The Freedom Writers Diary (22 page)

After a while I would give myself curfews so that people wouldn’t know my mother was oblivious. It is hard raising yourself. If it was easy, then we wouldn’t have parents. But we do, or most people do at least.

I began to feel so alone. All my life it had been my mom and me and now it was just me. I became very depressed, escaping reality any way I could.

The Freedom Writers filled this huge hole I had by giving me a safe place where I always knew someone cared. We are in jeopardy of not being able to be a class next year. Losing these people would be like losing a part of my family. I can’t go through that again.

Diary 98

Dear Diary,

I just found out that we are going to be an official class our senior year of high school. After all the commotion from some of the teachers at school, we were worried that we would be separated. Why would the teachers want to separate us? Can’t they see that we are so much more than a class? We are a family. Fortunately, the school superintendent, Carl Cohn, supported us all the way.

The Freedom Writer family has worked hard to stay together and the word “together” is very symbolic for me! I had a normal family once, with a father, a mother, and a couple of sisters. Our home was filled with love. What happened? My mother felt she needed more freedom, so she disappeared. I still don’t know where she is. She left when we all needed her, especially me. In the long run, I hope that she will understand all the pain that she has caused in the family. My sisters and I stayed with my father, of course. He was the only one that showed love and pride for his girls. Then he met Ms. “She Thang” and allowed her to move in with us. For some reason, when I met her I felt the same feeling that I felt the day I lost my mother. I knew something was going to happen, because my father just expected my sisters and me to accept her as our mother. We were still trying to cope with our actual mother leaving us and now Dad had a new woman in his life.

My dad had three kids with his new wife and in the process, he forgot about his eldest daughters. So my sister and I moved out and moved in with my aunt. The youngest stayed with my father. My aunt was like a second mother and she received us with open arms when we walked into her home. I loved that feeling. It was as though I was starting a new life. Until her son introduced her to his friend from jail. She became real close to him over the phone and as time went by, they fell in love. They spent a large amount of time speaking to each other on the phone while her son was out causing trouble.

My aunt’s niece and her friends would bring drugs in and out of our home; they would stay up at all times of the day and night, while my sister and I would stay locked up in our room. The two of us had the opportunity to become really close, so at least something positive was coming out of all this negativity.

My aunt continued to be her sweet self with me only until her boyfriend got out of jail. Suddenly, she was constantly out and I felt as though she totally forgot all about me and I couldn’t understand why. She started to play favorites with her niece and for some reason it all made sense: They were planning on moving out together, but my sister and I weren’t included. So, we did what we had to; my sister moved in with the neighbors and I’m living with a cousin who offered to take me in. She has been one of the best things that has happened to me in my entire life. I’m only hoping that nothing will happen to cause me to lose her, too.

Unlike my biological family, the Freedom Writers understand me and have been there for me for a long time. They have actually had the time and patience to listen to me, to help me, and to support me. Even though my mother left me when I was young, I have had many people try to fill the role of a mother. Many have not accomplished the position very well, but Ms. Gruwell has succeeded. I appreciate her and the Freedom Writers for what they have done and given me. They have helped me become a stronger person.

Senior Year Fall 1997

Entry 7. Ms. Gruwell

Dear Diary,

Getting permission to teach senior English has not been an easy feat. I forgot that the reason I had these students as freshmen in the first place was that I was told, “Things are based on seniority around here.” Since I have no seniority to speak of, teaching seniors sort of rocked the boat. Luckily, my superintendent, Dr. Cohn, and the president of the Board of Education, Karin Polacheck, realized that this particular boat needed rocking.

Dr. Cohn & Karin Polacheck accompanied us to Washington, D.C., and since “they’re down” for the cause they immediately became part of our family. The kids even got Dr. Cohn out on the dance floor while we cruised up the Potomac River on a tour boat. He’s been a great role model for my students. Since there seems to be an absence of men in some of the kids’ families, many of them look up to him as an adopted father figure. As an African American with roots in Long Beach, he saw the value of supporting our unique family.

My primary focus this fall will be to get the Freedom Writers thinking about their future—where they want to go to school and what kind of career they want to pursue. When Secretary Riley told my students “everybody deserves a college education,” I interpreted it as a personal challenge to make sure that all the Freedom Writers would go to college. Our trip to Washington and Riley’s speech made the kids feel almost anything was possible, but the idea of going to college is completely foreign for a lot of my students. Since many of them will be the first in their family to graduate from high school, their parents aren’t pushing them to go to college.

Since my parents went to college, it was expected of me that I would go too. We talked about college at the dinner table, my parents paid for me to take SAT prep classes, they took me to visit colleges and they even helped me fill out my applications. As I became more familiar with my students and their circumstances, I realized (sadly) that the same thing doesn’t hold true for most of the Freedom Writers since some of their parents don’t speak English and can’t help them fill out applications; and others can’t afford to pay the application fee.

