I write because my tongue is too tired to speak. I write because somethings are easier to say if their shaped in ink. I write because I want to say the things that are hard to say. I write because sometimes you don't listen.
It was one chilly winter morning up in Vermont. Maya, an eight year old girl, was still soundly asleep in bed until her mother, Amanda, came into her room after getting a phone call from Maya’s school.
How can we keep John Lewis's legacy alive? A good question that is, sadly, hard to answer. People all over the country mistreating others just because of the color of their skin or their culture.
It was the day after it had rained, and the ground was covered in ice. Just a typical winter morning in Vermont. Most people would be inside watching a movie with hot chocolate. Not my family!
I have always identified, rather sheepishly, as an intellectual. Considering that I am interested in linguistics, classical history, and mathematical philosophy, It’s the only title that has fit.
Thank you. Thank you for what you have done for us, what you have inspired us to do. Thank you for all the work you have put into making us better people, a better country.Thank you.
[Editor's note: This essay by Roxane Park, Grade 8, Crossroads Academy, is a response to Banned Books Week, which is this week.]Words Worth Saving: John Steinbeck's East of Eden