Engulfed by the Unkown

By Terence Scruggs

Chapter 13

Cinderblock and concrete: I dwell in a mausoleum, a large gloomy building for the underprivileged on the welfare roles, the single mothers and the low-income families. I never knew which of these my family was labeled. Probably all of them. Yet I recall my mother working one, two, sometimes three jobs. I don’t remember ever seeing the man, my father. My inquiries went unanswered. But I was never focused on not having. I had it all, or so I thought.

There is something wonderful, blessed, blissful, almost surreal, about the gift of youth. You notice, then you don’t notice. It’s there confronting you but there are big people dealing with it. Every person, every place entertained my curiosity. Little did I know that much of my life would be engulfed by the unknown.

From illusion to reality, it hit me like a flip of a switch.

This was a time before integration and bussing. Kids went to a neighborhood school, and I was no different. I felt empowered but not welcome. On the playground I noticed a window at ground level. People who looked like me were doing something I had never done before: writing with colors on large pieces of paper. They were painting. I was roused to express myself in front of the window, unaware that this was wrong. My correction came by way of red. The colors that had captured my attention within the room were now outside at my feet. I never saw it coming. From illusion to reality, it hit me like a flip of a switch. I was covered in the substance responsible for my embarrassment: red paint. The teacher had gotten upset at my disruption. So she walked around without my seeing and let the paint sail through the gated window.

I did the only thing I knew: I ran through the alleys and streets to my front door. The shock registered every step of the way. It subdued the effect of my new discovery. Upon my arrival the shock only deepened. No one was home. My mother, at work; sisters and brother in school. Maintaining my joy became arduous. The situation was compounded by the fact that I had left class without the permission of an authority. Alone, I cried. Will mother be angry with me? Up until this point, I could not recall a moment when she had been upset with me. Love still reigned. My sisters arrived home, confused to find their baby brother already waiting, clothes ruined, face stained with tears. As I ran to them it was the oldest who spoke with the ability to command thought.

“What happened to you? What happened to you?”  Her voice echoed in my young mind.

“The lady, the lady.”  I spoke through more tears.  But I was unable to convey the information. “She threw the paint out the window and it got on me, I didn’t do nothing!”

My sister grabbed me by the hand in silence, and we walked with urgency to our home. Inside she made me go upstairs to the bathroom. In a brief moment that seemed like forever I was told to remove my clothing and get into a bath she was running. For some reason she kept repeating to herself, just wait until Mom comes home. She couldn’t believe someone threw paint all over a six year-old!  She was only around 10 years old herself. As I bathed and changed out of the soiled clothing into another shirt and pants, we realized it was impossible to change the shoes. I had only one other pair, and those were for Sunday. This only heightened the frustration for my mother when she arrived home. What had happened became as clear as a ten year-old could manage with the little information a confused six year-old could relate. Nothing was the same that night except for sleeping in my mother’s bed. In this she nourished me and consoled me.

The next day my mother took me back to school, confronting everybody from the teacher who didn’t watch me to the woman who threw the paint on me right into the principal’s office. I’m clinging to her like a baby calf, following its mother for guidance and direction. Then she left to go back to work. Once again I was in the care of these strangers. I felt scared but strangely empowered. The same command I had seen at home was now at school. This all would change in the next year or two. Public policy changed and something called integration was introduced. With this, along with my mother seeking a better education for her kids, I was removed from Baker School and placed in Bellevue Elementary.