Today, I am here to talk about something that should be appreciated. When I say appreciate, I mean that we should show thanks or even love to a certain something. Everyone has someone or something that they appreciate. It might be mom or dad or one of the many people who keep their cities safe from harm, like police officers or fire fighters. I know something, or rather someone, that we should appreciate and his name is Master Splinter.
Many should know who Master Splinter is and what he does. He is kind of like the father of a certain group of heroes with shells on their backs. That’s right, I mean the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Everyone loves the Ninja Turtles. Some people like Michelangelo and some like Raphael. Personally, my favorite is Donatello, but the question is how many people like Master Splinter? The answer to that question is: very few. Not enough people consider Master Splinter to be their favorite character and that’s just lame.
Master Splinter is just as great as the turtles. He may be a giant rat, but he isn’t anything like those nasty things that play in the trash. Without him the Ninja Turtles would be a bunch of booger-eating babies. He was the one who found them in the sewer, raised them and taught them the ways of the ninja. Even now, they are still learning from Master Splinter. We may all get older too, but we can always learn from our parents. Master Splinter is what holds the Ninja Turtles together. If he weren’t there, where would they be? Leonardo wouldn’t be half the leader he is now. Raphael wouldn’t be such a tough guy. Michelangelo’s jokes wouldn’t be as funny and Donatello wouldn’t be a genius. What’s more, no one would ever hear that awesome catch phrase, “Cowabunga!”. They are what they are because of Master Splinter.
I’m sure everyone wonders what makes Master Splinter who he is. The answer is: himself. As a simple rat, he learned karate on his own. No master, no teacher. Just himself. He managed to care for four turtles by himself and eventually, he became their ninja master and a good one at that. Simply put, a true hero. He should be appreciated just as much, if not more, than the Ninja Turtles. Actually, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be a main character. It isn’t fair that he is always in the background while Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael get to hog the spotlight.
To make a long story short, Master Splinter is the greatest. A giant rat with a cane is just as cool as a giant turtle with a bandana. We should appreciate him like we appreciate all of our heroes. If not, then he would be just another rat without anyone to adore him like Batman or Spiderman or Wolverine. He tries hard like many other super heroes and he is always willing to help. He shouldn’t be loved any less than anyone else. So next time someone asks you who your favorite Ninja Turtle is, find it in your heart to choose Master Splinter, the ninja rat.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Master Splinter WA8
Today, I am here to talk about something that should be appreciated. When I say appreciate, I mean that we should show thanks or even love to a certain something. Everyone has someone or something that they appreciate. It might be mom or dad or one of the many people who keep their cities safe from harm, like police officers or fire fighters. I know something, or rather someone, that we should appreciate and his name is Master Splinter.
Many should know who Master Splinter is and what he does. He is kind of like the father of a certain group of amphibious heroes with shells on their backs. That’s right, I mean the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Everyone loves the Ninja Turtles. Some people like Michelangelo and some like Raphael. Personally, I prefer Donatello, but the question is how many people like Master Splinter? The answer to that question is: very few. Not enough people consider Master Splinter to be their favorite character and that’s just lame.
Master Splinter is just as great as the turtles. He may be a giant rat, but he is nothing close to a household pest. Without him the Ninja Turtles would be nothing. He was the one who found them in the sewer and he was the one who raised them and taught them the ways of the ninja. Even now, they are still learning from Master Splinter. We may all get older too, but we can always learn from our parents. Master Splinter is what holds the Ninja Turtles together. If he weren’t there, where would they be? Leonardo wouldn’t be half the leader he is now. Raphael wouldn’t be such a tough guy. Michelangelo’s jokes wouldn’t be as funny and Donatello wouldn’t be a genius. They are what they are because of Master Splinter.
I’m sure everyone wonders what makes Master Splinter who he is. The answer is: himself. As a simple rat, he learned karate by himself. No master, no teacher. Just himself. He managed to care for four turtles on his own and eventually, he became their sensei and a good one at that. A true hero. He should be appreciated just as much, if not more, than the Ninja Turtles. Actually, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be a main character. It isn’t fair that he is always in the background while Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael get to hog the spotlight.
To make a long story short, Master Splinter is the greatest. A giant rat with a cane is just as cool as a giant turtle with a bandana. We should appreciate him like we appreciate all of our heroes. If not, then he will be stuck in the back without anyone to adore him like Batman or Spiderman or Wolverine. He tries hard like many other super heroes and he is always willing to help. He shouldn’t be loved any less than anyone else. So next time someone asks you who your favorite Ninja Turtle is, find it in your heart to choose Master Splinter, the ninja rat.
