From the distance I watched my little sister. This young girl wasn’t my blood sister but I still felt connected to her, I felt responsible for her growth. She didn’t notice me watching her but she did become aware of my presence as I approached her table. She didn’t know how I felt about her because to the young sister I was a stranger. How dare I approach her? How do I have the audacity to believe that my words will be accepted by my newly adopted sister? I’m asking these questions in hindsight because none of these questions actually crossed my mind. I was focused on one thing and one thing only and that was for her to simply answer a question that I pondered while I watched her from across the room. I didn’t allow anything to get in my way. I didn’t allow doubt, worry, fear, the vibration of my cellular phone, the lady who insisted that I tell her where I purchased my tie nothing could stop me from accomplishing this goal of mine. As I approached the young lady she looked me up and down and then over her shoulder to see if maybe I had come for a reason that had nothing to do with her. But it had everything to do with her and the answer that she would give me would be the inspiration for a book that she and I had no idea would be developed in the years that followed this moment. How are you my sister? I asked this question with a smile because I wanted her to know that I didn’t mean her any harm. The young sister responded, “Good.” I couldn’t believe she responded with this word because her facial expression actually responded in a totally different manner. “You mind if I ask you a question little sister?” She paused for a second as if she was thinking to herself if I may have known her deepest secrets but then quickly she responded, “you may” as if mentally she confirmed there is no way that her secrets has come to the light. I asked, “Why are you so angry little sister?” She looked at me puzzled. I could understand why she looked at me in that manner. You and I would be angry too if we went through half of her experiences. From her look you would’ve thought I asked, “Why does dirt turn into mud when it rains?” or “Why is it cold during the winter?” or “Why does it get hot on a sunny day?” I thought her answer would be, “Isn’t it obvious why I look angry?” I live in a neighborhood where there are as many abandoned houses as homes being occupied. My father abandoned me at a crucial time when his compassion, hugs, and kisses could’ve quenched my thirst for love and attention. So now I’m in search for the man that my father chose not to be and honestly I don’t think I’ll ever find him because I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Gun shots, police and ambulance sirens have become my lullaby. Her look was frightening, worrisome and fear provoking. As she begin to open her mouth I was afraid and interested to hear what she would say and then she simply said, “I’m not angry this is my regular face.” I was floored. I was expecting a story that would perfectly answer my question. A story that would relieve my curiosity but instead her answer was simple and straightforward. As the bell rang for class I smirked because simultaneously a bell rang in my head as I was educated in this class called life and my little sister was the teacher. This sister and other young people in Cleveland, Ohio and around this country are like roses and this scowls are their thorns. These thorns protect them from anyone who plans to cause these gentle souls harm. The young people around this country and particularly in Cleveland, Ohio are subconsciously anger. They don’t recognize this anger because they have become desensitized to the ills of our society
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