What I need to do is let them know that I understand how difficult all of this is and introduce them to different options. I realize how daunting the process is and I don’t want them to feel overwhelmed. To help level the playing field, I plan to take them on college tours and bring in specialists who can help them fill out financial aid forms and prepare for those dreaded standardized tests.

Since being a “mom” to 150 college-bound kids will be overwhelming, I’ve decided to rally the troops and elicit more help. Since my education classes at National University have become so popular, I was able to create a special college forum in the fall. The seminar will have seventy-five graduate students who will each be paired up with two Freedom Writers. The idea is to have the Freedom Writers be a “case study” for the graduate students, and in exchange, my grad students will help mentor them.

Since the biggest obstacle in their way is money, Don Parris and I created a nonprofit organization called the Tolerance Education Foundation. If anyone decides to donate money to us, they’ll get a tax writeoff and they’ll be helping a kid go to college. Not too shabby!

Diary 99

Dear Diary,

My mother always uses little clichés like, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” If living in the projects is supposed to make me a stronger person, then I would rather be weak. I’ve spent most of my life living in poverty, being afraid to walk out of my front door because of the risk of being shot. My neighborhood has a way of demolishing any hope I have for a brighter future. “I was born poor and I will probably die poor. No one from my neighborhood has ever made a difference and I probably won’t make one either.” This was my mind-set. For so long, society has told me that because of my neighborhood and the color of my skin, I would never amount to anything.

The thought of college terrified me. At times we barely had enough money to pay our rent, I knew that we couldn’t afford college. In addition to that, no one from my neighborhood had ever successfully completed college. If anyone ever did attempt to go to college, it’s because they hoped to get the financial aid money. When they couldn’t, they would drop out. Most people in my neighborhood figured they weren’t smart enough. No one else in the ’hood has graduated from college, why should they be the first to try? This was my mind-set until I met a courageous woman named Cheryl Best.

“Adversity makes warriors of us all.” Cheryl said. “I grew up in the projects and despite what others may have thought of me I never let them bring me down. I’ve witnessed it all, and I didn’t get caught up in the negativity surrounding my neighborhood. If I could make it in the projects I knew that I could make it anywhere.” That was the first time in my life that I had heard someone talk about living in the ’hood in a positive manner and with a smile on their face. I started to think about all of the horrific things I’ve witnessed. Crackheads getting high right in front of me, and drug dealers making more money in one day than a stockbroker makes in one week. I realized that like Cheryl, I too have never wanted to be caught up in the negative lifestyle that surrounded me. For a brief second, Cheryl made me feel as if I was a warrior, destined to make it out of the undeclared war that I call home, the projects.

Not only did Cheryl live in the projects but she also survived an ordeal that is so horrific, it seemed like something invented in a horror movie. Cheryl was kidnapped, raped, driven to a desert, and had acid poured all over her body. She was left to die. Cheryl refused to give up on her life. “As I lay there helpless, my life flashed before me. I realized that I had overcome too many obstacles in my life to just give up and die. I had too much to live for.” I heard her describe the horrible ordeal she went through. The fact that she survived made me speechless. Cheryl got up from the ground even though acid was eating away at her skin. She began to walk toward the sound of moving cars that were on the highway, about one hundred feet away from her. The acid had blinded her and she had to rely on her other senses. Once Cheryl reached the highway, a motorist spotted her and took her to the hospital.

I pictured in my mind what Cheryl went through. I thought that if that had happened to me, I would have given up and asked the Lord to take my life. Cheryl didn’t; she believed that she had too much to live for. She not only survived that ordeal but she learned how to read in braille, since the acid had left her permanently blind. She didn’t stop at learning braille. Cheryl decided that she wanted to go to college. The media had reported what happened to Cheryl, and people were so inspired by her that people donated money to help pay for reconstructive surgery. Cheryl went to college despite all of the odds against her and she graduated with honors. After hearing Cheryl’s story in person and watching her talk about what happened to her, as if it were just another obstacle she had to overcome, I knew that I could go to college and that I was somebody. Like Cheryl, I had witnessed, been through, and experienced too much in my life at such a young age to give up on my future.

Diary 100

Dear Diary,

The words “Eviction Notice” stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked at the notice in disgust, and realized what my mother told me was true. It didn’t really dawn on me until I saw the notice; it didn’t seem real. I felt a big lump in my throat, and looked away. I knew that if I read the fine print I would start crying. It would probably say that we only had one week to pack our stuff and leave. The last time we got only five minutes.

This is my last year in high school. Why did this have to happen to me now? I only have one year left before I graduate and I don’t have a place to live. I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to go to college. I think I will get a full-time job to help my mother. My mother doesn’t have a plan in mind and doesn’t know what to do. I’m stressed, I have knots in my stomach, and I have to start studying for school. But where am I going to study? I won’t have a place to stay in a week. I’m scared.