Many should know who Master Splinter is and what he does. He is kind of like the father of a certain group of amphibious heroes with shells on their backs. That’s right, I mean the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Everyone loves the Ninja Turtles. Some people like Michelangelo and some like Raphael. Personally, I prefer Donatello, but the question is how many people like Master Splinter? The answer to that question is: very few. Not enough people consider Master Splinter to be their favorite character and that’s just lame.
Master Splinter is just as great as the turtles. He may be a giant rat, but he is nothing close to a household pest. Without him the Ninja Turtles would be nothing. He was the one who found them in the sewer and he was the one who raised them and taught them the ways of the ninja. Even now, they are still learning from Master Splinter. We may all get older too, but we can always learn from our parents. Master Splinter is what holds the Ninja Turtles together. If he weren’t there, where would they be? Leonardo wouldn’t be half the leader he is now. Raphael wouldn’t be such a tough guy. Michelangelo’s jokes wouldn’t be as funny and Donatello wouldn’t be a genius. They are what they are because of Master Splinter.
I’m sure everyone wonders what makes Master Splinter who he is. The answer is: himself. As a simple rat, he learned karate by himself. No master, no teacher. Just himself. He managed to care for four turtles on his own and eventually, he became their sensei and a good one at that. A true hero. He should be appreciated just as much, if not more, than the Ninja Turtles. Actually, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be a main character. It isn’t fair that he is always in the background while Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael get to hog the spotlight.
To make a long story short, Master Splinter is the greatest. A giant rat with a cane is just as cool as a giant turtle with a bandana. We should appreciate him like we appreciate all of our heroes. If not, then he will be stuck in the back without anyone to adore him like Batman or Spiderman or Wolverine. He tries hard like many other super heroes and he is always willing to help. He shouldn’t be loved any less than anyone else. So next time someone asks you who your favorite Ninja Turtle is, find it in your heart to choose Master Splinter, the ninja rat.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The Fatarellis (FINAL)
Hi, my name is John. Of course, you probably can’t see me right now. It’s always been that way… Any picture that’s ever been taken of me always shows me behind someone. I never showed up in my school yearbooks and somehow lazy, no-good, never-work Dave is always in front of me in MY employee of the month photos. But no biggie, it’s just MY accomplishment, it’s not like I had to work hard or anything. Anyway, here I am again, stuck behind somebody or rather stuck behind somebody’s BIG behind.
I wanted my face to be in this picture, but yet again I managed to find the worst seat in the house, right behind Micky D’s number one customers, the Fatarelli’s. They need to eat a salad or something and stop munching on them apple pies and number fives. Old thick neck father Fatarelli is up to it again, stuffing his face with sweets and gulping down a large soda. With guys like him running our families, it’s no wonder that America is getting fat. When I first came in this place, I half expected him to say “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” Looking like Chris Cringle with a belly full chocolate chip cookies. I really wish he was Santa Clause because my Christmas wish would be for him to move his fat tail up out of my picture. And I can’t believe the hat he has on. Does he think he’s cool or something, Larry the Cable Guy wanna-be…
The rest of his family is no better than he is. His wife looks like Paula Dean with an extra scoop of butter and she’s a hypocrite. I was ahead of her in line and she had the nerve to tell me that if I kept ordering food like that, I was going to get fat. How is she going to tell me what to eat? She needs to stop eating that custard because she’s starting to look like the fifth Telly-Tubby.
And the kid… My God, he’s the most annoying creature I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. His voice is like nails on a chalk board and he won’t shut the heck up! He doesn’t even shut up when he’s stuffing his face and boy, does he stuff his face. At the rate that this kid eats, it won’t be long before he weighs about 350 pounds with a big ol’ Fatarelli belly and his big behind is in someone else’s picture, just like his dad.
Geez, I sure did get a rotten deal, stuck behind big papa Fatarelli. It’s not fair I tell you, I have these dashingly charming good looks and he gets to literally hog my spot light. He’s worse than Dave, that jerk. I never get a piece of the action, at work, at school and now at my favorite restaurant. It’s some sort of cruel joke. To be stuck behind the Fatarellis, you wouldn’t believe it.
