stopped since I learned the news from my father. Sadness is not close to the description of how I feel. I am totally empty inside. The biggest hole in the world is in my heart.
My mother did not want me to go down there. But I had to see it with my own two eyes. I saw Uncle Dražen’s blue car turned charcoal black. It was melted down to metal bones like a burned out skeleton on the street. The smell of fire was heavy in the air. It is in my nose even now and will not leave. That same fire is burning in my blood to get revenge. A lifetime in prison is not enough for those bastard criminals. My father said there is no body of his brother left to bury. No body of his left to pray over. I know Uncle Dražen’s spirit can not burn. His soul can not burn.
I hope the criminals that did this evil murder burn in hell for eternal days and nights. How dowe know it was these criminals? A week ago they shoved a gun in my uncle’s face and told him to write no more about them. He refused because he is a champion. Another reporter was beat with a baseball bat by the same types. There was no work for me last Saturday at the newspaper. Now I understand why. Uncle Dražen wanted to protect me from possible harm, from violence of thugs. My father said we can not trust the police because some of them are owned by Croatian mafia. They are on the criminals’ payroll for a second job. He said that maybe we are not safe in this house. My father now has his gun by his side for the protection of us. Like my uncle Dražen, I will not be scared of mafia terrorists. Not today. Not tomorrow. I will always speak my mind and have respect for the opinions of others. When I hold my basketball I feel Uncle Dražen close by. Now he will always be part of my game. He will be part of my strength and part of my heart.
My mother wants me to leave Croatia. She wants me to finish high school in the US with my cousins living there. I am not sure. My father says I am old enough to decide my own life. I don’t want to run away from what Uncle Dražen started. But the future here in Zagreb is dark. It is filled with as much smoke and fire as outside the newspaper office tonight. I will always keep thisjournal for myself and for my memory of beloved Uncle Dražen. I will miss him forever with my tears, my heart, and my soul.
August 12 (Entering Grade 12)
Today ends my first week living in the US. Big news flash—the city of Montgomery, Alabama is not Zagreb. It is total culture shock. Even the US movies and music I know do not give me the answers to everything. There are other Croatians here besides my cousins, aunts, and uncles. But it is still a new world to me—one without my parents who stayed in Zagreb to watch over the house my great-grandfather built with his own two hands. I pray they are safe. My father says the move will force me to grow up faster. I say nothing will ever do that more than the murder of Uncle Dražen.
I am living with the sister of my mother and her husband. Their four children are all younger than me. The three girls are ages 6, 9, and 11. They are almost babies compared to me and still play with dolls. My boy cousin is 12. He has no interest in basketball or any other sports. Instead he plays the violin. I share a bedroom with him, except for when he practices his music lessons. Then the bedroom belongs 100% to him and I would rather sleep in the doghouse outside. It has been 95degrees or more here every day so far. And I am melting in the heat and humidity like a redheaded Popsicle.
There are public basketball courts just five blocks from my new house. On the good side, the courts are close enough to walk to. On the bad side, I have already learned that five blocks is a long way to run from angry players. *Note to myself—when returning trash talk do not use the words “make you my little bitch.” **I am no Slim Shady here. I have no real friends yet, just some enemies on the basketball court. **
“What happens is, when
My mother did not want me to go down there. But I had to see it with my own two eyes. I saw Uncle Dražen’s blue car turned charcoal black. It was melted down to metal bones like a burned out skeleton on the street. The smell of fire was heavy in the air. It is in my nose even now and will not leave. That same fire is burning in my blood to get revenge. A lifetime in prison is not enough for those bastard criminals. My father said there is no body of his brother left to bury. No body of his left to pray over. I know Uncle Dražen’s spirit can not burn. His soul can not burn.
I hope the criminals that did this evil murder burn in hell for eternal days and nights. How dowe know it was these criminals? A week ago they shoved a gun in my uncle’s face and told him to write no more about them. He refused because he is a champion. Another reporter was beat with a baseball bat by the same types. There was no work for me last Saturday at the newspaper. Now I understand why. Uncle Dražen wanted to protect me from possible harm, from violence of thugs. My father said we can not trust the police because some of them are owned by Croatian mafia. They are on the criminals’ payroll for a second job. He said that maybe we are not safe in this house. My father now has his gun by his side for the protection of us. Like my uncle Dražen, I will not be scared of mafia terrorists. Not today. Not tomorrow. I will always speak my mind and have respect for the opinions of others. When I hold my basketball I feel Uncle Dražen close by. Now he will always be part of my game. He will be part of my strength and part of my heart.
My mother wants me to leave Croatia. She wants me to finish high school in the US with my cousins living there. I am not sure. My father says I am old enough to decide my own life. I don’t want to run away from what Uncle Dražen started. But the future here in Zagreb is dark. It is filled with as much smoke and fire as outside the newspaper office tonight. I will always keep thisjournal for myself and for my memory of beloved Uncle Dražen. I will miss him forever with my tears, my heart, and my soul.
August 12 (Entering Grade 12)
Today ends my first week living in the US. Big news flash—the city of Montgomery, Alabama is not Zagreb. It is total culture shock. Even the US movies and music I know do not give me the answers to everything. There are other Croatians here besides my cousins, aunts, and uncles. But it is still a new world to me—one without my parents who stayed in Zagreb to watch over the house my great-grandfather built with his own two hands. I pray they are safe. My father says the move will force me to grow up faster. I say nothing will ever do that more than the murder of Uncle Dražen.
I am living with the sister of my mother and her husband. Their four children are all younger than me. The three girls are ages 6, 9, and 11. They are almost babies compared to me and still play with dolls. My boy cousin is 12. He has no interest in basketball or any other sports. Instead he plays the violin. I share a bedroom with him, except for when he practices his music lessons. Then the bedroom belongs 100% to him and I would rather sleep in the doghouse outside. It has been 95degrees or more here every day so far. And I am melting in the heat and humidity like a redheaded Popsicle.
There are public basketball courts just five blocks from my new house. On the good side, the courts are close enough to walk to. On the bad side, I have already learned that five blocks is a long way to run from angry players. *Note to myself—when returning trash talk do not use the words “make you my little bitch.” **I am no Slim Shady here. I have no real friends yet, just some enemies on the basketball court. **
“What happens is, when
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