The Freedom Writers Diary (14 page)

Diary 56

Dear Diary,

A carton of milk was thrown, someone shouted “Fuck Niggers,” a big crowd formed, and the fighting began. There were people punching other people and there were people throwing things at each other. It must have lasted for about three minutes, although it seemed like three hours. Somehow I managed to find my way out of the crowd without hitting anyone or throwing a thing. It wasn’t necessary for me to join in the fight because their reason for fighting was stupid. When I stood away from the crowd I saw staff members and policemen breaking it up. The tardy bell rang a minute later, indicating that lunch was officially over. The crowd was reluctant to go to class because they wanted to see what happened to the people who started the fight.

Two people went to the principal’s office, one was African American and the other was Hispanic. The principal suspended them both, hoping to get rid of the problem as fast as he could, but his decision made the problem worse. Friends of both races now held grudges against each other.

After school, I walked to the bus stop by myself. I noticed there were some Hispanics at the next bus stop where some African American people were waiting. When the bus arrived everyone got on the bus, and another fight broke out. This was round two. Some guy started swinging a stick that came from one of the art classes at school. There were at least twenty people from each side fighting on the bus. I got off and stood behind a bench. There were so many people on the bus that it started to rock back and forth. The bus driver told them she would call the police, so the African Americans got off the bus.

As they were waiting for the next bus, a Hispanic boy crossed the street to the bus stop. He didn’t see that a fight had just ended, but he did see the angry tension in the crowd as he walked past the bus top. As he walked by the crowd someone stepped in front of him and asked him “What did you say?” The boy had said nothing at all. The boy didn’t respond, but tried to walk past. The boy who confronted him suddenly punched him in the face. He fell unconscious into the bushes then everyone rushed him at once. There were twenty angry boys against one. Someone grabbed him by the neck and dragged him out on the street. They started kicking, and punching him in his ribs, face, and anywhere else they could reach. Someone picked up a metal trash can and slammed it into his face. Traffic was being held up, a bus arrived at the stop across the street, it stopped, and the bus driver got off to help the boy. He screamed, “Stop it, you punks.” Someone turned around and punched the bus driver in the face, the bus driver ran to a store nearby and called the police. A lady got out of her car and also tried to help the boy, but got hit in the face for her efforts. As soon as the lady got back into her car the police came, and put an end to the fighting.

The boy lay unconscious, his arms, legs, and back were all broken. I watched as he was taken to the hospital and watched as the culprits were arrested.

“Why didn’t I do anything to help him?” I asked myself. Maybe it was because I was scared of the consequences. Most likely, I would have been mauled by the crowd. Even though I could have been hurt, I wish I had done something. If Ms. G finds out that I just stood by and did nothing, she’ll really be pissed at me. After all, I wasn’t being very “self-reliant.” I just hope she doesn’t find out.

Diary 57

Dear Diary,

Today I finally grasped the true meaning of self-reliance. In class Ms. Gruwell handed out a self-evaluation sheet. We were asked to write the letter grade we felt we deserved, then write a brief comment on why we thought we deserved that grade. Immediately and without hesitation, I wrote “F.”

I have been having some trouble at home and have had to miss a lot of school lately. I just learned that my mom has a disease called lupus. All I know is that it affects her kidneys and makes her too weak to watch my younger brothers, or do anything for that matter. So instead of being at school, I’m usually home helping Momma because she needs me. No matter what my reasons are, I thought Ms. Gruwell should fail me. I was sad, embarrassed, but a little proud that I had been honest.

I sat in my chair, disappointed by how my situation had ended. Little did I know it was in fact just the beginning. Ms. Gruwell approached me and asked to speak with me in the hallway. At first I thought she would drop me, but since I was already in what the others teachers called “dummy” English, where else could I go? I figured she would simply give me the same speech other teachers had given me: “You’re failing and I know you’re bright, so get it in gear. OK?” Sometimes I just wanna say, “No shit, really? I’m failing, so how do I change that?” But in light of the many times I’ve been blown or brushed off, I keep it to myself. I walked into the hallway and immediately she turned to me and said, “What’s this?” She flashed my evaluation in my face. “Do you know what this means?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. Just when I thought she was at her boiling point, she turned it up a notch by adding, “FUCK YOU! That’s what this is! It’s a fuck you, and a fuck me, and a fuck everyone who’s ever cared about you!” Immediately our conversation became a road-trip to hell with me riding shotgun. I was thrown off, confused, flabbergasted, and to put it simply—shocked.