I wanted my face to be in this picture, but yet again I managed to find the worst seat in the house, right behind Micky D’s number one customers, the Fatarelli’s. They need to eat a salad or something and stop munching on them apple pies and number fives. Old thick neck father Fatarelli is up to it again, stuffing his face with sweets and gulping down a large soda. With guys like him running our families, it’s no wonder that America is getting fat. When I first came in this place, I half expected him to say “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” Looking like Chris Cringle with a belly full chocolate chip cookies. I really wish he was Santa Clause because my Christmas wish would be for him to move his fat tail up out of my picture. And I can’t believe the hat he has on. Does he think he’s cool or something, Larry the Cable Guy wanna-be…
The rest of his family is no better than he is. His wife looks like Paula Dean with an extra scoop of butter and she’s a hypocrite. I was ahead of her in line and she had the nerve to tell me that if I kept ordering food like that, I was going to get fat. How is she going to tell me what to eat? She needs to stop eating that custard because she’s starting to look like the fifth Telly-Tubby.
And the kid… My God, he’s the most annoying creature I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. His voice is like nails on a chalk board and he won’t shut the heck up! He doesn’t even shut up when he’s stuffing his face and boy, does he stuff his face. At the rate that this kid eats, it won’t be long before he weighs about 350 pounds with a big ol’ Fatarelli belly and his big behind is in someone else’s picture, just like his dad.
Geez, I sure did get a rotten deal, stuck behind big papa Fatarelli. It’s not fair I tell you, I have these dashingly charming good looks and he gets to literally hog my spot light. He’s worse than Dave, that jerk. I never get a piece of the action, at work, at school and now at my favorite restaurant. It’s some sort of cruel joke. To be stuck behind the Fatarellis, you wouldn’t believe it.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Fatarellis
Hi, my name is John. Of course, you probably can’t see me right now. It’s always been that way… Any picture that’s ever been taken me always shows me behind someone. I never showed up in my school yearbooks and somehow lazy, no-good, never-work Dave is always in front of me in MY employee of the month photos. But no biggie, it’s just MY accomplishment, it’s not like I had to work hard or anything. Anyway, here I am again, stuck behind somebody or rather stuck behind somebody’s rather BIG behind.
I wanted my face to be in this picture, but yet again I managed to find the worst seat in the house, right behind Micky D’s number one customers, the Fatarelli’s. They need to eat a salad or something and stop munching on them apple pies and number fives. Old thick neck father Fatarelli is up to it again, stuffing his face with sweets and gulping down a large soda. With guys like him running our families, it’s no wonder that America is getting fat. When I first came in this place, I half expected him to say “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” Looking like Chris Cringle with a belly full chocolate chip cookies. I really wish he was Santa Clause because my Christmas gift would be for him to move his fat tail up out of my picture. And I can’t believe the hat he has on. Does he think he’s cool or something, Larry the Cable Guy wanna-be…
The rest of his family is no better than he is. His wife looks like Paula Dean with an extra scoop of butter and she’s really mean. I was ahead of her in line and she had the nerve to tell me that if I kept ordering food like that, I was going to get fat. How is she going to tell me what to eat? She need to stop eating that custard because she’s starting to look like the fifth Telly-Tubby. And the kid… Could anyone else eat so noisily?
Geez, I sure did get a rotten deal, stuck behind big papa Fatarelli. It’s not fair I tell you, I have this dashingly charming good looks and he gets to hog my spot light. He’s worse than Dave, that jerk. I never get a piece of the action, at work, at school and now at my favorite restaurant. It’s some sort of cruel joke. To be stuck behind the Fatarellis, you wouldn’t believe it.
I wanted my face to be in this picture, but yet again I managed to find the worst seat in the house, right behind Micky D’s number one customers, the Fatarelli’s. They need to eat a salad or something and stop munching on them apple pies and number fives. Old thick neck father Fatarelli is up to it again, stuffing his face with sweets and gulping down a large soda. With guys like him running our families, it’s no wonder that America is getting fat. When I first came in this place, I half expected him to say “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” Looking like Chris Cringle with a belly full chocolate chip cookies. I really wish he was Santa Clause because my Christmas gift would be for him to move his fat tail up out of my picture. And I can’t believe the hat he has on. Does he think he’s cool or something, Larry the Cable Guy wanna-be…
The rest of his family is no better than he is. His wife looks like Paula Dean with an extra scoop of butter and she’s really mean. I was ahead of her in line and she had the nerve to tell me that if I kept ordering food like that, I was going to get fat. How is she going to tell me what to eat? She need to stop eating that custard because she’s starting to look like the fifth Telly-Tubby. And the kid… Could anyone else eat so noisily?
