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.
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!
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.
To be continued in part 2…