I can’t believe this is happening to me again. It’s been such a long time since I last got evicted. The last time this happened we lived in a good apartment in a nice neighborhood, and we finally had somewhere stable to live. One day the manager knocked on the door and simply told us to get all of our things together because we only had five minutes to get out. In shock, I rushed to grab all of my belongings. Then we lived in hotels. When we finally ran out of money we had to resort to the only place we didn’t have to pay rent, the streets. This gave me a new meaning of the saying “to sleep under the stars.” When we finally got a place to lay our things, we put all of our clothes on the ground to make a pallet for us to sleep on. It was so cold I don’t know how I went to sleep. I thought, “What if someone sneaked up on us in the middle of the night? What if something bad happened? Where were we going to use the bathroom?”

Even though I’m scared, I have to do something. Maybe I should drop out of school and get my GED after we get a place. It probably wouldn’t be so bad having a full-time job, perhaps two. I’m confused, I don’t know what to think. I have to go and find out if there are some family shelters nearby. Hopefully Ms. Gruwell can help me. It seems like hope is the only thing I have to hold on to.

Diary 101

Dear Diary,

I feel like crying and running out of this house and never returning. I have no idea where I am going to get $800! The landlord keeps on calling me and asking me if I have the money for rent. And just today, I received a letter in the mail saying that if I don’t send in my car payment within five days my car will get repossessed. Tomorrow it is going to be two months since my cousin was murdered and my parents left the country. Since then, I’ve been the head of the household, taking care of my younger sister and myself, working my mom’s job, baby-sitting to get extra money, cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, and trying to keep my grades up in school.

Yesterday, my science teacher told me that I’m failing her class and I need to pass the class to graduate. I feel so depressed, all my life I was an A and B student and now I am failing. I’ve never gotten an F in my twelve years of schooling. My teachers always told me I was an example for the rest of the students. I was always known as one of the most responsible students in my classes and I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I haven’t been attending school on a regular basis either. When I do show up, my teachers look at me like they want to lecture me about how irresponsible they think I am. The teachers’ disapproving looks really hurt. I feel like they’ve turned on me. I try to explain to them that I’m going though really bad times, but they don’t seem to care. All that matters to them is that I am not doing their work. Most teachers don’t want to be bothered with the reasons why. In my yearbook class, I volunteered to do the Freedom Writer page and I did. I did it at home, but when I finished it, it was after midnight. Unfortunately, the day it was due, the collection agency showed up at my door trying to get the money and I didn’t make it to school. The following day I showed up at school and my advisor didn’t accept my yearbook page. She said it was too late and someone else had to do it for me.

These few months have been the worst of my whole life. My senior year was supposed to be the most fun of all my years, but I guess things happen for a reason. I hate to pour out all my problems to you, diary, but I have nowhere else to turn. After all, I always dreamed of going to college and being someone in life. Now I feel like I only have one alternative—dropping out of high school and getting a full-time job to help my parents with all their payments until they come back home.

After my advisor rejected my yearbook page, it made me want to say “Forget this!” This was just enough to make me want to quit everything I was doing. At the end of the day, out of desperation, I went to talk to Ms. Gruwell and my fellow Freedom Writers. I told them I felt like dying and was going to drop out of high school. I just broke down in tears. They just hugged me and listened. They didn’t judge me or put me down like the others. I couldn’t believe how understanding they were. They even convinced me to stay in school and offered to help me catch up on my assignments. Despite all this drama, I’ve decided not to give up. I’ll get the money for rent somehow, I’ll catch up in my classes and I’m even going to make time to go with everyone on a college tour with Ms. Gruwell. With such a loving “extended” family, I got back the strength to fight for my dreams: to graduate from high school and go to college.

Diary 102

Dear Diary,

Everyone in Ms. G’s class is talking about their college application essay that was due today. The essays are supposed to be about a significant event that occurred in our lives. I thought to myself how lucky all the Freedom Writers are to be able to say, “I’m going to college.” For me that statement is impossible to say because of one little reason: I am an illegal immigrant.

I wish my essay could have been about the most significant event in my life; how my family immigrated to America. My mother brought her children here to provide them with a better life. My mother kept us away from my drunk and abusive father, she wanted us to have a better future, and the opportunity in life that she never had—to have a successful education. Who would have thought that getting an education would be so tough? The irony is that I was brought here to get an education, yet at the same time, I feel like I am being deprived of an education in the future.

When I read
The Joy Luck Club
by Amy Tan, it made many things clear to me. I could identify the mothers in the book with my mother. Even though I’m not Chinese, I can relate to the feelings the four daughters had toward their mothers. Even though there were cultural differences between them and their mothers, they still appreciated all that they had done for them. Now when I think about this book, it makes me appreciate my mother that much more. If the girls in
The Joy Luck Club
were able to overcome all the obstacles that they were faced with, why can’t I overcome mine?