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."
Such emotions that shows the heart within the words, it touches you how people treat each other. When things look bright, we then again revert back to prejudices.
So glad when we can learn from each other, so sad when we label each other into segregation.
It is not hard to understand the resentment that is caused by the
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
Sad when people can't get along based on the color of their skin or where they come from. I am guilty of this myself; not so much with people who are black, Asian, or Native, but with the Mexicans; and most of that is because of the illegals, who ruin it for ALL Mexicans by not learning our ways or our language! Not ALL Mexican people are bad--I have some very good friends who are Mexican--, but I have a problem with the illegal immigrants expecting us to take care of them when they won't even help themselves. Now you know.
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :(
This is an absolute pleasure to read - entrancing - i'm a sucker for all the kiddy ways in this poem -i was very disappointed as a teacher, that 'my' kids at school seemed to have lost the ability to be creative and funny with dares and practical jokes - not one good one, nada - and would tell them so in detention for drug smuggling, knife crime, robbery, and not doing their homework...i loved the excitement of friendship conveyed and the social comment, and how events, especially traumatic or unpleasant ones, break relationships, even when their was no 'fault' with the two concerned, or the one concerned..just circumstances, 'happenings' - and how they form/break us. Innocence lost in this poem -it's sad, and true - optimism says there's a reply from Maria in the tree, been there a while too - Nicky xx
I know the feeling of shame and disgust of this child who loved unconditionally only to find out that her parents or in this case mother could have such hatred for another who's only crime is to be of another race.
so very, very sad-and so powerful in that saddness- a write about the purity of children and the stupidity of some adults--i hope we keep getting better
I wanted to bring a black friend home and my mother wouldn't let me. Our innocence took a beating. Now my daughters have black, Hispanic, white even for friends. But I guess our shock and the hurt feelings in our friends eyes left a lasting impression that changed the ways different people are treated in our lives. Great write. Liz
Much pain in these poignant lines, (((Pea))). I understand: my best friend growing up was Black. Oh, Lord, to hear my Grandmother say, "Don't you play with that stupid little N----r girl." I was like, "Gramma, her skin color don't come off." Made a distinct impression on me, to treat others the way I would like to be treated. (That little girl now a l a w y e r. Dumb, hunh?)
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!!
Reviewed by Marcia Duning (Reader)
Reviewed on November 18, 2007
I really hate this Pod. Man's inhumaity to man. It seems to have poisoned our young lives, you and I!
AVAILABLE TODAY 2012!
PRESS RELEASE, June 1, 2009
A True Story of My Life and My Experience with United States Immigration
I was an Abducted Alien by Department of Homeland Security...
Startling memoir is about a woman
Sexuality is very misunderstood.What if the tornado dropped Dorothy not into Oz, but onto the shooting set of an X-rated film?
Eric Edwards makes sex films. Period... Sex-on-command. Sex-for-hire.... So begins the story of Eric Edwards, Mr.
A book for every Muslim and everyone wishing to know about their way of life. The Diary of the Camp Manager at Mundihar following the South Asian Earthquake - October 2005. An account of life after the Earthquake in one of the largest of the 161 camp
Share
Print
Save
Follow
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!!