May 19, 1962

The book is supposed to be sketchy. I made this because I want to show everyone what teenagers point of view writing. Please do not correct anything!

May 19, 1962,

            I am writing in this torn up journal my Pa had bought at a ninety-cense dollar store at the corner of Berry Avenue. The owner, Jacob, has always been a family-member of ours. He’s not related but we like to call him Uncle Jacob. He helps the family when we’re in trouble and times of need. Our family always counts on him, even if something bad happened. This town is tranquil and not a lot of people live here. We don’t hear no cars passing through the boulevards. Only a few, but that’s from another town – a rich town. Yes, we’re poor, but we know how to manage. My mom passed away 2 months ago from intoxication. I have no education and I don’t even know if my sentences make sense. They’re all torn up into bits and pieces. I am 13 years old and this is my life. I have been discriminated many times because I’m black – sometimes I wonder if whites are better than us Blacks. It’s no fair that Blacks have to be here in shame because of our race – the whites treat us like dirt – we’re all equal… if anyone could see that.

            I saw a white lady at a park, she looked like she was in her late 30s. She wore scarlet red lipstick the shade of an apple picked from a seeding tree. I went over there and looked at her. She looked in disgust. I felt ashamed. That made me more anxious for me to talk to her even more.

            “Hello, Ma’m.” I muttered.

            “What!” She seemed pissed. So, I let her be.

            “You embarrassed because I’m Black and you’re white?”

            “You whites think you’re so superior compared to Blacks. We are more equal together than sheep’s and frogs, lady. You hear?”

            She looked in fear, ready to run.

            “Hah! We’re superior – you think you can stand up to whites think you’re tough. You’re merely a worthless child” She shrieked.

            “Take that back – me mother raised me well and I wont let you whites underestimate me. You’re merely the fool who is a racist baboon.” I shouted, not in fear.

            She looked at me and made a sneer. She took a few steps back and at that few minutes, she fled.

            I don’t know why she left, Journal, but all I know is – she was scared of me! A white person scared to a Black teenage kid! I’ll write tomorrow, but I can’t promise nothing.

From,

Chris

 

Author's Note

This book is supposed to be what it was like to be black when blacks and whites were segregated. Please dont correct!