Posted by Kimberlee Morrison on Feb 7, 2010 in
Books,
My Life I’ve had several people ask me what is “freedom writing” and what are “Freedom Writers.” It started as a bunch of kids writing their stories in the hopes that someone might read and find hope. Funny thing is that sometimes I have to go back to my own story when I’m looking for hope and motivation to persevere through hard times and achieve my goals. To wit, I share with you this excerpt from The Freedom Writer’s Diary: 10th Anniversary Edition.
Dear Diary,
I was five months pregnant when I graduated from high school. I wasn’t worried, though, because I had a plan. I was going to college and I was going to make something of myself. For a while the plan worked and I worked the plan. Spring semester came around and I jumped in full speed ahead, ready to conquer the world. But as time went on, and the plan didn’t seem to be taking me any closer to my goal of graduating from college, my vision started to grow dimmer and dimmer.
It was 30 minutes before my intro to mass media class; a course from which I was on the verge of being dropped because I was either late or absent on a regular basis. I spent the previous 30 minutes trying to scrounge up a few bucks to put gas in my car. I dumped my change jar and counted almost four dollars in pennies. Then I dug in the couch, under beds, in junk drawers, in my purse, and checked every pants or coat pocket until I had exactly five dollars. I put them in a ziplock bag and headed to the gas station, hoping I could get to class on time.
“I can’t take that,” said the little Asian woman, when I went to hand her the bag. She didn’t even move to it. “How do I know it’s five dollars?” Read more…
Tags: Freedom Writers, Goals, Perserverence, Struggles
Posted by Kimberlee Morrison on May 21, 2009 in
The Boy,
The Fam The boy can swim!
I believed so hard it made me angry yesterday when he wailed like a little girl and said he didn’t think he could do it.
“Yes you can!” I snapped, irritated with his lack of confidence. After all, his mother had been a competitive swimmer from the age of…whatever age they let you start competing…and there was no way I was going to raise a kid who couldn’t swim. Pa-leeze *rolls eyes*
I ignored his tears and cries that it was cold, held him out in the middle of the pool, pointed toward the wall, told him to kick his feet and move his arms. As I felt him start to push himself, I would move my hand from under him.
Every. Single. Time. Without fail, he’d panic waiting for me to save him from drowning, instead of focusing on getting to the wall.
“Go toward the wall, not me, ” I would say moving out of his path.”
He’d gasp for air when he reached the wall, giving me that can I please get out now mommy look.
Today though, he went with my sister. I didn’t feel like swimming and my halfway-around-the-fucking-world boyfriend wanted to talk as soon as I got home…so I didn’t go tonight. I was sitting in my room watching John Stewart on Hulu, when two wet people walked in breathing hard and excited.
“Mom I can swim!” The boy said before I could tell him to go back out and close the door. “I swam in 8 feet!”
My sister told me some long ass story about how great a teacher she is and then asked if I wanted to see him do it. She must’ve been reading my mind because, I was sitting there in utter disbelief. Was this confident man-child I saw before me the same crying little brat I who had scratched me a couple days ago when he tried to jump on my head and I moved away?
I grinned from ear to ear as we walked to the pool…My sister was asking me if I was really proud and all I could do is smile like an idiot.
When we go to the pool, the boy climbed down the ladder. He pulled his goggles down over his eyes and turned to my sister while still holding onto the wall.
“You read?” She asked.
“Ready,” he said.
“And…go!”
As soon as she said it, he pushed off the wall. Kicking furiously, moving his arms and moving across the pool!
OMG! OMG! OMFG!
He stopped, winded on the other side of the pool. “I want to go back.”
“Go.”
I cheered as he swam across the pool, pushing himself hard, completely focused on making it all the way to the wall. He looked like he was working so hard, but I could tell he knew he could make it and that all he had to do was keep going.
And he did.
Two more laps later, he climbed out of the water, exhausted and breathing heavily.
I beamed at him as my heart swelled.
“That was a lot of work man,” I said holding back tears. “I’m so –” my voice cracked. “I’m so proud of you.” I hugged him tight as the tears spilled down my cheeks.”
As we walked him, I was filled with such pride. For so long now he thought he couldn’t do it and I reminded him that he would learn. And today…the boy swam from one side of the pool to the other.
The boy can swim and I am one proud momma.
Tags: Accomplishments, Struggles, Swimming
