It was late afternoon in Guatemala City. I was five, going on six years old. My little brother Jorge was taking a nap. I walked towards the kitchen where I could hear my mom cooking dinner. I could smell beans, the sweet bread, and the coffee brewing.
Our neighbor was next door playing his radio and singing loudly. Normally I would enjoy listening, but this time I was annoyed. I could only think of my little brother sleeping, and I didn’t want him to wake up. I wished the neighbor would turn his music down! The bass was making our tin roof rattle which I thought was annoying. But then it happened…
The song came on! The rhythm was so beautiful and the melody so sweet. The mandolin sounded so melancholic and romantic that I was instantly captivated by the sound. My frustration vanished. As I entered the little dinning room, I closed my eyes, threw my head back and began to dance while feeling the music go right through me. The song was in English and I didn’t understand the words but I was entranced. The mandolin had a sweet playful sound that gently fluttered over the melody.
After about a minute I opened my eyes— and froze! There stood my mom, watching me from the doorway with a smile on her face. I was so embarrassed! I didn’t know what to do as I stood there looking at the floor. My mom walked toward me, and with her beautiful kind smile said “Dance with me?” I was still hesitant as she took my hand and she gently pulled me toward her. We began to dance.
While the song played I buried my face in her belly and danced with her while tears filled my eyes. It was like time had stood still as the song kept playing…… I don’t remember what happened next. All I know is that it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
Many many years later, I was a rugged strong man, working as a construction contractor in Pennsylvania. I was trouble shooting a project and trying to think but the loud music at the job site was becoming annoying. Just then the song came on! I had not heard it in so many years. I froze, my mind went back to that magical moment. I closed my eyes and could see her beautiful young smile again and I remembered the smell of her apron when we danced so long ago. My eyes filled with tears as I walked to my truck to take a moment and savor the memories and allow myself to miss my mom who has now gone to heaven.
Now I understand the lyrics of the song and play it on my old faithful guitar, sometimes as I sip a glass of wine, I can’t help but to throw my head back, close my eyes, dance, relive the magic moment, and think of my first love.
The song? “A steel guitar and a glass of wine “🍷 by Paul Anka.
“ De hoy en Ocho” = “A week from now” ( Eight days from now)
This song was a big hit and was playing in every radio station while I was going through my childhood struggles of “First day of School” “finding strength” and “New beginning”
Listening to this song brings back so many memories and feelings about that year, some sad but also some very fond ones.
When I started going to my new school I met many new nice kids. Among the kids I met was a very nice kid who loved singing, he was a very handsome black kid who was older than most of us about, 14 years old. His voice was already deep and beautiful. I used to love watching him sing this song and wished I could sing it like him, my voice was that of a nine year old. I especially liked when he would sing the part that says , “oooooh vivo solo” he would throw his head back, pucker his lips, close his eyes and sing with so much feeling!
I can still see his face in my mind and makes me smile.
Now so many years later I still sing it and love it.
Going to the park and skipping school went on for about three months. I would go to school once in a while just to see what was going on. I had fallen far behind and the teacher wouldn’t even notice I was there. That was fine with me. My biggest concern was that sooner or later, my parents would be called to come to the school, to be asked of the reason for my absence. I didn’t know how it would all end up, but continued to go to the park hoping for the best.
A view of the porch called the”portal del comercio”
It happened one rainy day, when we couldn’t really hang out at the park and were sitting at the portal del comercio. This was a big Spanish style porch that extended for a whole block with majestic round columns and fourteen foot high ceiling. There were many clothing stores here and several people waiting for the bus. A kid from the parque concordia (Concordia Park) came over and started making trouble. The parque concordia was another smaller park in the city about five blocks away. He was drunk and seemed to be on drugs, he was also very big and forceful. Pablo which was one of our bigger kids told him to leave, the kid charged Pablo and knocked him down, Pablo was a very skilled fighter, and after pinning him down, he punched him in the face a couple of times and told him to leave. The boy got up and left without saying a word, then as our group turned to go to the other end of the porch, we heard a lady screaming and turning we saw the boy coming back with a butcher knife in his hand, and heading straight for Pablo! Pablo took off running through the crowd who were eager to get out of the way. Then the worst thing that could have happened became a reality! Pablo slipped and fell on the wet floor with the other boy just a few yards behind. He caught up and tried to hurt Pablo with the knife as he struggled to get back on his feet. Pablo managed to get away so that there was a cart of apples between him and the other boy.
