Angela's Small Attempt to Help Restore Faith in Humanity

ahite then. on November 12, 1998, my stepdad DeMar picked me up from school. there we were, on our way home, when DeMar suggests that we stop by the Broadway location of the best hamburger joint in all of Seattle (possibly the best in the world, but that's a side note). The name of this burger paradise is Dick's (oh, and they also have bomb milkshakes. LoL). so aniwaize, we both wanted hamburgers and shakes, so we headed over there. we got out of the car and made our way to the window (this is a drive-in burger joint), and as we did so, we heard a voice shouting out, to no one in particular, "Hey! Will somebody buy me a burger?" i glanced back to see who it was that had spoken, and my eyes fell on a raggedy-looking character hanging out with a bunch of other raggedy-looking people, many of them with piercings in various parts of their faces. *ick.* sighing, i looked away and did not give the gentleman's comment a second thought. DeMar then leaned into the little space in the window where one is supposed to order, and requested three deluxes and two shakes; one chocolate, one strawberry. i was not expecting him to order three hamburgers, but figured that he was probably just really hungry. so i dismissed that thought as well. after we had paid and put straws in our shakes, we headed back to the car, but DeMar took a slight detour. He headed toward the young man who had requested a burger from anyone who would listen, or not listen, as the case may be, and took one deluxe out of our paper bag and asked "Did somebody want a burger?" The young man, shocked but not about to refuse a free burger, volunteered readily "Yeah, I did!" So my stepdad handed him the burger, saying as he did so, "Well, here you go then." i didn't know what to say, so i just smiled and headed with my stepfather back to the van. on the way there, i remarked: "You know what, DeMar? you've just restored my faith in humanity. and i thank you very much." i then added "Not that it was ever completely lost in the first place." DeMar, in response, said honestly "Well, I should hope not!" so i countered with "But didn't that just really seem like the appropriate thing to say at the moment?" yes, it did, he agreed. i then told him how impressed i was with this altruistic action of his, and he replied with a statement that made me smile: "You gotta share the wealth. Who knows, he could have been a very nice guy, just with a rough apprearance. Then again, he could have been a rat...but you really should share the wealth anyway." *wasn't that funny? i really liked that.* and this entire incident was the inspiration for this webpage. *thanks for reading it. much love :)*

~ angela carmina martinez dy

Some call it a gang, some call it a clique, others say it is just a trend. Whatever it is, AP, or Asian Pride, is a concept that should not be ignored. AP exists among teenagers at many high schools in various degrees. Taken literally, Asian Pride can be explained as an attitude of dignity and respect for one's Asian ancestry. A problem occurs, however, when this attitude of self-respect is taken to the extreme and becomes one of abhorrence and intolerance of other cultures. There is nothing wrong with having pride for one's ethnicity, but it is unacceptable to shun others because of their different backgrounds. At this point, it is not called pride anymore, but hate. This attitude is also referred to as racism. The irony is that Asia, the continent east of the Ural Mountains, includes more than just the "orient." Technically, Indians and Russians are Asians also. However, the so-called Asian Priders are typically Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, Filipino, etc. This idea of AP often leads to tensions among various groups of teens. Fights and other forms of violence may result between "Asians" and non-Asians. Many of these conflicts erupt because the Asian Prider feels insulted or "disrespected" by someone of another race. Because he can not lose face, the Asian feels the need to defend himself and confrontations occur. These troublemakers, who give the concept of Asian Pride and all Asians a bad name, are despised by Asians and non-Asians alike. The Asian Pride attitude of hostility basically reverts back to the juvenile debate over who is better. It is possible to have Asian Pride without the hate and prejudice. Anything more than pride is childish and absurd. This immature bickering stands in the path of racial tolerance and leads to an endless cycle of resentment. When teenagers have this racist disposition, they will have a hard time smoothly incorporating themselves and their ideas of culture and pride into a harmonious, multiethnic society as adults.

By Amy Cheng; supplemented by Angela Dy

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was waiting in the station to meet the woman whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must by Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand the admire of Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."

Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold. Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend." Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far. What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother's absence. All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he had nothing. Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime. He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you." Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. The sound of the door closing as the last customer left, jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid. Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box. "That will be ten cents young man," the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?" This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son." As he returned inside, the shop keepers wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. "Then just a few minutes ago a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime. When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars. When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses." The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all.

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