Journal entry #7. July 13, 2015
Dear diary,
...There was another argument we [my dad and I] had today. It was about a complete stranger on TV. They were having a protest today about early voting rights and the news crew were interviewing people about their opinions. They happened to ask a black lady with a scarf around her head about how she felt about the changing law. My dad was not paying attention to the words that were coming out of her mouth, but instead he flat out judged her based on her appearance. Now, here's the disgusting part. He said (out loud) that she was a crackhead..... That... UGH.. Do you know how wrong that is?!? My father has never met that lady before, he has never spoken to her before!! He glanced at her for two seconds and "knew" she was a crackhead. I defended the crap out of that lady. We went back and forth trying to win the argument, but he only had one reason I didn't "get" why he said that she was a crackhead. The excuse my dad used for me not agreeing with him was because I live a "sheltered life"... A FREAKING SHELTERED LIFE? Is a "sheltered life" being sent out into a public place, where shootings happen frequently, 8 hours a day? Where I am exposed to drugs and sexist pigs? I am so far from sheltered, but the sad part is, he doesn't even know it. I'm done ranting, but that was my day other than sleeping and on Netflix. My mom and I made homemade corndogs (made me sick) but, yeah.
Sincerely,
Alondra Key
YOU ARE READING
Excerpt from my diary
Non-FictionI'm sitting here in my bed frustrated because I recently realized that the jacked up world I live in can't be changed by me. Although, ranting about it in my journal seems to help. So to get a taste of what I mean, here is a little part of my day.