The portal del comercio at the place where Pablo fell.
By now there were other people trying to stop the attacker as well. But the kid just went crazy, swinging the knife at anybody in sight! I was about twenty feet behind the boy with the knife and had my sling shot loaded. Without giving it much thought, I shot him on the back of the head with a steel ball bearing. He screamed, drop the knife, and fell down to the ground. A man jumped on him to hold him down but there was no need. The boy was screaming in pain and was bleeding profusely. I was paralyzed as I saw the wave of people rush to the kid. Then the police were coming! Somebody grabbed my hand and pulled me away. It was Pablo. He took me down some streets that I didn’t know and before putting me on the bus he gave me a hug. I was scared and asked him if he thought the boy was going to die. He just smiled and said, “I don’t think so, but he will have a mark on his head.”
Years later, when I was about seventeen years old, I saw that same boy at the parque concordia. He was selling sunglasses, and I could see that with his crew cut that he did have a mark on the back of his head. I chuckled, remembering Pablo’s words, and of course I bought a pair of sunglasses. As I walked away, I felt a sense of relief and was glad the guy was alive.
The next day, I went back to school not feeling very good about it, but not wanting to go to the park. All night I prayed and wondered if the boy was okay. Because of the amount of blood gushing out of the wound, for sure I was in trouble. I had dreams of the police coming for me and taking me away.
When I walked into the classroom, I noticed that something was different. The teacher seemed happy for a change, but I did not trust her, because I knew that could change any moment. She stood in front of the class and started calling names. As she did, all the boys whose names were called, were to come up front and stand next to her. My heart was pounding and I was feeling kind of dizzy and didn’t know what to expect. I said a short prayer, but I didn’t think God would hear me anyway. Then I heard my name, I froze! She called me again. As I picked up my books, I felt a strong urge to run out of the class never to come back. But I didn’t, because she did not seem mad. My fists were clenched, my teeth grinding and I could feel sweat running down my back and the sides of my face. Then as she handed me a piece of paper, she announced that we were not to come to that school anymore. I immediately thought of my poor mom and felt ashamed. But then the teacher gave me the best news I ever heard. I was being transferred to a new school!! My heart pounded harder and I could hardly believe it! Running to the bus stop, I felt so light I could fly and suddenly the whole world seemed so bright and beautiful. My mom was glad that I was going to a school closer to home too.
The new school was really small, and I found that some kids from my neighborhood had been transferred there also, so we could ride the bus together. On the first day, the teacher walked in, and introduced herself. Clearing her throat she said the sweetest words ever. “Today we will have a new beginning. I know we are having a late start this year but we will catch up, because with God everything is possible.” We did catch up, and it was a great year in which I passed my classes with flying colors. I made many friends and my teacher was very kind and pretty. Her name was Sofia and she was my first teacher crush.
That year was a pivotal one in my life. By the end of the year, I was a different kid than the day I got on the bus for the first day of school. Because of the difficulties I had encountered at school, I had found an inner strength I never realized was there. I never did skip school to go back to the park, but often thought of the kids there. Later on, reflecting on the whole thing, I realized that God had heard my prayers and that He was there, with me all along.
Because of troubles at school, I was skipping regularly and spending my days in the parque central (Central Park). I had visited the park with my father on the weekend but it was a totally different place during the week. Buses of different colors, spilling over with people were constantly arriving and leaving. The presidential palace was in the background as a symbol of a strong government, and on the other side of the park was the National Cathedral, with a great big clock on the front tower and hundreds of pigeons that flew out of the way as you stepped into the front atrium. The Cathedral was the pride of all Guatemalans and a silent witness of the Spanish catholic heritage of the eighteenth century.
There were also a lot of shoe shine boys that didn’t go to school at the park. Instead they worked to help their families which were very poor or just to survive as some of them were orphans and lived on the streets. It was a rough bunch of kids, they all seemed to know each other and made a good show of comradery. Most of them smoked and used foul language, even kids of seven or eight years of age. Other kids sold newspaper and shouted the headlines, making them as interesting as possible to entice the public to buy.
I kept on going to the park day after day, and before too long I made some acquaintances and got into some mean marble games. These kids were very skilled and almost unbeatable. At times, I could beat them at marbles and capirucho but I would choose to lose because I noticed they didn’t take losing very well. They wondered where I came from, and they knew because of my books that I was skipping school. I told them of my situation, and of course they were very supportive and told me that they wouldn’t go to school either in my situation. With that, they handed me a cigarette, which I smoked while laying on my back in the grass with my head leaning on my bookbag.
