Waiting on Sunday Morning

Dana got off of the bus, walked home with her two sisters, got to the door of her home, and dreaded going past the threshold. She knew from all of the other Fridays that this was the beginning of hell for she and her sisters.

Friday night . This was the time that her dad would unwined from a long week of dealing with whatever he dealt with at the office. All week he was the perfect employee and the perfect dad, but Friday night all would change. This was the night that her dad would fill his glass with his favorite alcoholic drink. The glass would continue to fill until the dawning of Sunday morning.

Once the affect of the alcohol would take , a whole otherside of the universe would show it's darker face. The screaming, the thumps, the crying would start on the opposite side of the bedroom door as Dana and her sisters would huddle in fear.  They were too scared to reach out to their mother who wailed , as the sound of fist hitting flesh, would rang through the air like a scratched record.

Then, Saturday night would come. On this night, their dad and mom would go out,  but her dad never leaving behind the glass filled with the alcoholic drink.

Dana, dreaded this night more than any night because she and her sisters would be left over to the neighbor's house. There were always strange men there with Ms.Izzie. When Dana and her sisters would try to sleep in the back room on the pallets made for them, sometimes some of those men would slip into the darkness and touch them in places that were forbidden. Those  men always wispered to the girls not to tell.  So, Dana, along with her sisters, never said a word for the fear that next time would be worse.

At about 2am, Dana's dad and mom would arrive to pick them up. Dana knew that there would be no peace until dawn. The screams would began, the sounds of  home decoratives would be thrown from their places. As quickly as it all started, it would all stop right before dawn. This was what Dana and her sisters waited on, prayed for, and looked forward to. It was Sunday morning. There was a silence that echoed in the depth of Dana's soul.  This was the morning that the church bus would take them away from that threshold of hell into the threshold of peace and calm and joy. Waiting on Sunday morning was Dana's and her sisters' salvation.

Who Is Your Neighbor?

It had been just a few years since our family had moved to Macon, GA. My older son, then a 15 years old 9th grader, was quickly getting involved with school and planning for his future educational endeavors.

One day after school, he came in, slammed his books on the table, and sighed. I watched for a few moments, waiting for him to say something. He said nothing, just sighed.

Finally, I asked him how his day had been. He sighed, again. Then the sigh finally turned into words."This place is so backwards!". I looked waiting for more explanation. Boy, did I get what I was asking for. He continued to explain, "I can't believe how the students here treat people that talk differently from them." By then, my ears were perked. He continued, "There are these 2 Hispanic boys in my class, and the other students were talking and making fun of them as though they weren't even there. They called them names, told racist jokes, like they were invisible." He paused just to take a breath. "I wouldn't join in with them, mommy." He then rambled on to another happening, with out giving me opportunity to absorb the first situation. "That girl from the Bahamas was teased every day. I haven't seen her back in school, and that Black guy with the Canadian accent....him, too, gone! It is just soooo backwards here."

Believe me, I could feel his frustration. I was so proud of him for not joining in with the harassment and told him so.

Just imagine being in a neighborhood where all of the houses are the same, all  of the yards are the same, and all of the landscaping is identical, not to forget that all of the people look alike and they all attend the same type church.

In this imagined place, for many years in this "perfect" community, there has never been a thought about changing anything. Then one day a new family moves in. This family did not look like the people that had always been there, they did not talk like the people that had always  been there, and they did not even attend the same type church that the peole of the community had always attended.

Now, after the first week, the new family decided to paint their house a bright Flamingo pink. They even went as far as to change the landscaping of their yard.  Wow!  To top it off, they attended a church that the others in the community resented.

My, how the people in the community stared and snarled." How dare they!"

What shock must have taken place in this community. The people must really feel uneasy. No one had ever attempted to be different. This must be beyond comprehension. The people must be feeling a loss of control, when the changes can't be stopped. What will become of this "perfect" community?

Two solutions.

First, the solution could be violence. Yes, rock throwing, insults ,windows broken, and the yard trumpled. STOP!STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!

Or, the second senario could be arranging a welcoming party of people to meet the new neighbors. Just maybe the mother cooks, the children play, the men have ideas to swap about lawns, and maybe, just maybe there will be more familiarlarities than differences.  Oh, an  actual growth of the mind and an experience of accepting others for who they are could be quite a wild and wonderful awakening.

Who is your neighbor?

Brother, Wake Up!

That feeling of something new and different about to happen crawled through my body, as mom scrammed around that morning assisting everyone in getting dressed for the first day of school. It was, also, my daddy's first day of school, as a teacher.

It was time to leave. Daddy strutted towards his brand new green Plymouth. I must mention that this was in the 70s. A green Plymouth automobile was totally cool.

Once Daddy, my brother, and I, got into the car, a new journey began for us all.

We arrived at this place that seemed somewhat like a castle to me.

Once parked, Daddy took my brother and me by the hand and lead us along the outter sidewalks.

I curiously looked around. UHM, somethings different. OH, none of the children looked like my brother or me. None of the adults looked like my daddy, either.

Wow, man. In the pre school that I attended there were only kids that looked similar to me. I felt a little weird. My brother didn't seem to notice. He just went wherever daddy pulled him.

Before long, Daddy was at the door of a classroom. There appeared in the doorway a little, wrinkly women that was just a little taller than me. She had her hair pulled back into a bun. She peered at me with twinkly blue eyes. She kinda reminded me of Mrs. Claus.

