reaching this goal would probably be very difficult, but I knew I had to do it. I felt as if I didn’ t do this, nobody would.
Thats how I began what I love. When I began to brainstorm what I could do, memories flooded back of when I was in school. I remember when my school received new books. We were all really excited because it was pretty much the first time any of us got our own books! But when we got them, they were in horrible shape. They were dirty, stained books. They were hand downs from the white school. Once they were done with them and the books weren’ t up to their standards, they just threw them at us. I remember the pain of feeling unwanted and like the lower class. We were just the same age, we were humans, we had feelings. I also remember walking to school everyday while the buses from the white school would zoom right by us and splash us with mud. I remember the frustrating pain of not being treated fairly. I wanted to come up with an idea that could make things fair for kids and so all kids can get equal education. Thats when I thought of secretly creating an“ all race” school for both black and white students. I was on a hunt for a good building that could serve as a school for a cheap price. I seized every ad and newspaper article on buildings for sale until I finally found one that would work. I also went around to the good families I knew and asked if they would like to be in on my plan. Many families agreed to enrolling their students and even donated a little money to the new school. I knew it would be hard and many people would be very angry with this idea, if it was discovered, and they would try to break it. I was strong though and the people that supported me were many.
My school found almost 65 students before it was over-ruled by the heartless people that thought what I was doing was wrong. My school and hard work was burnt down about a month later by a group of men. But, I knew this idea would spark others and inspire other people to support fairness. Watching the kids get along and interact with each other, even if they had different skin colors, was amazing. Seeing their excited faces, I couldn’ t help but smile. It made me happy to know that some kids didn’ t have to go through that humiliation and frustration, because I knew how it hurt. I am proud of what I accomplished. I know my mom would be proud of me, for I have followed in her footsteps and helped others.
“ T. J. Is a Fugitive of A Chain Gang” by Nicole Basil
June 6, 1932- I killed a man. A white man. But really, I didn’ t kill him; I just got blamed for it because I am black. Stacey, my good friend, had told me those white boys weren’ t