The shoeshine and newspaper boys welcomed me in their little community, and taught me how to get on the bus for free so I could spend the fare money while I was with them. I guess you probably want to know how we did it. I’ll tell you. It was a simple trick. While one of them would ask the driver a question, I would sneak through the back door and as the bus would drive away, they would run along with the bus as if racing it, while waving goodbye and cheering me on!
It was Monday morning. I was part way through 3rd grade and had been having struggles in school with bullies. After finally standing up to them, with help from my older brother Armando and my slingshot, I walked back into the classroom at the start of the new week, hoping to finally have a peaceful day at school. (You can read the first part of this story in my posts “First Day of School” and “Finding Strength”). I sat all the way up front and opened my book to finish a little bit of homework.
The “Parque Central” (central park) which I visited when I skipped school.
The bell was a piece of railroad track that the principal would bang with a hammer for school to begin. No sooner had this happened than the teacher walked in, put her books down, and walked straight to where I was sitting. Without saying a word, she grabbed me by the ear and the hair behind my neck, and dragged me to the principal’s office. I was in great pain, she was pulling my ear so hard that I could feel shooting pain under my jaw. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. Forcing her hand off, I managed to get away and ran into the principal’s office with her right behind me.
The boy who I had shot with a slingshot the week before, was there with his mom. When I entered, they stood up and the principal took me by the shirt and shoved me into a chair. As I sat there crying and very scared, I again prayed to God to help me, but again it seemed useless. After being scolded and spanked by the principal I was sent to clean up the bathrooms which were sickeningly dirty. After that, I spent the whole afternoon with my nose to the wall in the principal’s office. As I stood there, I thought of ways to make the situation better but nothing seemed to make sense. When I tried to say something to the principal he would say he didn’t want to hear a word from me.
Finally I was sent home, some thirty minutes after everybody had left school. That night, I woke up in the middle of the night and stayed awake until daybreak thinking about school. Maybe now that the bullies were dealt with and I had paid for what I had done things would be alright. After crying for a while, and praying “Our Father” many times over, I finally fell asleep.
I got up early and washed my pants and shirt which were the only ones I had. I even took a shower and combed my hair (which didn’t happen every day). When I arrived at school, my pants where still damp. My mom had tried to dry them with the iron but it got too late so I wore them like that. The teacher seemed to be in a terrible mood and was yelling at anyone that got in her way. Sitting at her desk, she asked for everyone to turn their homework in, and of course I did not have it done because I had spent the whole day before in the principal’s office. She didn’t want to hear it, and again she let me have it with her ruler. I felt very angry as I sat at my desk trying to fight the tears while biting my lips.
I didn’t want to tell my mom because I knew it would break her heart. At that time we were going through a great financial crisis and I didn’t want to add to her stress. On the bus the next day, I didn’t get off to go to school but kept going and went around the whole loop that made up the bus route until the stop to my house came up. I could not believe I was doing this and felt like a zombie while walking home. When I saw my mom, I quickly told her that there was no school that day and she went on with her chores. Going outside, I felt a great sense of guilt, not so much for skipping school, because somehow I felt justified given the circumstances, but for lying to my mom which was plain wrong. I hated doing that.
The afternoon was long and boring. All my friends were in school and I could not get rid of the guilty feeling. After going back and forth between telling my mom the truth and not telling her, I finally decided I would wait.
Another view of the Parque Central (Central Park).
The next day I didn’t get off the bus again but instead of going back home I got off the bus at the Parque Central (Central Park) which was right in the middle of the city. This became my new pattern. The Parque Central was a very interesting place and was somewhat familiar to me because my dad would take us there from time to time on the weekends. We would go to see “la fuente” (the fountain) which was in the middle of the park and was illuminated with a very nice light show that would change according to the patterns of the water. Many times we sat there eating “tostadas” and “atól de élote” (sweet hot creamy drink made out of corn). I still remember the pleasant feeling of the mist blowing over us while in the background the marimba Chapinlandia would play their concert at the “Concha Acustica” (the acoustical bowl). The “Parque Central” was such a beautiful place that many love birds went there for their Sunday dates and enjoy walking in the cool of the night listening to music and perhaps have some authentic traditional food. The popular national singers would also perform live to the delight of the Guatemalan audience. This became my new home during school hours.
