Dear Diary,
This last week my school finally created an art program. All the doodles covering my math notebooks are called ‘sketches’ by the new art teacher, Mr. Dursley. I have never used such smooth beautiful pencils on such fantastic toothy paper. I have never felt this way about any other class, especially math and science. I can’t believe Lyndon B Johnson is recognizing my passion as an integral part of education. My whole academic life I have felt like I wasn’t smart or talented. Finding my passion and skills in this class has been the highlight of high school for me. The school’s new shiny art room has become my sanctuary. I was afraid that going home everyday I would lose this new artistic discovery. But the National Endowment for the Arts has even given my school funding for each student to take home their own sketchbook, charcoals, graphite pencils, and mini watercolor set. After only a week of classes and using these new art materials I think I want to be an artist. Mr. Dursley said he felt the same way when he was my age, but never received the classical training to begin his artistic journey when he was younger. Mr. Dursley said I am his most promising student and if I work hard, I could be a real artist someday! Whatever amount of success that comes my way will be owed to Lyndon B Johnson, the Secondary Education Act, and the National Endowment for the Arts. I can’t wait to see where my new artistic skills will take me! Excited, Lenny Green |
Dear Diary,
When you start with having no home, having any home at all seems amazing. That’s why Lyndon B Johnson’s Omnibus Housing Act seems like a miracle. After moving from family member to family member, my single mother, brother, and I finally have our own ho. I have never been in one neighborhood for too long, but now I have neighbor friends and favorite play places. My mother doesn’t have to worry too much about rent and can now afford to make us two meals a day, instead of one. The stability and comfort this brings into my life is impossible to describe. I put my favorite newspaper headlines up in the bedroom my brother and I share, now the walls seemed to be covered in my favorite words. I hang up my three dresses, my skirt, my jeans, and two shirts in my OWN closet. I can sit at the kitchen table and know that the door is locked and I am alone in MY house. The bussing from my neighborhood still takes me to my old school, leading a bridge between my two new safe places. When my mother is at work I can go visit any of my neighbors, because my home is also a community filled with other struggling families. Everyday I get to return to this magical impossible place and call it my own. Having my own home is better than I could have ever imagined. Safe, Kathy Macool |
|
Dear Diary,
Leaving your old life behind is hard, but at least America has made immigration a little easier. Lyndon B Johnson, at least, has made it easier. Before, I had to wait years for America to take me in from my homeland of Burma. With the quotas for immigrants from different regions, I was on a very long waiting list. My brother was very unhappy with his quality of living first. About 10 years ago, he applied to the American embassy in Naypyidaw, hoping to live his life on a farm behind. Not only did he have to travel to the capital of Burma to begin his immigration plans, which took 2 weeks, but during the 5 years he waited for his new citizenship and passage he was forced to make the trip many times. This wasn’t simple or easy for my family. The bad memory of this immigration bureaucracy kept me from applying for my own immigration for 5 years. My brother and I have kept in correspondence, as he was sorely missed by my whole family. What he described about America seemed magical and unattainable. He said it was completely worth the wait, but he didn’t want me to have the same “waiting and seeing” fate. A few months ago, the news of new legislation allowing more people to leave Asia at a time seemed like a godsend. After only two months of paperwork and waiting, I am finally on my way to meet my brother and find my own American Dream. Who knows what I will face, but I have only Lyndon B Johnson and his new society to thank for my circumstances. Ready, Wendy Aung-Thwin |
|
Dear diary,
The other day I fell off of my bike. It was a huge crash; I was going real fast—you wouldn't believe how fast I was going. I had started at the top of this big hill. I walked my bike up, sat down on it, and without even putting my helmet on I started down the hill. I was speeding up, but before I could think about what was happening, I guess my front wheel caught a pebble or a crack in the road; the handlebars jerked to the left and next thing I knew I was flying face first down this big hill. I hit the ground hard—really hard. I bet twenty bones snapped in two hundred places in that instant. Then, my body thrashed down the hill like a lifeless rag doll. Every time I hit the rough ground it took another patch of skin right off my limbs. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill and come to a stop, I could barely see straight. My bike flailed down right after me and slammed into some guy's car parked at the bottom of the hill. I was pretty sure I was going to die, but the next thing I know I'm lying on my back staring up at a white ceiling. A doctor came into my room and mentioned something about one of my organs exploding; I wouldn't have survived if I my parents had brought me to the hospital ten minutes later. Luckily, under the president's amendment to the Social Security Act, I could get medical care. Medicaid provides my family with federal funded health insurance. Had it not been for President Johnson's health care measures, I would have died at the bottom of that hill. Blessed, Rhyde Mibisickle |