No one in my life has ever given me the facts so boldly. I had never had a “pep talk” like this. After my jaw seemed to wind itself back into its proper place, what she said began to sink in. She went on to tell me that “until I had the balls to look her straight in the face and tell her to fuck off, she was not going to let me fail, even if that meant coming to my house every day until I finished the work.” I couldn’t tell her off, so I just stood there with tears in my eyes.

What she showed me today is that a truly self-reliant person takes action, leaving nothing to chance and everything to themselves. She showed me that excuses will not bring about success and that adversity is not something you walk with, but something you leap over. The only obstacles are the ones you allow. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. A truly self-reliant person finds his weak link and strengthens it. I want to be a self-reliant person, now and forever.

Diary 58

Dear Diary,

Our class is reading the part in
The Catcher in the Rye
where Hodlen Caulfield talks about his friend’s suicide. Holden, who usually doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone, seemed to be really upset about the death of his friend. I never thought about the consequences or the effect that suicide would have on anyone else before. All I thought about was my own losing battle.

I have a problem. For the past two years I’ve been tormented by an illness that runs in my family. When I was four, my mother was diagnosed as “clinically depressed” because of a chemical imbalance. Luckily, she sought help before it was too late. She received medical attention and was cured with the help of a drug treatment called Amitriptylin.

Now this illness, our family’s enemy, has returned to claim yet another victim. Against my will, I have been taken prisoner, and feel like I’m being punished for a crime I did not commit. My worst nightmare is now becoming my reality. Suicide is something that’s always on my mind, “24/7.” There isn’t a day that goes by without the enemy shooting suicidal thoughts through my mind. I am left injured and confused. Without notice, the enemy takes control of my mind and body and I become its puppet. My thoughts, as well as my feelings, are re-created into my worst fears. I start crying and screaming for no reason, raging with unexplainable anger stored deep inside of me. Then I am left feeling worthless, without any hope of living.

I even tried to take my life once, because I thought there was no other alternative. It was the day my mother and I got into a huge argument. Now that I think back, it seemed so fake. Like one of those corny after-school television specials. After the argument, not knowing what to do, I ended up in the kitchen. I felt a cold breeze as I entered. There I was, standing in the dark, holding a kitchen knife to my wrist. My heart began to beat faster and faster as I held out my arm. I pulled back my sleeve, exposing my wrist. My mind blacked out. I looked down to see that the knife had barely cut into my skin. The knife was too dull.

Diary 59

Dear Diary,

I’m going to tell you about the crazy mess I got myself into a couple days ago. It all started about a month ago when I was assigned to read the
The Catcher in the Rye
. I took one good look at the plain white cover and set it on my desk where it managed to collect dust. I thought to myself, “What can this book teach me?” I really wasn’t up to reading this book, but somehow I managed to pick it up. Like usual, I read the ending first. After taking a look at the type of vocabulary J. D. Salinger uses, I was hooked. I thought, “Hey, this is my type of book!” I instantly developed respect for the author because of his unique style of writing, not to mention the fact that he didn’t throw in some stupid preachy message. (You know, an attempt to save today’s youth.) Those sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice type of endings make me want to barf.

Well, I read the whole goddamn book. I was surprised how much I was able to relate to the main character, Holden. When Ms. Gruwell was trying to hype the book, she mentioned that our class was full of Holdens. Now I know what she meant. Like Holden, I think that everyone around me seems phony. I go to school with a bunch of conformists. Everywhere I look I see duplicates of the so-called perfect pattern. The teachers are the operators running the mind-control factory.

