Free Tears of a Tiger by Sharon M. Draper Page B
Authors: Sharon M. Draper
weapons.
âHey, just to make you happy, Iâm gonna take Rocketman, okay? Now go back to bed. Iâm sorry I woke you up.
âGânite, Andy.
âGânite, Monty. And thanks.
A Letter of Remembered Joy
Andyâs Letter to Robâs Parents
JANUARY 18
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Washington,
If I stood on my head and stripped butt-naked in the middle of Fountain Square, screamin âIâ M SORRY !â as loud as I could, it still wouldnât be enough. How can you tell the parents of your best friend that youâre sorry that you killed their son? Thereâs no words to cover something that awful. I know you must hate me. I wish there was some way I couldâve traded places with him, you know, like I should have died, and Rob should be okay. I dreamed about Rob a couple of nights ago. It made me start to thinking about stuff we used to do together. So, instead of writing, âIâm sorry about what happenedâ 6,000 times on a sheet of notebook paper (like the teachers used to make us do in elementary school when we were bad), I decided to write you this letter to help you remember the good stuff, instead of the bad. I hope this give you some comfort, and I hope one day you can start to forgive me.
These are my memories of Rob:
I REMEMBERâ
Spending the night at your house, and staying up all night watching cable, eating the pizza that we ordered at 3:00 a.m.
âGoing for ice cream after practice, even though you always said you werenât going to stop, but you always did.
âPlaying basketball with a rolled-up sock and a wastebasket in Robâs bedroom, ignoring you and laughing when you said to cut out all that noise.
âFinishing off two extra-large boxes of frosted flakes with ease during those small after-school âsnacks.â
âRiding in the backseat of your station wagon, all dressed up and nervous, the night me and Rob double-dated for the Freshman Dance, and you had to drive us because we didnât have our licenses yet.
âSitting in your backyard in the summer, eating Bar-B-Q, and listening to stories from Robâs granpa about âdown home.â
âGoing to Kingâs Island with you on family discount day and riding The Beast 47 times in a row.
âDriving backward through the drive-through at McDonalds, and getting in trouble and having to call you, not for driving backward, but because we were so busy being silly, we forgot we didnât have enough money to pay for the hamburgers.
âGetting chicken pox, both of us, in the eighth grade, and staying at your house for a week, because we couldnât go to school.
âEating spaghetti at your house on Saturday night and having âworm-slurpingâ contests to see who could suck the longest piece of spaghetti.
âSeeing you in the stands during all our basketball games, knowing that youâd always be there, and feeling good about that, even if we lost.
âWishing that I could be a part of your family because you seemed to have something that my family didnât.
These are some of the things I remember about you, your family, and Rob. I will always treasure those days, and I will never forgive myself for destroying something very special. I hope that someday you will be able to forgive me, but if not, I hope you will be able to remember without so much pain.
Yours,
Andy.
âOut, Out! Brief Candle!â
âMacbethâ Lesson
in English Class
JANUARY 21
âAll right, class. Weâve almost finished our study of Macbeth. Weâve watched Macbeth change from a noble, trusted, dedicated soldier, willing to sacrifice his life for king and country, to a wretched, depraved, corrupt murderer who no longer has feelings of guilt or morality. Itâs a fascinating study of the degeneration of the human spirit.
âMs. Blackwell, does he die at the end?
âWell, Marcus, heâs just about dead inside already. Heâs got one
âHey, just to make you happy, Iâm gonna take Rocketman, okay? Now go back to bed. Iâm sorry I woke you up.
âGânite, Andy.
âGânite, Monty. And thanks.
A Letter of Remembered Joy
Andyâs Letter to Robâs Parents
JANUARY 18
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Washington,
If I stood on my head and stripped butt-naked in the middle of Fountain Square, screamin âIâ M SORRY !â as loud as I could, it still wouldnât be enough. How can you tell the parents of your best friend that youâre sorry that you killed their son? Thereâs no words to cover something that awful. I know you must hate me. I wish there was some way I couldâve traded places with him, you know, like I should have died, and Rob should be okay. I dreamed about Rob a couple of nights ago. It made me start to thinking about stuff we used to do together. So, instead of writing, âIâm sorry about what happenedâ 6,000 times on a sheet of notebook paper (like the teachers used to make us do in elementary school when we were bad), I decided to write you this letter to help you remember the good stuff, instead of the bad. I hope this give you some comfort, and I hope one day you can start to forgive me.
These are my memories of Rob:
I REMEMBERâ
Spending the night at your house, and staying up all night watching cable, eating the pizza that we ordered at 3:00 a.m.
âGoing for ice cream after practice, even though you always said you werenât going to stop, but you always did.
âPlaying basketball with a rolled-up sock and a wastebasket in Robâs bedroom, ignoring you and laughing when you said to cut out all that noise.
âFinishing off two extra-large boxes of frosted flakes with ease during those small after-school âsnacks.â
âRiding in the backseat of your station wagon, all dressed up and nervous, the night me and Rob double-dated for the Freshman Dance, and you had to drive us because we didnât have our licenses yet.
âSitting in your backyard in the summer, eating Bar-B-Q, and listening to stories from Robâs granpa about âdown home.â
âGoing to Kingâs Island with you on family discount day and riding The Beast 47 times in a row.
âDriving backward through the drive-through at McDonalds, and getting in trouble and having to call you, not for driving backward, but because we were so busy being silly, we forgot we didnât have enough money to pay for the hamburgers.
âGetting chicken pox, both of us, in the eighth grade, and staying at your house for a week, because we couldnât go to school.
âEating spaghetti at your house on Saturday night and having âworm-slurpingâ contests to see who could suck the longest piece of spaghetti.
âSeeing you in the stands during all our basketball games, knowing that youâd always be there, and feeling good about that, even if we lost.
âWishing that I could be a part of your family because you seemed to have something that my family didnât.
These are some of the things I remember about you, your family, and Rob. I will always treasure those days, and I will never forgive myself for destroying something very special. I hope that someday you will be able to forgive me, but if not, I hope you will be able to remember without so much pain.
Yours,
Andy.
âOut, Out! Brief Candle!â
âMacbethâ Lesson
in English Class
JANUARY 21
âAll right, class. Weâve almost finished our study of Macbeth. Weâve watched Macbeth change from a noble, trusted, dedicated soldier, willing to sacrifice his life for king and country, to a wretched, depraved, corrupt murderer who no longer has feelings of guilt or morality. Itâs a fascinating study of the degeneration of the human spirit.
âMs. Blackwell, does he die at the end?
âWell, Marcus, heâs just about dead inside already. Heâs got one