Memoir

This is a story that i have heard many times. It was told by both my grandmother and my mother. The title of this story is "The Clock Spins Around". The theme for this story is " What you dont like for yourself dont do it to other. This stoy is Very Intresting.

As i was walking down liberty avenue one day, I saw a bum on the streets begging for a Qurater. As i apporach the bum he asked me for a Qurater and i replyed to him "Get a job and a life". After i said that my grandmother give the guy a qurater and said that she is going to have a talk with me. As soon as we reach home she told me to sat down and she started to tell me this story.

There was once a rich man and a begger. The rich man had only one son. The rich man had everything that you could dream about having. He had a very expensive car, a very nice house in a rich neighborhood, pool in his backyard and very expencive things. On the other hand the begger had nothing, he usally get up early and started to beg from village to village. As soon as he stepped next to the rich man's house, the rich man curses him out, tell him a whole bunch of baloney that the begger dont wanna here. The begger always reply your day will come. One day the son and the father had an argument. Because of this argument the son went and draw all of the father money from his bank account, flood his house with water and made some nasty remarks about his father at his dad work place, which result in the firing of his dad. The only thing the son left him with was clothes. It so happen that one day the so called rich man had to go and begged for a living. As he apporach the rich neighborhood people used to curse him out and called him all sorts of name, sometimes he even get beaten up by people. One day as he was about to sleep on the streets, the old poor man came to his mind and he said to himself that "The Clock Always Spins Around".

This story is about the descrimination that i faced when i was doing construction with a couple of white guys. I simply had to do all the works. They never help me out. Sometimes they even crack on me say a whole bunch of baloney. I am positive that if it was a white guy they would have had more feelings for him. They would not work him like a donkey.

This story is about my first fight in High School. I had an argument with a spanish kid. He wanted to fight. I was tried of him saying all sorts of things about me, so i decided to accept his little challenge. We fought One on One and appreantly I won the fight. As i was walking home the next day eleven guys jumped me. I had cuts and bruses all over. In conclusion Its not worth it to fight because of what have happened.

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ŠVishawanand 2000