Thursday, March 31, 2011

Starting Over


I think my teachers and the priests breathed a great sigh of release when I moved and had to be transferred to another catholic school. They said they would miss me, but I didn’t believe them for a second…they looked too relieved!

If I thought a new school would be any different, I had another thing coming. And, if my family thought a new school would give me a fresh start and keep me out of trouble, they had another thing coming. If anything, it gave me more power to get into even more mischief because now I would meet my partner in crime, my soon to be best friend. I don’t think catholic schools were ready for the two of us, at least not together.

It was the middle of my fourth grade year. The sun beamed down on our little schoolyard with the children gaily skipping rope, or racing each other from one end of the yard to the other, or standing around gabbing excitedly with their friends about this thing or that. I sat upon the steps to our school with two of my friends, Rochelle and Tenisha. Tenisha braided my hair, while Rochelle talked incessantly about the great injustices done to the black race. I didn’t disagree. Great injustices were done to many groups of people. I listened.

We were called the “Oreos” because they were black, and I was white. (It was okay to say black then; you have to say African American now to be proper. I wonder, does that mean I should be called Italian/Irish instead of just plain 'ole American?) You could usually find me in the middle and Rochelle and Tenisha on either side of me, and this was how we earned our nickname. It didn’t bother me, very little did.

I watched as a black car pulled up the driveway and a blonde-haired girl got out. “Who do you think that is?” I said to no one in particular. Rochelle, barely pausing from her long spiel, said, “Oh, great another white girl, like there isn’t enough white children in our school to try and suppress the creativity of the minority black children trying to learn here!”

Stifling a giggle, I ignored her and looked back at Tenisha, who rolled her eyes. Being the pioneer of the bunch and a seasoned veteran of six months in my new school, I yelled, “Let’s go find out!” and, jumping up, led the way. Tenisha shared my enthusiasm and followed close behind. Rochelle cautiously hung behind Tenisha still rambling on.

I ran up to the new girl and breathlessly stopped in front of her so quickly that Tenisha nearly rear-ended me. “Are you new?” Tenisha blurted out. I laughed and squealed, “Duh!” We all laughed. We found out her name was Elizabeth but liked to be called Beth, and she immediately was at home with our small group of “rebels”.