As for my parents, boy, do they think my every move is a deliberate plan to irritate them. My parents speak to me like I’m a child too wet behind the ears to know anything about life. I felt the need to escape. I was fed up with all the rules forced upon me. I didn’t want to play their crummy old game. So this is where my journey of breaking loose from the “system” began. Well, my attempt anyhow.

One night, a couple of girlfriends and I were sitting around watching TV and talking. You know, girl stuff. Then the phone rang. It was my mother. She just called to see what time I’d be home. I swear she’s a damn detective, always tracking me down. I told her I would be home in an hour. That was that. Well, an hour passed and I surely didn’t feel like going home. So, instead of heading home, my friends and I decided to take a drive to the beach. I don’t know how, but somehow between my friend’s house and the beach, we ended up in Las Vegas. I guess we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere? No, I’m just kidding, that was the explanation I gave my mother. Unfortunately, she didn’t buy it. The truth is my best friend had never been to Las Vegas and it seemed like a good idea at the time. We arrived in Las Vegas to witness the sunrise from behind the casinos. Once in Las Vegas we cruised around taking pictures and more pictures and even more pictures and that’s pretty much it. It’s not like I could gamble, I’m only sixteen. Soon after that I decided to call home. I was bored, and besides, I had been gone all night. I figured my mom would be a bit angry. OK, so she was furious and even threatened to call the Las Vegas police and report my friend’s license plate number. Well, that totally ruined our road trip. After that heart-to-heart talk with dear old Mom, we decided to try something we hadn’t the night before. Following an exquisite breakfast at one of Las Vegas five star restaurants, Burger King, we headed home.

Unlike Holden, I was spared from the “institution.” Even though I provoked her by pleading, “Send me anywhere, somewhere, a rehab of some sort. Anywhere that isn’t here.” “But there is nothing wrong with you,” she insisted. And then I said, “I just need to get away, I’m fed up with everything, everyone!”

The farthest she sent me was to my goddamn room.

Diary 60

Dear Diary,

Tonight the wildest thing happened: I got offered a job from John Tu! I can’t believe I’ll be working for a millionaire. How I got the job was crazy.

We were having a big party at the Bruin Den with all our parents. Ms. G’s really into family and we’re always having parties where all our families get together and have a big love fest. Her dad, her stepmom, and her brother are practically part of our family now. This party was another opportunity for our families to meet John Tu and thank him for all his help.

After the party was over, I asked him if he wanted a ride to where his car was parked. It was only about five blocks away, but I didn’t want him to have to walk late at night with his wife and his two kids in our neighborhood. With him being a millionaire and all, I was afraid he was going to get jacked.

When I offered him a ride, I didn’t think he’d actually say yes. When he did, I was like “damn!” I froze because I have a ’78 Oldsmobile—which can’t touch his top-of-the-line Mercedes. When he entered my car, I felt really embarrassed because my car only has one seat in the front. The passenger seat was stolen. There is just a big old gap in the front. I don’t even have a radio, or a rearview mirror. My front window has a big-ass crack on it, too. Since it gets me from point A to point B, that’s all that matters. When John got into my car, he said, “Damn, this is comfortable! It feels like a limousine!” He stretched out on my upholstery. My backseat is a far cry from leather, but he crossed his legs as if he owned my bucket. Then he said he wished that when he was my age he could have driven a car like this one, but instead he drove a bicycle. Wow, he hadn’t always been a millionaire like I thought! He actually earned his money through hard work. That really got to me. It was as if he was telling me not to just stay at my level and drive a $200 “bucket,” when I could shoot for driving a Mercedes.

When we reached his car, not only did he say thank you, but he also asked if I was interested in a job at his computer company. A job? I’d never had a job before. He said I would learn something new…and now I can’t wait to begin my new career, and turn my life in a different direction!

Diary 61

Dear Diary,

In class today we discussed how double standards exist for men and women. We talked about how men can get away with whatever they want, but when a female does the same thing, then she gets degraded and even dissed. Ms. G introduced the word called “misogyny” and everyone in the class was like “What?” A guy in the corner even said, “Misogyny? Did you say massage my pee-pee?” and started laughing.