I went to my classroom, and as I walked in, I could feel everybody staring at me. I sat near the front and ignored all the murmuring. The bully didn’t seem to want to talk about it, but his buddies were not happy at all. They tried to get me after school on the way to the bus stop. “Hey Monroy! We are not afraid of your brother” they said, as they ran after me. I ran but they caught up with me in no time. One of them shoved me against the wall. My books flew everywhere, getting bent up and soiled. I felt very angry. I was always careful to keep my books clean and thought of all my mom had gone through to get them for me.
For the first time. I was not afraid of them. They put their books down and started coming toward me. Pulling my sling shot out, I hit one of them on the chest with a steel ball bearing. He screamed in terrible pain as he fell onto one knee crying. Moving away quickly, I tried to reload but another boy knocked me down. I laid there flat on my back. I tried to reload as I kept on kicking at the boy who was trying to sit on me. It was no use, the boy grabbed my leg and was dragging me through the dirt. I lost my slingshot!
By now a circle of boys had gathered to watch the fight. I thought everything was lost but somehow I managed to stand up and charged the kid with all I had. He punched me in the mouth and I felt the taste of blood instantly. I kicked him where it counts and although it hurt him he seemed to get more enraged. As I stood there, with my fists clenched, he was coming back at me, I knew I was no match for him, but I was determined to fight him to the end. Just then, Armando who had been there all along stepped in and polished the boy right up! Armando in the meantime had beaten one of the other boys and chased him off. Then he had joined the crowd to watch my fight just to keep an eye on me. Back on the bus and on the way home, I asked Armando why he waited so long to step in. He just smiled and said “Because you were doing just fine.” Then putting his arm around me he told me he was proud of me and pointed out that I was getting to be a big boy and how I was catching up to him in height. “They will never bother you again, because now they know you mean business“.
He was right! The bullies would say nasty stuff about me but never to my face and never again did I have to run from them. When everything was said and done, my shirt was ripped, my buttons where gone and I had a fat lip but I felt it was worth it.
On the third day of school when I woke up, I did my chores and went out with my younger brother Jorge to the field behind our house to try to catch some of those rare butterflies. Somehow though, I couldn’t wait to go back to school. Armando was already waiting for me at the bus stop. He had his book bag and of course he was skipping school. Once on the bus he told me not to worry. I guess he knew I was nervous. I nodded as my hand reached for my slingshot inside my book bag. It gave me a sense of comfort.
It was early when we arrived at the school yard. A few girls were still lingering around from morning school. (Girls went to school in the morning). We sat under a birch tree and waited for the bullies to show up. My hand was clenched and sweaty around about four ball bearings. My sling shot was in my back pocket now, ready to go. Armando didn’t seem nervous at all, he just seemed to be in deep thought. After about ten minutes, he turned to me and said “You know we could get beat up today if they decide to fight us but remember, we just have to fight with everything we have. The most important thing is to show them that we are not afraid of them because we are not!” I didn’t say a word.
Then, there he was, coming our way, eating an orange and picking on some of the girls. He was shooting orange peels at their bare legs with a rubber band. I stood up, my heart was beating really hard. Armando stood right in front of him as he called to him. “Hey stinky!” Amando said. The boy stopped and looked at him kind of confused. Then he saw me and understood what was happening. Putting his books down he walked right up to Armando to challenge him. As he got closer, I saw that he was taller than Armando. Instinctively I reached for my sling shot. Armando didn’t waste any time. Quick as lightning, he grabbing him by the shirt, knocked him down on the ground and had his forearm on the boy’s throat! The boy tried to fight back but Armando was already sitting on him and had pinned him to the ground. “That’s my brother” he said. “Don’t you ever pick on him again, or next time I’ll hurt you so bad, you won’t even know what happened to you.” He added, “I know you have friends, but so do we, and if they have to come, it will not be to play games.” He pressed his forearm harder on the boys neck to the point that he had a hard time breathing. His face went from angry to scared.
Armando let go of him and stepped back till he stood next to me. The boy sprung to his feet as he swore, his face was red and his fists clenched. Armando and I just stood and stared at him. By now a whole circle of kids were watching, they could not believe that the bully was down. Some kids tried to help dust the back of his shirt off but he just shoved them away as he walked through the small crowd. Armando picked up the boy’s soiled orange and threw it across the road. We walked back to the spot where we had left our books, and as my brother said goodbye he said, “I don’t think they will bother you again.”
My first day of school had been tough. Riding the bus by myself was scary and bullies had given me trouble. I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell my mom?
