If Allen Ginsberg were here, he would say that our souls are like sunflowers shining in bright the sun.
That we are all created equal.
Books assure us that both segregation and prejudice have been forgotten for decades; but even so, why do people...
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"If the whole world was blind, how many people would you impress?"
— Boonaa Mohammed
Stanley G. Hall once said that adolescence is like being born in a new body. I think what he is trying to say is that youth is like a bright spark, glowing in a dark tunnel.
But once kids turn eighteen, that innocent spark begins to wane very quickly.
Parents, school principals, teachers, and irritating guidance counselors begin to pressure kids to think about SATs, scholarships, and getting jobs.
"We only want what's best for you," they say in that sweet, obnoxious voice."Reach for the stars."
Then thirty years from now, kids will become jobless couch potatoes consuming numerous bags of Cheetos until they get sick.
As my English teacher, Mr. Gonzalez, reads my written assignment, he breaks into a stroll, shifting his feet across the white tiled floors.
Twenty-four wooden desks fill the classroom, but not enough to calm me down. Small bookshelves stood beneath placid windows cooled from the rain.
Looking around, I notice the light shade of teal blue touching the walls.
As Mr. Gonzalez wanders, his murky gray shoes rubbing dirt on the sterile white tiles. He was reading my manuscript about overcoming adulthood to the entire class.
His radiant brown eyes sparkled; the paper brushes against his light brown skin but Mr. Gonzalez didn't notice.
Looking at the bored students in front of him, Mr. Gonzalez stops reading my manuscript, licks his dry lips, and asks: "Who wrote this compelling essay?"
He darts his eyes across the room for any daring participants, but no one was willing to speak up.
"If the gifted writer is in this room, he or she would get to tell me what inspired them to write this magnificent essay."
I slink into my seat, completely embarrassed.
"Anyone?" Mr. Gonzalez becomes visibly hurt as kids barely acknowledge his existence.
Some were writing on desks while others gossiped behind the teacher's back.
In the meantime, I open a hard copy of Great Expectations and pretend to read the first chapter until Mr. Gonzalez notices me.
He lowers my paper, blinks in my direction, then asked me if my name is Leah.
