Same Sun Here Read Free Page A

going to listen.” He thinks he is Mr. Cool and he is so not. Anyway, I like long stories. I hope that is OK with you.
    I think this has been a lucky summer. First, I got into the Arts and Humanities Summer Program by writing an essay about Mrs. Lau and how we are friends. Second, Ms. Bledsoe, my teacher at the Summer Program, is really nice. Every week we go someplace new, and it is all free. This week we went to Ellis Island. It was so interesting, all the different people and photographs. My favorite picture was of a little boy who got sent back to Italy alone because he had tuberculosis. I liked the picture because I could see what he was feeling by looking at his face. Everything at Ellis Island reminded me of our family, except that we came on planes not boats.
    Last month we went to the Van Cortlandt House, where Dutch people lived a long time ago; the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, where the red hibiscus is blooming; and the Tenement Museum, where we saw what life was like in Chinatown in the 1880s. Back then it was a Jewish, Italian, German, and Irish neighborhood. We also wrote a group letter to Mayor Bloomberg. I love to write. Whenever I put my pen on paper, I cannot stop. When I grow up, I want to be a poet.
    I also love fruits and vegetables, and actually that is how I came to be writing to you.
    Ms. Bledsoe took the Summer Group to the supermarket last week. Everybody said it was a lame field trip, but I was excited. Ms. Bledsoe says city kids don’t think about where things come from, especially food. She’s from North Carolina and grew up on a farm. She talked about how food is shipped into the city and how big trucks use a lot of gas and that young men and women fight wars over things like gas. She told us to be mindful of what we waste and use. I like that word: mindful. It makes me feel like my brain is a big bowl brimming over.
    So we went to a D’Agostino (that’s a grocery store) on Essex Street and stood in the vegetable section. Some of the lettuce was getting watered from little sprinklers and we got wet. Ms. Bledsoe picked up an apple and said that in NY, apples get picked off the trees in October, so for us to have apples in August means they have traveled a great distance.
    We looked at the labels on the apples. Some were from Israel. Some from Washington State. Ms. Bledsoe said we should picture those places on the map, to see how far the apples had come. While she was talking I saw a pile of okra. I thought maybe it had come from India, like me. It was in a wooden box that said KENTUCKY on the side, and there was a picture of mountains. I looked at the okra and the mountains and I wanted to go to Kentucky. It looked just like home.
    When we got back to class, Ms. Bledsoe handed out a list of names and addresses. She said the assignment was to pick a pen pal and write a letter. Everyone said this was stupid and babyish, but I thought it sounded like fun. All the other kids wanted to do e-mails, but I wanted to write a real letter and put a pretty stamp on it, so I got a different list. There were lots of names and addresses on the list, kids from all over. Malaysia, Scotland, Hawaii, Trinidad, Moscow. Everyone, even Ms. Bledsoe, thought I would pick someone from India. But all the addresses were in New Delhi, and I didn’t like it there the one day I saw it. When I saw your name and that you live in Kentucky, I wanted to write to you.
    Do you grow okra? If you do, I will send you my grandmother’s recipe for
bhindi.
That’s how you say okra in Hindi.

    Hmmm. I guess I told the realllllly long version of the story. Sorry about that.
    I have to go help Mum make dinner now, but I will write you more very soon. I am wanting to talk to you about basketball and those nice walks you take with your mamaw.
    I hope you are having a nice day.
    Your pen pal,
    Meena Joshi
    P.S. Please write a longer letter next time.
    P.P.S. Sorry if that was bossy.
     
    23 August 2008
    Dear Meena,
    Sorry my last letter