The second day of school was a bright sunny day, perfect for flying a kite or butterfly hunting. I woke up to the smell of freshly made tortillas and the typical smell of firewood coming from a nearby tortilla shack. I thought it would be great to go butterfly hunting, so waking my little brother up we ran out the door. “Where are you going? Are you chores done yet?” asked my mom. We both moaned and came back in the house, did our chores, had breakfast, and quickly ran out the door.
A Butterfly similar to the ones we tried to catch. Photo by David Tiller https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Greta_oto.jpg
The marigolds (Flor de muerto) were about two feet high and very smelly. We ripped a few branches off the ground and went after the beautiful butterflies. Our collection was awesome! Because of that, we were very particular about the kind of butterfly we wanted to catch. The hardest ones to catch were the “zebra” and the “mirror” butterflies. The mirror butterfly’s wings were transparent and that made them almost invisible. The zebra butterfly was either black with white stripes or green and black. They seemed to know we were predators and somehow they always seemed to manage to stay away from us.
The sun was high now and it was eleven o’clock when my mom called us in. It was almost time for me to go to school but I was trying not to think about it. A strange feeling came over me, and in an instant I re-lived the events of the day before with the bullies. (You can read about them in “The First Day of School”) My stomach felt sick and I wished I didn’t have to go back. The reality was that there was no getting out of it. Riding in the bus was not as scary this time although I still was a little nervous. What worried me now, was having to face the bullies again. Would I get beat up today? What kind of plans had they made to make sure I didn’t get away this time?
My plan was to arrive at school a little late so they would all be at their desks. That eliminated the possibility of fighting before school started and I would just sit in any available seat (which had been the point of contention the day before). It worked, but only to an extent. All day they picked on me and threw spitballs at the back of my head. They were working on my nerves but I felt helpless against them. At recess, they followed me around the school yard and I made sure to stay within the sight of one of the teachers.
As the day wore on, I figured the best thing was to tell the teacher but I was afraid of her also because of her ill temper. At the beginning of the day, she had angrily yelled and thrown her ruler and the blackboard eraser at some kids that were talking in class. Instead of talking to her, I decided to use the same trick as the day before. I went up to the teacher and apologized to her asking what the names of the kids were because I wanted to make friends with them. She gladly told me their names as she pointed at each one of them. The boys were watching my every move so when she did that they chickened out.
When the time came to go home, they still followed me, called me names and threw things at me but I was able to get on the bus safely. The ride home was short this time but I wished I never had to go to school again. I felt trapped and saw no solution to the situation. As I thought about it ,my eyes filled with tears again and I prayed to God for help. He didn’t seem to hear me and I felt deep sadness.
When I got home, my mom was glad to see me home safe and greeted me with a hug. Armando was just getting home from school too and asked me to play marbles with him. When I said I didn’t feel like playing, he knew something was wrong. He followed me into the house and asked me what was wrong. I began to cry and as he put his arm around me as I told him the whole story. I could see him getting mad as I spoke. He stood there thinking and after a couple of minutes he told me not to worry anymore. “Tomorrow we will have a talk with those boys!” he said. With that he brought me into the other room where he had his secret box with a lock. There where all kinds of things in his box, from toys to minor hand weapons most of them homemade. Taking a few things out, he put them in his book bag. I just stood there watching him. “Where is your slingshot?” he asked. I went and got it out of my secret box along with a hand full of half inch steel ball bearings that I had saved for a special occasion. We went out and played marbles and somehow I felt better knowing I was not alone anymore. I slept good that night.
My first day of third grade at a new school, far away from home, had gotten off to a horrible start. Several boys had immediately started picking on me insisting that the seat I had chosen was theirs. When I refused to move, one had thrown all my books on the floor and yelled profanities in my face. We ended up getting disciplined in the principal’s office. Now we were back in class. The name of my school was David Vela and it was located at Colonia Centro America.
A similar classroom to the one that I was in.
For the rest of the day I received notes with threats from three kids telling me how they were going to teach me a lesson after school. I could not concentrate on my school work and even had a hard time telling the teacher my name. Boy was I scared! How I missed my brother Armando who always would take care of me.
