Every big thing starts
very, very small.
This is the community journal. The pages below are the ones we keep coming back to.
Twelve dusty laptops in a church basement.
A retired engineer named Harold showed up with a minivan full of computers donated by a downtown law firm. Nobody expected more than a dozen people. Thirty-one came. They sat on folding chairs and passed a single mouse around.

Gloria cried on a Zoom call for twelve minutes.
She hadn't seen her granddaughter in Ecuador in four years. The call dropped twice. She didn't care. She sat in the library's quiet room with the laptop balanced on a stack of dictionaries, saying "I can see you, mija. I can actually see you."
"I can see you, mija. I can actually see you."
— Gloria, participant
DeShawn typed his college essay on a Foundation laptop.
He'd been writing his UC application on a cracked phone screen, saving drafts as text messages to himself. His school counselor, Ms. Reyes, signed him up for a Saturday session. He got into UC Davis. He brought the acceptance email to show Harold.




