Childhood Memories, Part I
I went to a catholic school from preschool to first grade. I had to wear a little plaid dress with a white blouse that had the Jesus fish embroidered on it. The school building had a huge chapel inside, next to the library, so we had to go to church every Wednesday. I don't think I ever really cared or paid attention. Even at that young age I knew deep down inside what I believed in and didn't let anyone else influence that.
My kindergarten teacher made us call her by her first name; Pam. She was an earthy, hippie woman who never wore make up and loved her students like they were her own children. I'm guessing this is because she had no children of her own. In my class was a little boy named Jamal (yes he was black). He would do whatever it took to pester me. He'd stroke my hair, poke at me, and no matter how much I asked him to stop (or yelled at him) he never left me alone. Pam just brushed it off as some cute little childhood crush, which I think was very disrespectful to me. All I wanted was my own space. One afternoon we were going out to the playground and we had to walk out together in a perfect line. Jamal purposely got behind me. Once again he started grabbing at me and touching my hair. I turned around and yelled at him to stop each time, and he never did. Finally, I snapped and turned around and smacked him across the face. It was an incident waiting to happen. A girl can only take so much before she lashes out. He started to cry, and Pam ran over to him to console him. Once I realized what I had done, I was afraid of getting in trouble by my step dad, so I too started to cry. I cried harder than he did.
Later that day when my mom and step dad came to pick me up, Pam informed them of the incident. Together they all concluded that since I was crying more than the boy I hit I didn't deserve to be in trouble. Obviously I felt bad about hitting someone, but I was being harassed for weeks by this boy and felt I had to defend myself. My parents took me home, and that was the end of it. And I don't think I have to tell you Jamal never bothered me again after that. You should've assumed that yourself (cuz it's true).
I guess black guys have been attracted to me since day one...
My kindergarten teacher made us call her by her first name; Pam. She was an earthy, hippie woman who never wore make up and loved her students like they were her own children. I'm guessing this is because she had no children of her own. In my class was a little boy named Jamal (yes he was black). He would do whatever it took to pester me. He'd stroke my hair, poke at me, and no matter how much I asked him to stop (or yelled at him) he never left me alone. Pam just brushed it off as some cute little childhood crush, which I think was very disrespectful to me. All I wanted was my own space. One afternoon we were going out to the playground and we had to walk out together in a perfect line. Jamal purposely got behind me. Once again he started grabbing at me and touching my hair. I turned around and yelled at him to stop each time, and he never did. Finally, I snapped and turned around and smacked him across the face. It was an incident waiting to happen. A girl can only take so much before she lashes out. He started to cry, and Pam ran over to him to console him. Once I realized what I had done, I was afraid of getting in trouble by my step dad, so I too started to cry. I cried harder than he did.
Later that day when my mom and step dad came to pick me up, Pam informed them of the incident. Together they all concluded that since I was crying more than the boy I hit I didn't deserve to be in trouble. Obviously I felt bad about hitting someone, but I was being harassed for weeks by this boy and felt I had to defend myself. My parents took me home, and that was the end of it. And I don't think I have to tell you Jamal never bothered me again after that. You should've assumed that yourself (cuz it's true).
I guess black guys have been attracted to me since day one...