When the bell rang and it was time to go home. I saw the boys taking their places in yard to make sure I wouldn’t escape, then I had an idea. I went up to a teacher and asked him if I could plant some trees, and for a location I pointed to where the three boys were standing. Bingo! They got scared and quickly hid, thinking I was telling on them. As soon as they were out of sight, I ran and never heard the response from the teacher, he just stood there looking perplexed. Waiting at the bus stop I saw the bullies coming again. Knowing I had fooled them (or told on them) they were ready to skin me alive. I ran across the busy road, almost getting hit by a motorcycle, and got on a bus that was going in the opposite direction from home. I had escaped getting beat up, but now I was lost and would never make it home.
The bus was overflowing with people and I could hardly see out the windows because of the crowd. I began to get really scared and started to cry. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep the tears from pouring out. A man sitting next to me took notice and asked if he could help me. After a few minutes I was able to gather myself together and I told him about my predicament. “I took the bus in the wrong direction and I only have money for one bus ride.” Putting his hand on my shoulder, he smiled and told me how the same bus would go back in the opposite direction and take me back home. When he got off, he said he would pray for me. I thanked him with all my heart.
The bus passed by the school again and I was relieved to know I was going in the right direction. However, just then, it began to rain so hard that the bus had to stop. When it started again, the windows were so fogged up that you couldn’t see anything outside through the glass. I agonized thinking I would miss my stop, again and again prayed the Lord’s prayer. “Our Father who art in heaven…” hoping God would help me out. He did! Somehow, I recognized an avocado tree by the side of the road, where my brother Armando and I played often, and rang the bell for the bus to stop so I could get off. I was back! I was back! The rain had not let down yet. So under the pouring rain, covering my head with my book bag I ran all the way home. It was after 7:30pm when I came around the corner and as I approached the house, I saw the silhouette of my dear mom. Worried, she was watching and waiting for me. She ran to meet me and I buried my face in her chest and lost it. Crying, I told her how much I loved her, she cried too and as she hugged and kissed me, she brought me into the house and gave me something to eat. Yes, go ahead you can cry too. I am crying.
When I was nine years old, I went to a school that was about five miles away from home. The school in my neighborhood was full, and my mom eager for me to get a good education signed me up wherever she could. I was going into third grade that year and when the first day of classes came, I was scared sick. The neighborhood where my new school was located was completely foreign to me. To get there meant taking a public bus. I wasn’t sure where to get off and imagined that if I missed my stop I would get lost forever. This would be my first time on the bus alone. My mom showed me a couple of landmarks and told me that I would be alright as she combed my hair and kissed me. Then she gave me ten cents for the bus fare. I could hardly say goodbye to her because my throat was in a knot and I was doing everything in my power to fight back the tears. I didn’t want to disappoint her knowing all that she had gone through to make sure I went to school.
A map of my trip from home to school.
At the bus stop, I took a moment to look around. I thought this could be the last time I ever saw this familiar scene. The bus came and I signaled it to stop. The driver handed me a ticket and I sat down close to a window. Suddenly it dawned on me that I may never see my mom again. Jumping to my feet I ran for the door to jump off, but the driver had closed the door and the bus was already moving quite fast. Seeing the fear on my face he asked me why I was so scared and I told him that I didn’t know when to get off the bus to go to school. After telling him the name of the school, he said he would stop for me. Wiping the tears from my eyes I sat down feeling a sense of relief but wishing I could just go home. I asked myself, why would anybody want to go to school? I certainly did not care for it!
This is the “Calle De San Juan” as seen today. The bus ran from my house to the school on this main street. On the right is the alley I took from the bus to school.
I got to my classroom early and sat toward the back. As the kids began to come in, they all seemed to know each other. I guessed it was because they were from that neighborhood. They also seemed to have favorite seats. As it turned out, I was sitting at another boy’s favorite desk and he didn’t hesitate to tell me to move. I picked up my books and went to a different seat but before I sat down another boy was demanding that I move again. I moved a second time. Just then an oversized kid walked in, he was about three years older than everybody else, his hair was messy, his fingernails were quite dirty and he was sweating as if he had ran to school. His shoes were too big for him and he kept on pulling his oversized pants up. He walked straight to my desk and shaking it signaled for me to move which made everybody laugh. I told him that this was my desk and that he could sit in the one next to mine because I had just moved twice. Before I knew it he had wiped all my books off the top of my desk and was cursing and swearing at me with his face right up to mine. I could smell the stench of his breath and his sweat was dripping on my face. I pushed him back as hard as I could but he only moved a couple of steps and was ready to tear into me. My fists were clenched but I knew things didn’t look good for me. Just then the teacher walked in, and after she had hit us several times on the head with her yard stick, she made us go to the principal’s office where we got spanked and were sent back to the classroom.