Daddy, told me that he would see me later. My new teacher then lead me into the classroom. I slid behind the desk. It was occupied with three books. My name was written across the desk in black ink on a piece of tape.
Soon, other children began to arrive. I was too scared to look back. SHE WOULD PUT ME IN FRONT, I thought, sarcastically.

Once the class was full, the teacher went to the front of the classroom to introduce herself. I looked to the right, and then to the left. Still, I saw no one that looked like me.

After, getting a little comfortable, I turned to see what was behind me. When I looked, there was this brown haired, freckled face, little boy, with green eyes. He then stuck out his tongue and made a face at me. I quickly turned around.

It was time to go out for recess. By this time, I'd met a friend named Laura. She was tiny, skinny, with platinum blond hair, and weird brown eyes. For some reason she stuck to me like glue.

On the playground, Laura and I jumped rope to Straw Berry Short Cake.
I even spotted my brother climbing up the monkey bars. In the corner of the playground, sat an adult women with coal black hair, pale skin,and rather thin legs. She was sitting in a brown, wooden chair.

I continued to jump rope until I caught a sudden movement in the corner of my eye. Oh, MY GOD! My brother was falling from the top of the monkey bars. His head bounced on each bar as he tumbled towards the concrete bottom. I could see his head bounce like a ball on the concrete surface below. I saw his lifeless little body lying there with no movement. I instinctively ran towards him. It seemed as though I was moving in slow motion. I could see that women in the corner of the playground stand, look, and then turn around to sit back down.

Once I got to my brother, I pulled him with all of my strength. It seemed as though I wasn't moving him fast enough. He was too heavy.

From out of nowhere, appeared an angel. There stood the little brown haired, freckle faced, green eyed boy from my classroom. He began to frantically tug along with me.

Somehow we got my brother to the nurses door at the front of the school.

Upon opening the door to the Nurses Station, the nurse scooped my unconscience brother up into her arms. She, repeatedly, asked for his name. I finally answered. She then had my daddy paged to the office.

I sat across the room watching a huge lump grow on my brother's forehead. He still wasn't moving. I whispered for him to wake up, but he didn't hear me, and he still didn't move. I could do nothing, but hurt inside and hope for him to wake up.

Daddy, ran through the door, peered at my brother, and instructed me to go to another room near the principal's office. I didn't want to leave my baby brother until he woke up, but I obeyed my daddy.

Well, my brother got better. I still continue to wonder why the women from the playground fail to help my brother.

As much as I could remember, there was a meeting held. I don't remember seeing that lady on the playground anymore.

The little brown haired, freckled faced boy from my classroom received an
honorary award for helping that day.

Sisters Got A Brandnew Doll

At some point in my life, I remember my daddy speaking of an experiment that went on years ago, where a black doll and a white doll was put before a Black child. The child was asked to chose a doll she'd most want to play with. The child chose the White doll. The same results happened time and time again.

Many years later, I thought about this experiment when my own daughters taught me a valuable lesson.

I'd always wondered "why?". I guess if you live long enough, you are bound to get an answer to some of the questions one asks in life.

Well, shortly after a divorce from my older daughter's father, I hit hard times. Therefore, I had to make a choice to temporarily leave my older daughter , along with her older brother, with my parents.

While with my parents, my eldest daughter was being influenced by her environment. She was attending a predominately White school, watching anchors on the news that all had White faces, and was being exposed to people who weren't accepting themselves, as they were.

During the time that my older daughter was staying with her grandparents, I was putting together my life, again. I'd soon remarried. My new husband and I decided to stay in the city of Ft. Pierce, Fl., my birth place.

While in Ft. Pierce, my younger children where being influence by their environment. They where exposed to different people and different cultures. There were Haitian children, Latino children, Jamaican children, and American born children. Not to forget, that my new husband was from Jamaica and had a father that was Chinese and a mother that was Black, but grew up on the island of Jamaica speaking Patwa ( I think that's the spelling).

Finally, it was time for my older daughter to rejoin the family.

Upon her arrival, I gave her a welcoming present, a little doll. She said thank you, but later I saw my younger daughter running across the living room with the doll. I wondered "why?".

I thought that it was a beautiful little doll. A little darker that my older daughter, but a slight resemblance.

I wanted to understand the situation. Upon opening the room door, there I saw my older daughter playing with a White, blond, blue-eyed doll, that was very thin. This doll looked nothing like her.

The following days, I made a quest to influence my older daughter by exposing dolls of different shades and colors to my older daughter. Still, she decided to only play with that one doll.

After a while my older daughter just got fed up with my tactics and stopped playing with dolls, completely.

I was beginning to understand, when the dolls that I purchased, where taken up by my younger daughter. She hopped and skipped with all of the dolls in her arms. The Latino looking one, the darker one with bright island type clothing, and the white colored one were all embraced by her. Therefore, I wasn't surprised when she sat the dolls on the floor and pretended as though they were all sisters.

After being in Ft. Pierce for a few more months . My older daughter started a new school with children of all shades and cultures. She even began trying new hairstyles, including braids. That was something she confessed that she'd never thought she'd try.

One day, during the weekend, I peeked into my older daughter's room. She was smiling, while playing with the dolls. ALL of the dolls.

I guess, if you live long enough, you are bound to get an answer.