By Tyrone A. Moore
I told my mother that Mrs. Robertson (my teacher), would not let me go to the restroom, because she was upset with me, because I didn’t know that word in class. “Mrs. Robertson shook me real hard and called me darky!” I told my mother in hoping that she would get upset. And it worked too! My mother went to my school, and had a talk with my teacher. Mrs. Robertson told my mother that I was a “Social Butterfly.” Someone who doesn’t listen or want to learn. “Well calling my child names doesn’t help either!” my mother said. “Can you please stop calling her darky? ‘We are Mexican. ‘And besides, she has a name, just like you and I have a name.” My mother was on a roll reading my teacher off. “One minute you are calling my daughter darky, and next minute, you are calling my daughter a social butterfly. ‘I guess you like calling children names.” ‘How would you like it if someone called you names?” mom asked. “I know you would not appreciate that. Now would you?” ‘I thought so. So if you don’t mind, from now on, please call my daughter by her real name, which is Maria thank you. And another thing, if my daughter ever tell you again, that she has to use the restroom, I suggest you let her go to the restroom, because if she comes home again, and tell me that you would not let her go to the restroom, I swear I will come back to this school, and cause a lot of trouble for this whole dam school. And I promise you that!” And then my mother walked right out of Mrs. Robertson classroom dragging me right along with her. Although Mrs. Robertson stop calling me darky, she still wasn’t that nice to me. She was just a prejudice, mean old hag, that was going to be a bigot, til the day she die! This woman had me and another boy tested to see if we were retarded. This little boy was really mentally challenged, but I know that I wasn’t. We went into a Special Ed classroom to be tested. Funny I passed the darn test! I just wandered what that was all about? This was in the beginning of the year. I felt that she was targeting me, because she didn’t like me. She got off on humiliating me. My only problem was being able to distinguish between two languages, and no one ever took the time to teach me either one. I was not dumb or stupid!
At home, mom kept me and my sister pretty busy inside the house, with all kinds of projects, so that we would keep our minds from thinking about going outside. Just like the kids at school, the kids in our neighborhood, were mean and prejudice to us. When we first moved into our new home, the kids from across the street, and from around the corner, would come over just to stare at us, as if we were some rare endangered species, or some kind of freaks! Our home was a red- three bedroom house, with a carport on the side. We had a front lawn, and a backyard, that was graveled. As soon as you walk inside our house, you would be standing in the living room. Walking straight, just passed the living room to the left, was my brothers room. Down the hall was the room, that my sister and I shared together. Then across from our room, was our parents room. Between our brothers bedroom, and our bedroom, was the bathroom we all shared. Mom and dad had their own bathroom. I liked this house, better than the last house we had, because this house was bigger, and me, and my sister, now had our own bedroom. We no longer, had to sleep in the living room, like we did in the old house, in Fairbanks! My dad would later install a sprinkler system in the front lawn by himself. No one at least, on our block, had such a system. And that, was something our family was very proud of, because we were the first. We knew, that all the neighbors in their own way, secretly admired my dad’s ingenuity. He knew a lot about how the plumbing system works. At work, he was the very first Mexican american, who taught plumbing. The kids in the neighborhood thought it was neat also. They would stare at my dad whenever he turned on the sprinklers to water the grass. I would look at them like, my dad was the smartest man alive! Although my dad was very smart in other areas, that was something I was proud of about him in this racist town. Almost everyday, the old group of kids would hang out across the street. Donna and her sister Linda lived in the house across the street where all the neighborhood kids hung out. At eight years old, Linda was two years older than myself. She had rubio (blonde) hair with freckles. She had straight hair, that she wore usually down. Linda was a trouble maker, and was the ring leader. She was a thin built girl who mostly wore pants. She liked to jump rope, play hopscotch, and ride her bike. Linda’s sister Donna, was a year younger than her. She had brown curly hair. Her nose was pushed slightly inward, that made her look like a little piglet. She was nicer than her sister. But just like her sister, she too was a tomboy. One of the neighborhood kids was a boy named Billy Richardson. He was nine years old. Billy, sometimes went by the name Bill. He was a puggy little fella, with straight brown hair. He usually wore Levis jeans all the time. Billy had a bother and sister named Aaron and Sheila Richardson. Sheila was about twelve or thirteen years old. She was very short, and wore her hair in a pony tail, which made her look like a like a little kid. Sheila wasn’t around much, because she was always baby-sitting her younger brothers Aaron, and Billy, when their mother was at work. Another kid from the neighborhood, that hung out across the street, was a kid named Marvin Butterworth. He was the only one that used very foul language. All he did was curse! And he wasn’t doing it to show off or anything, because cursing came to him very naturally. I think his parents cursed all the time around him obviously. Marvin Butterworth, the foul mouthed little brat, had blonde hair and had freckles. He lived on the other side of the street as well. Marvin mostly hung out with Aaron, and a couple of the other guys on the block. Marvin had a brother named Leon. Leon had straight blonde hair. He was nine years old. Leon also wore Levi blue jeans, just like his brother. He was the tallest of the two of course.
- End of episode 7
Please stay tuned for the continuation of this very fascinating, sad, and inspiring tale, of a little Hispanic girl name Maria from Alaska, on the next following episode 8.
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Tyrone A. Moore
The author and owner of this blog,
“Writing My First Book!”