Monologue Of A Father During The Great Depression

I am writing to you because we desperately need your help. The Depression has hit us extremely hard, and I’m not sure we can last much longer. Father is out of a job and Mother is very sick. We heard on the radio the other day that your business is doing quite well despite the Depression. If you could send us some money we would be eternally grateful. We only need enough to last until Father gets a job again, which will hopefully happen soon. He goes out every day to find one and he’s hardly ever home. We don’t have much food and we’re all very hungry. Please help! Our house went into foreclosure about 3 years ago, and ever since we’ve been living in what Mother and Father call “Hooverville.” Our house (if you can even call it that) is made of mostly cardboard and thin pieces of metal. Sometimes, in the middle of the

I’m not sure I can do it much longer. Every day I come home with sore legs and sore shoulders from my backpack. Sometime when we’re really low on cash Father will tell us to go beg instead of going to school. I’d honestly rather do that because it’s a much shorter walk. Our school is in very bad condition, and I sometimes fear that a strong gust of wind will come and knock it over in the middle of class. Anyway, my teacher, Ms. Davis, talks about how the new curriculum for this year is focusing on educating children in a way so that they reach their “full potential.” I think that means the teachers just encourage their students more, but I’m not really sure. Ms. Davis also talks about how she doesn’t get paid very much, but she keeps teaching because she loves “us kids” (she calls us that even though she’s not much older than us). Speaking of us kids, we’re all white. The black kids are in an even more run-down building than we are. I don’t think that’s very fair, though. Why should they be given a worse experience in school just because of their skin