Geez, I sure did get a rotten deal, stuck behind big papa Fatarelli. It’s not fair I tell you, I have this dashingly charming good looks and he gets to hog my spot light. He’s worse than Dave, that jerk. I never get a piece of the action, at work, at school and now at my favorite restaurant. It’s some sort of cruel joke. To be stuck behind the Fatarellis, you wouldn’t believe it.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Bride Point of View
Wendy was preparing for her wedding in the dressing room. “Dress? Check. Veil? Check. Bouquet? Check.” In reality, she didn’t really care about all that crap. She was only thinking about the the ring. The funny thing was, she hadn’t actually seen it yet. Her husband had made a point to make sure that she wouldn’t see it until today. “Wait a sec, how the hell did he propose to me?! Never mind that… Just a little bit more lip stick annnd, Voila! All done.”
“Wendy! You ready yet? The ceremonies going to begin any minute now. It would be a shame to have a wedding without the bride.” It was her sister, A.K.A, Miss Maid-of-Honor.
“Just a second, Sarah! I’m almost finished.” Wendy was starting to shiver and shake. Not because she was nervous about getting married, but because she was excited about finally getting to see her “special” ring that her husband, Rob, had tried so hard to hide from her. She stepped out from her dressing room. “Show time. Soon I get to see my precious.” She giggled like a school girl at the thought of her beautiful ring. She rushed to the start of the beautiful carpet to meet her father.
“Hey Wend-” Her father started to greet her.
“Shush up, turn around and move your feet! It’s time for me to get my ring.” She rushed her father up the carpet, completely out of sync with the music. She quickly approached her future husband. She asked immediately, “Where is my ring?”
“Uh, honey, we haven’t even started yet.” Replied Rob, a smile on his face.
“Oh yeah, I know, but still… Where is it?” Rob pointed to a little boy, holding a little pillow with a finely decorated box on top, made just for a ring. His steps were a little wobbly. Wendy thought to herself, “That little snot nosed punk is going to trip and fall, and then my ring will be ruined, and then this wedding will be ruined, and then I won’t get married, and then I’ll end up like Aunt Beatrice; old, senile and living with 32 cats. Worst of all, my RING will be RUINED!” Wendy stood with anticipation as she watched the toddler stumble and swagger with her ring in his possession. Then finally, he fell. “My God!” Gasped Wendy, as she rushed down to the little boy. She picked up her ring, brushed it off gently, and then she placed it back on the pillow. She forced the boy up, patted him down violently and thrust the pillow back into his arms. “If that ring has a single scratch on it, I’m sending you to the zoo to be wolf meat! Do you understand?”
A frightened reply, “Yes, mommy.” Finally, with the boy and the ring, the bride yet again joined her husband at the altar. All that set aside, the priest began to speak, “We have come here-”
“You know what? Shut up. I’m here. He’s here. I do and he does. Anyway, who has the ring?”
“I do…” The little boy handed the ring to his father who in turned opened the box and slid the ring on his wife’s finger.
“Oh my god, this is beautiful!” She inspected the ring and on the inside there was an engraving.
To my special someone.
“Wendy! You ready yet? The ceremonies going to begin any minute now. It would be a shame to have a wedding without the bride.” It was her sister, A.K.A, Miss Maid-of-Honor.
“Just a second, Sarah! I’m almost finished.” Wendy was starting to shiver and shake. Not because she was nervous about getting married, but because she was excited about finally getting to see her “special” ring that her husband, Rob, had tried so hard to hide from her. She stepped out from her dressing room. “Show time. Soon I get to see my precious.” She giggled like a school girl at the thought of her beautiful ring. She rushed to the start of the beautiful carpet to meet her father.
“Hey Wend-” Her father started to greet her.
“Shush up, turn around and move your feet! It’s time for me to get my ring.” She rushed her father up the carpet, completely out of sync with the music. She quickly approached her future husband. She asked immediately, “Where is my ring?”
“Uh, honey, we haven’t even started yet.” Replied Rob, a smile on his face.
“Oh yeah, I know, but still… Where is it?” Rob pointed to a little boy, holding a little pillow with a finely decorated box on top, made just for a ring. His steps were a little wobbly. Wendy thought to herself, “That little snot nosed punk is going to trip and fall, and then my ring will be ruined, and then this wedding will be ruined, and then I won’t get married, and then I’ll end up like Aunt Beatrice; old, senile and living with 32 cats. Worst of all, my RING will be RUINED!” Wendy stood with anticipation as she watched the toddler stumble and swagger with her ring in his possession. Then finally, he fell. “My God!” Gasped Wendy, as she rushed down to the little boy. She picked up her ring, brushed it off gently, and then she placed it back on the pillow. She forced the boy up, patted him down violently and thrust the pillow back into his arms. “If that ring has a single scratch on it, I’m sending you to the zoo to be wolf meat! Do you understand?”
