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| My uncle home in Spring Street |
My next door neighbor lived in a blue, three-story house with a front and back patio, with chipping paint and no garage. She was a registered nurse and had a son named James who was about six foot one with an Afro and always reeked of weed. I knew him because we attended Benson Magnet High School together. She was a very welcoming and generous person. I liked her up until the argument she had with my mother over grass, and then I began to gradually not care for her. She was one who always had a new guy “friend” over for a couple of weeks and then he too would disappear. I was the one who would sit back and observe things and watch how it played out. James would secretly have parties when his mother had to work late shifts, nights I hated.
Across the street from me lives a church family who has two sons and a daughter named Maya, who on a daily basis plays with my brother. And their parents don’t take care of the kid. For the most part, they keep to themselves and do house work around their home. I see the boys the most, with one being tall and skinny and the other short and round. No matter if its a hundred degrees outside, the boys will be out mowing the yard, occasionally straining for air with soaked t shirts. Every once and a while, I catch them eyeing me, but I’ve never had the pleasure of getting their names. On the will of my brother, it’ll be very soon.
Down the street from me I had big Wal-Mart Supermarket. Every weekend, my mom and I walked to Wal-Mart and bought some material (milk, bread, vegetable, meat, shrimp…) my mom often compared the price in Wal-Mart in last week and this week. If this week were expensive price, she could wait for next week and bought it. But I thought the Wal-Mart always cheap price and we could save money from Wal-Mart.
I like the Spring Street, I had a lot neighborhood here and they nice to my family. But, I had to move because my uncle was not appropriate to my family. He often yelled at me when he was drunk.
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| My home in Mockingbird Street |
The neighborhood is hushed. On Mockingbird Street live only mature and respectful adults who work favorably paying jobs. I’m certain of this because everyone except us owns their home. The constant squeaks of opening and closing garage doors at five in the morning assure me that they are headed off to work. The neighborhood is like a homeless shelter because there’s always someone in need of something, but everyone lightheartedly contributes if they can. We have tons of neighborhood watch signs plastered on every light pole and no litter. Don’t let all this gratifying knowledge mislead you to think it’s always been like this, because it hasn’t.
When I first moved to this district, it was a multitude of youthful adults with numerous children who spent much of their time vandalizing the neighborhood and causing lots of ruckus. Those nights were filled with vociferate voices and red and blue lights flicking on and off. The motive of these troubles was because they were renters instead of owners and didn’t have a concern for the neighbor. It happened so much that I began to get used to it.
The person who lived in the white house down the street on the corner will be one I’ll never forget. His name was Dennis Radigan, but everyone called him Denny for short. He was a Caucasian kid about the same age as me, blond hair, and with eyes as blue as the ocean. He stood about five foot nine and had a medium size weight. I had the biggest crush on him ever since I moved to that street. I’ll admit, he had my heart and the love I had for him was infinite. No matter how bad I wanted him, I couldn’t have him. He hung with the wrong crowd and got caught up in a lot of trouble. Denny broken into the house two down from mine. That breaking in caused that family to move. He departed for a year to DCYC (Douglas County Youth Center) and was later released back home to his mother, who didn’t worry about anything he did. He obtained his GED and started classes at Metropolitan Community College and turned his life around. It seems that we weren’t meant to be because he began to like me, but my mother forbids me to be with him due to his skin color. I would never date someone without my mother’s approval and she knew it, so it hurt that much more that she was using it against me. His family soon after moved away, which seems to me a new planet. We keep in touch by the power of text messaging, always bringing back those unforgettable feelings I had for him.
My home lives closed to a Buddhist temple. Also, every Sunday, I went to the Buddhist temple. The Buddhist temple helps me relax everything about a week I worked and studied really harder & harder (I had burn incense to Buddhist, and talked with my friends). http://www.facebook.com/#!/album.php?aid=26344&id=119152491470728 . The Buddhist temple had a lot of Vietnamese people there, and I had a lot of Vietnamese friends there, too. I and my friends often talked about how college’s, how’s your class going, and how long before you are going to Vietnam. Also, I am a member of my Vietnamese Buddhist Youth Group of Omaha, Nebraska. I am one of the key people, assuming various tasks in helping the group and the Buddhist community as well. I have been working very hard with the group on weekends to build a fence for the “Quoc An” Buddhist temple.
I serve not only the Omaha community but the Lincoln community as well. I have contributed time in some events for the Vietnamese community at Lincoln such as commemoration of the Lunar New Year, observation of the fall of Vietnam, etc. I also helped to encourage Vietnamese people to vote.
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| Omaha Neighborhood |
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| Down the street |
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| Family church |
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| Kind friendly neighborhood |
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| Omaha Buddhist Temple |
