly, and I could see that tears had begun to well in her eyes.

¨Are you crying?¨ I asked shocked.

¨Nein, Nein,¨ she sayed ¨uber das redemer jetzt äppa nimma.¨

Yeah, yeah. What ever. The famous: No,no, we are not going to talk about that anymore.

¨Grandma?¨

¨What?¨ she was getting annoyed. I could tell.

¨Why do you always say that. my teacher says it’s good to talk about your problems. It helps you....¨

¨Sarah,¨

¨Yes Grandma?¨

¨Stop talking.¨

We walked in silence again. It began to rain just before we reached the hospital, and grandma opened her umbrella. She pulled me underneath, and we kept walking, the wind bowing around our faces. 

Entering the hospital in silence, I pulled my coat off, and grandma knelt on the floor and tied it around my waist. The smell of tobacco, and her old lady perfume circles around me, made me dizzy, and I griped for her shoulders.

¨Now remember Sarah,¨ she says. ¨be as quiet as possible.¨

The corridor smelled of cleaning products, and it was a bit on the chilly side, as hospitals are cooled down to about -1000˚. People wouldn't make eye contact with you, so I felt very alone -- even if someone tried to smile, it was weak and fake. The hallways had people coming and going; doctors and nurses and surgeons rushing around, and people pushing everything from food carts to machinery everywhere.

We walked down the corridor to the last room on the left. 216 the room number said. Grandma took a deep breath, and gripped for the door knob and pushed it open. 

¨Grandpa?¨ I asked as soon as we walked inside.

¨Hubert?¨ Grandma said.

His blue eyes that had been piercing now stared listlessly, dull and lifeless. His skin was pale, and he looked like just a husk of his former being. Like any normal five year old I broke down crying.

¨Grandpa!¨ I cried! ¨Grandpa! Grandpa!¨

¨Sarah,¨ he answered, his voice pained but full of love. ¨Thank you so much for coming.¨ 

Grandma picked me up, and cradled me in her arms, but grandpa stretched his arms out, and I was handed to him.

¨It’s ok Sarah,¨ he whisper. ¨It’s ok.¨

My tears had dried up, as I sat there in grandpas bed. Robert sat next to me in the bed, as Mami, Papi, Lea and my cousins sat around us. Grandpa looked around, and looked into everyones eyes. The grown ups obviously knew what was coming, and all of them gathered around us, giving grandpa one last hug. 

I was last, and I was wrapped into a bear hug. 

¨I’m going to miss you Sarah,¨ he said his voice soothing and calm.

I hugged him back, and leaned my head against his chest. Then he closed his eyes, and never opened them again. 

I was lifted out of grandpas arms weeping, just as the machine grandpa was hooked up to stopped beeping. Grandma cradled me in her arms, as a hoard of doctors was rushed into the room. 

I’m going to miss you Sarah bounces around in my head. I’m gonna miss you too grandpa. 

     Grandma holds me tight, and we walk out the big red building, that now represented death to me.