A frightened reply, “Yes, mommy.” Finally, with the boy and the ring, the bride yet again joined her husband at the altar. All that set aside, the priest began to speak, “We have come here-”
“You know what? Shut up. I’m here. He’s here. I do and he does. Anyway, who has the ring?”
“I do…” The little boy handed the ring to his father who in turned opened the box and slid the ring on his wife’s finger.
“Oh my god, this is beautiful!” She inspected the ring and on the inside there was an engraving.
To my special someone.
The Ring
Darkness… How long have I been here? Why am I here? What’s my purpose? Where am I going in life? Am I even alive? Is there anything other than this darkness? If so, what is it? How can I get there?
I can’t stand this any longer. I’ve been here alone for so long. I’m tired of wondering “Who, What, When, Where and Why.” I want answers, and I want them soon. Why was I placed here? I’ve been told that I’m beautiful. If I’m so beautiful, then why am I hidden from the world that I know is out there? I heard someone say that I was meant for someone special. Why is it that I have yet to meet them? Why don’t I feel special?
I think that I’m destined for something great, some grand occasion, but what? When will it happen? I want to be free from this prison; I want to meet that special person, the one that I’m meant for. Will this darkness ever end? Will there ever be a light for me?
I remember that there was a time when there was a light. There were so many of us. Many came and gone. So many of us were taken away. I saw them, the prisons… So many were shoved inside. Why? At first, they fawn over us, and then they act as if we show so much promise, but in the end, we are forced into these prisons. I wonder, what has happened to the others? Where are they now? Have they discovered the light again? Will I see the light again? Maybe. Maybe not…
I hear sounds. Lively sounds. I want to say that it sounds like music. There are voices too, many voices. They sound so happy, like they are a part of something special. Could today be the day of that special occasion? Maybe I will be freed; maybe I will at once meet that person. The one that I am meant for. Then again, maybe not… I have been here, in this prison, for so long. Why would they free me now? I am nothing but a prisoner? How could I be destined for something greater? Why, after such a long time of torment in captivity, would I be treated as something grand, something beautiful? Here I am, so close to that “grand occasion”, that special moment, but is it something that I’m meant to be a part of?
I hear a voice. What is it saying?
“Who has the ring?” Ring? What’s a ring?
“I have the ring.” Who? Who has it? Wha-What is this? A light? The darkness, it’s leaving. I see something, a beautiful creature dressed in white. It… She seems happy to see me. I’m being lifted… Another creature, I want to say a man. He is sliding me onto her… finger? Could she be the one? The one I’m meant for? Is this my destiny? Maybe I truly am special.
I can’t stand this any longer. I’ve been here alone for so long. I’m tired of wondering “Who, What, When, Where and Why.” I want answers, and I want them soon. Why was I placed here? I’ve been told that I’m beautiful. If I’m so beautiful, then why am I hidden from the world that I know is out there? I heard someone say that I was meant for someone special. Why is it that I have yet to meet them? Why don’t I feel special?
I think that I’m destined for something great, some grand occasion, but what? When will it happen? I want to be free from this prison; I want to meet that special person, the one that I’m meant for. Will this darkness ever end? Will there ever be a light for me?
I remember that there was a time when there was a light. There were so many of us. Many came and gone. So many of us were taken away. I saw them, the prisons… So many were shoved inside. Why? At first, they fawn over us, and then they act as if we show so much promise, but in the end, we are forced into these prisons. I wonder, what has happened to the others? Where are they now? Have they discovered the light again? Will I see the light again? Maybe. Maybe not…
I hear sounds. Lively sounds. I want to say that it sounds like music. There are voices too, many voices. They sound so happy, like they are a part of something special. Could today be the day of that special occasion? Maybe I will be freed; maybe I will at once meet that person. The one that I am meant for. Then again, maybe not… I have been here, in this prison, for so long. Why would they free me now? I am nothing but a prisoner? How could I be destined for something greater? Why, after such a long time of torment in captivity, would I be treated as something grand, something beautiful? Here I am, so close to that “grand occasion”, that special moment, but is it something that I’m meant to be a part of?
I hear a voice. What is it saying?
