What We Worry About

By
I saw it on the news the girls in Afghanistan who had acid thrown on their faces while walking to school. I watched the fifteen second piece while waiting for my ride to school, a ride that would be safe, a ride where I knew there would be no chance of getting acid thrown on my face. In the land of the free and the brave a seventeen-year-old female going to school is the norm.
I enjoy watching the national news for a few minutes every morning and have heard my share of ‘horror stories’, but this particular piece struck me. How can I worry about getting the new nano chromatic ipod, or new Sperry top-siders, when a large part of the world cannot get an education safely? Who cares about the economic crisis when there are children who cannot go to school without worrying about being attacked?
Hearing this story, by chance, made me think how truly selfish I am. I was pissed after getting my license when my parents told me there was no money for another car. I also hate sweet sixteen’s, on my sixteenth birthday I got a card from my parents with one, one hundred dollar bill inside, no party with Chris Brown or a black Land Rover as my gift. I hate that because I’ve had to buy all my clothing that I have absolutely no money for college. But at least I can look a man in the eye without being viewed as promiscuous, I can walk around my town, by myself, without worrying about being attacked, I can express my opinions and feelings whenever I please. I have these freedoms.
So maybe instead of worrying about my future; what color ipod I should get and what college I should attend (even though I have no money), I should worry about the girls in Afghanistan, and every country where women are hurt for trying to acquire an education. Instead of being angry with my parents for not providing me with a Park Avenue lifestyle, I should be angry with educated citizens across the world that can’t find it in them to stand up for someone or something other than himself. Because if a quarter of educated people would consciously choice to make someone else’s life better, rather than working seventy hour weeks to get that bonus. Than maybe, my children won’t have to see a fifteen second news clip of anyone getting acid thrown on their face.





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Haley said...
Jan. 16, 2009 at 10:25 pm
I love this!
 
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