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The Day I Brought Maria Home We worked out a code, Maria and I. She was the one who found the spot where a corner of ceiling curled over the steps to our school's basement. We folded the paper we tore out of our composition books eight times so it didn't peep out. First we had to wait for the teacher -- grade 5 meant Mrs. Gore, ick -- to squat behind her pumpkin desk and rattle pencils to hide her chomping as she gobbled down the Mars bar she hid in the left bottom drawer. (When the Principal called her to the office, switch drawers, I dare you.) The messages Maria and I slaved to code read "Meet me by the crooked tree," or "See you at recess." "Come home with me," I wrote one noon, but Maria's code came out, "Mama won't let me." I sat at my ink-holed desk, wishing for a yes and long braids that lay flat, like Maria's. They were shiny, like licorice. So thick, rubber bands flew, getting Maria in more trouble than ever. Oh, for her tea or molasses color, depending on the sun. Shoes a disaster, dress and socks sagged, being hand-downs from the families of the farmers her parents slaved for. "Please," my next note pleaded. "Ask her again" "Mama said yes!" finally unfolded. Clock over Mrs. Gore's purple-blue hive finally clicked. to three, Maria and I flew out, pockets full of bread for the dogs we counted on. Skipped the whole twenty blocks, trailed by goofy grins, lolling tongues, and tails of every description but fitting.. "My house on the corner," I pointed. "Better cross now." "Shoo, doggies, shoo!" Mother met us at the door. I thought she was mad about my feeding dogs. "Maria, huh?" she said. "You are not welcome here, Maria. Go back where you belong!" Grabbing my arm, she yanked me inside. I turned to see Marie running, her shiny braids bouncing against the back of a sashless and faded dress. Blue, It was blue, with flowers. Mother kept on yelling lies. Mexicans were dirty, Mexicans stole, how stupid could I get? I threw up on the Good Rug, then the stairs, then the bathroom. Not that I could see. "Wasn't you," Maria's eyes flashed at morning recess. But our notes lost their flavor, the hateful words like droppings we had to step around. Summer came and no more Daddy. Big town swallowed me and brother. Farm workers got trucked to Mexico, come November. Do you remember us, Maria? Shall we meet by the tree we scratched our names on in code? You will find a note in the ceiling:. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Tell me I will see you after. Love U, me." (c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2007
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Hugs,
Jules
Be safe,
Karen
So glad when we can learn from each other, so sad when we label each other into segregation.
influx of illegals, but what we tend to forget is the fact that we stole vast quantities of land -- land extremely rich in resources and that had been home to large numbers of Mexicans for many years -- from Mexico. Took it by force! Not that there may not have been fault on both sides, but as with American Indians, there is a great deal of blood on our hands. I don't pretend to know the answer to the current dilemma; however, I feel that our country is wealthy enough to solve such problems peacefully and equitably. It is a matter of
spending for the right things, rather than those that can only harm us all in the long run -- not infrequently in the short--?
Bless you all for being here. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your interest. Y o u !! <3 'Pea' <3
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :(
Fee
God bless you. Kathy
And when my oldest sis married a Black man...World War III like to have erupted. Most of the family dead set against it: me and Karen, we were, as long as he treats her right, don't matter what color he is. Well, it wound up he was a jerk: NOT because he was Black, he was just a jerk. (Know plenty of jerks in other races, especially my own.)
The doctor who did my back surgery in '83? Black. The Air Force's top neurosurgeon at that time. Dr. Moncrief. My room-mate: "I wouldn't let that N----- operate on me if he was the last man on Earth." Me: "Don't matter if he's purple with pink stripes and green spots. It's the knowledge in the head and skill of the hands that matter most." Next day, he comes in wearing two lab coats: a short one over a long one. Me: "You cold?" Dr. Moncrief flipped the short lab coat back: his pocket on the long one had pink stripes and green spots! LOVED that man. Wasn't his fault I reinjured my back (had a 208 pound woman roll out of bed while I was making it. Accidents happen!).
Girl, you brought back powerful memories...I'm sorry you and Maria had to endure the prejudice of those who fear the unknown. At least you tried to know her; more than I can say for many!! An E X C E L L E N T write with a moral.
(((((HUGS))))) and love,
Karla.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours! Love ya!!