“Who has the ring?” Ring? What’s a ring?
“I have the ring.” Who? Who has it? Wha-What is this? A light? The darkness, it’s leaving. I see something, a beautiful creature dressed in white. It… She seems happy to see me. I’m being lifted… Another creature, I want to say a man. He is sliding me onto her… finger? Could she be the one? The one I’m meant for? Is this my destiny? Maybe I truly am special.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Dear Barack Obama, Final Edit
Dear Barack Obama,
Congratulations on becoming the 44th president of the United States. It must have been a truly difficult journey. However, your journey is nowhere near the end. In fact, it is just beginning. Many people have a great amount of expectations for you, our new president. There are many issues that the citizens of the United States want you to focus on. Some want you to focus on Iraq, some aren’t satisfied with the current state of the economy and there are many more who want you to focus on entirely different issues. I am sorry to say that I have an issue for you to focus on as well. However, this is not a conventional issue. I don’t have any requests concerning education, health care, the economy or Iraq. The issue that I would like you to focus on is the matter of your success.
By becoming the first African-American president, you have changed history. You have disproved a lot of negative beliefs about African-Americans. I feel proud to know that it is possible for anyone of my race to achieve such a great position. I am deeply honored to have seen such an occasion in my life time. However, I know that I don’t want that to be the only reason why we should remember you. There have been many presidents and not all of them have been memorable. To this day, people do not speak of Martin Van Buren, the 8th president. On the other hand, people will always remember the 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, not because of his origin, his family or his race, but because of his actions. I want to be able to remember you because you were a great president. People shouldn’t remember you just because the 43 presidents that came before you were not African-Americans, they should remember you for what you did.
It seems that it would be difficult enough to be president, let alone the first African-American president. You have my full support and the support of many others as well. I hope that you make as many people as possible happy. Try to deal with the issues as best you can. Never give up and keep going forward. You have come into office at a difficult time, so I won’t try to push you and I pray that no one else does either. That is why I only want you to succeed.
Your success would do more than prove your worth as a president. It would send a strong message to so many people. You are, and I hope you will continue to be, a powerful source of inspiration to so many people. You have shown them that background does not determine where we go in life. Now, we can be sure that anyone can become anything, if they try.
Good luck Mr. Obama. Many are watching and many are waiting, there are problems that need solving and I know that you have the answers. Keep pushing forward, do your best and I’m sure that you will become one of the best presidents that this country has ever seen.
Wishing you the best of luck
- Omar Winstead
Congratulations on becoming the 44th president of the United States. It must have been a truly difficult journey. However, your journey is nowhere near the end. In fact, it is just beginning. Many people have a great amount of expectations for you, our new president. There are many issues that the citizens of the United States want you to focus on. Some want you to focus on Iraq, some aren’t satisfied with the current state of the economy and there are many more who want you to focus on entirely different issues. I am sorry to say that I have an issue for you to focus on as well. However, this is not a conventional issue. I don’t have any requests concerning education, health care, the economy or Iraq. The issue that I would like you to focus on is the matter of your success.
By becoming the first African-American president, you have changed history. You have disproved a lot of negative beliefs about African-Americans. I feel proud to know that it is possible for anyone of my race to achieve such a great position. I am deeply honored to have seen such an occasion in my life time. However, I know that I don’t want that to be the only reason why we should remember you. There have been many presidents and not all of them have been memorable. To this day, people do not speak of Martin Van Buren, the 8th president. On the other hand, people will always remember the 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, not because of his origin, his family or his race, but because of his actions. I want to be able to remember you because you were a great president. People shouldn’t remember you just because the 43 presidents that came before you were not African-Americans, they should remember you for what you did.
It seems that it would be difficult enough to be president, let alone the first African-American president. You have my full support and the support of many others as well. I hope that you make as many people as possible happy. Try to deal with the issues as best you can. Never give up and keep going forward. You have come into office at a difficult time, so I won’t try to push you and I pray that no one else does either. That is why I only want you to succeed.
Your success would do more than prove your worth as a president. It would send a strong message to so many people. You are, and I hope you will continue to be, a powerful source of inspiration to so many people. You have shown them that background does not determine where we go in life. Now, we can be sure that anyone can become anything, if they try.
Good luck Mr. Obama. Many are watching and many are waiting, there are problems that need solving and I know that you have the answers. Keep pushing forward, do your best and I’m sure that you will become one of the best presidents that this country has ever seen.
Wishing you the best of luck
- Omar Winstead
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