#826chi

“Fare Thee Well” by Kathleen Rooney -- 826 CHI Prologue Party, 6.9.17

Chicago

Ace Hotel Chicago grand opens September 1* in the Windy City, The Big Onion, The Biggest Shouldered City there is. Birthplace of practically everything we love — Perfect Strangers (starring Bronson Pinchot and Cousin Larry), the zipper, Twinkies and the pressed penny — Chicago is the ever-evolving amalgam of a thousand converging points of light. 

“Even Though” by Alex Berge -- the 826CHI Prologue Party, 6.9.17

Chicago

Tucked behind the Wicker Park Secret Agent Supply Co (née “The Boring Store”, alias “Not a Secret Agent Supply Shop”), just beyond rows of shelves and drawers stocked with spy rings, diversion safes, fake mustaches, emergency bowties, invisible ink (and some other things we’re not at liberty to mention here) sits 826CHI, a writing center and imagination vessel for students aged 6–18.

Part of the network of nationwide 826 youth writing centers, started by Dave Eggers and award-winning educator Nínive Calegari at 826 Valencia in San Francisco, 826CHI makes writing fun for young people by demystifying the process and by creating beautiful books, magazines and newspapers that honor their work. The non-profit organization amplifies young, valuable voices and teaches the necessary skills for Chicago’s youth to be the writers of their own futures, undefined by circumstance. 

Plus, the stories are really good, like this one, by Quinn W., grade 4.

Who Wants Love?

Love is a great thing because it's made out of hearts and beauty and prettiness and handsomeness and awesomeness. And POW! Love goes slow. Love is ridiculous. Love is fast like a pony with a wizard costume on and a green mustache. Love is sad. Love is crazy. Love is around the world. Love is a deck of cards. Family Love is happy and cool. Boyfriend and girlfriend love is yuck and nasty. When it comes to love, a man has to have a job, a good diploma, and has to have an eight-pack. And he has to cook and has to look handsome. He probably has to be in his 30s.

or this one by Jazmin C., grade 2, inspired by a postcard from New Mexico:

Armodelo

Is this a real armodelo? Was it scared? How did they take this picture? Is this really from Texas? The flowers are beautiful. Is the armodelo real? Or is it fake? Was it really standing on a log? The armodelo is pretty. Were there a lot of trees? I wonder if they really took this picture. Is there a river? I like this armodelo. Are they really having a good time? I like this story.

Though I made this “Focusing Attention & Collage Poem” video for 826CHI with a particular group of young students in mind, it is available for use by whomever is interested!

In this creative writing workshop, we spend some time focusing our sensory attention on whatever space we’re in. After collecting several details that surprise us or stand out to us, we use those to make or begin a kind of collage poem. To help along that process, I read two poems by 826CHI students: “Out My Window” by Damoni Martin, Grade 5, and “The Forgotten Side” by Luis C., Grade 8.

My fellow teaching artist Rabha Ashry made a fabulous video for the older students at the same site—with content that is very timely!

by Javarri M., grade 8 from ChiTown Stand Up! Spring 2019

Hi, my name is Jonathan and I live on the South Side of Chicago. Yes, that Chicago where people get killed like everyday. My mom died two years ago because she had stage four cancer. It's really hard to talk about it now that she’s gone. I never met my dad, so it's hard to say anything about him because I don't know who he is. All I have is my older brother, Matthew. He is sixteen. After mom died, he has been in gangs. We have been living in and out of shelters and foster homes.

“John. John,” my brother calls me from across the room.

“What,” I reply.

“I have food,” he says.

This is the happiest I have been in days. I’m starving! Some days I just go to sleep to sleep the hunger away. As he came closer, I smelled the food more and more. We had been living in the basement of the church. They have a TV, video games, and cots for us. My mother was a member who made me go to church with her every Sunday.

“I miss momma,” I tell Matt.

“I do too,” he says in reply.

I see a tear fall down his face. He sits quietly for the next five minutes. Then he gets himself together. He tries to say strong for me, but I'm old enough to stay strong for myself.

“You know it’s okay to cry,” I say.

“I'm not crying, John,” he say.

Momma used to tell him that she could tell everything about him just by the expression on his face. Now I know what she is talking about.

People always tell us that it’s going to be okay, but they are just getting our hopes up, because everyday it gets harder and harder. No one knows our pain like we do. I’m just so sick of people lying to us.

I was told that everyone has a time when they lose someone, but why did my time have to come so early?

The next day passes.

“Wake up Jonathan, we have to go.”

“Huh?” I whisper.

I see a dark shadow coming toward me and all I can think about is going to sleep. I lie my head back on the firm pillow. My eyes shut once again.

“Jonathan, wake up,” he says once again with a demanding voice.

“I’m gonna tell Mo-”

It's like the word spills out of his mouth unto the floor. I can see the look of devastation upon his face. I began to wake up and spread the sheet over the cot.

“John, we gotta get a move on,” he says.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I say in exchange.

“The church folks told us that we had to find somewhere else to stay tonight,” he tells me.

“Why?”

“They are having some church event, but I think that they are lying.”

Sometimes I get fearful of the fact that we are all alone. I feel really depressed sometimes and I think really bad thoughts. I was so angry that the church would lie to us like everyone else. Now we have to move on to the next place.

As we walk out of the church doors, the spring mist hits my face. Matthew pulls me closer to him as we walk down the street of Michigan Avenue. We stop at some apartment.

“Stay put, lil bro,” he tells me.

The frustration rings in my head because I know what he is doing. I hear fussing coming from the second floor. I hear Matthew boldly and clearly. I get really nervous and my palms get very sweaty. Matt runs down the steps and grabs my forearm.

“Run and don’t look back,” he says nervously.

We run for the next five minutes until we get to a familiar place. As we walk down the street, there is a white family passing by. There is a mom, a dad, two sons, and a dog. I picture Matthew and my face on their bodies. I know that seems a little strange. I wonder how my life would be different if I was white. Suddenly, I snap out of it.

We go back to the church to get the rest of our things. My whole life is in one backpack.

I have to ask my girlfriend, Maya, if I can stay with her family for the night so that Maya and I can walk to school together. I like Maya a lot. She has golden brown skin, pretty curls, and she is a nice person.  

The sun comes back up and the day begins. I walk into the school and everyone waves at me. I return the generosity with a smile. I don't know if people feel bad for me, or if they are being nice. Later on during the school day, I get a call from the office for an early dismissal.

I see Matt standing at the front door waiting on me.

“We gotta get outta here, John,” he whispers like someone was watching.

“Why? What happened?”

“Don't ask any questions,” he tells me.

I see someone pull up on the side of us.

“Run!” Matthew yells.

I run as fast as I can. I hear a loud bang and then silence. I look back and see Matt lying on the ground and blood leaking from his chest. I feel an absence of breath. His eyes close and he swallows his last breath.

Tears fall from my cheek as I lie there with him. A man passes by. I yell for help when I finally realize that death must have taken my brother. I yell to God and ask him why he would he do this.

Years Passed