My Memories

iWonder: Is it bad that i sometimes miss my Forth-grade School-teacher, because, i may do-so; in a way that might not be all that healthy..?

Surely if words can direct the route of ones existance, it was something that, Mrs.Church, said to me, that is largly responsible_for the person i would eventually become, though, she could have said it in a less negitive manner; than what she did.
It would have been close-on to Fifty years ago_when the incident took place. But i always remember it, as though it was just yesterday, and, i think about that day, all so long ago; at some time_every day of my life!

Drawing on my memories, i recall i was really, Really-a bad student. I mean i wasn't a Bully, or anything. In fact, quite the opposite. I was timmid, shy, and afraid of any situation outside of my home-enviroment, although because of my size_i was able to hide it well, and, no kids went around picking on me. Just two years before, i had been re-placed, and, now i was simply afraid of anything & everything, being in a differant Foster-home, and beaten-down twenty-four/Seven. And these fuckers used any impliment of tourture_which was handy at-the-time...switches from the tree in the back yard; which usually i would have to cut myself first, and, it had better be big-enough, or, i would be sent back to get another one. Running-shoes, wooden-spoons, coat-hangers, fly swatter-handles...it made no differance to these Jamacan/fucks! And it was almost never because of anything i did,but, just because these people needed a whipping-post. Chi, incidently, was just as mean as him; which brings us back to my Forth-grade class room.

Due to my not paying attention to my studies, day-dreaming and gazzing out of the window, the teacher, Mrs.Church, called me up to the front of the class. Once there, i was informed, not told, that: "I was a lazy, stupid, little Nigger_that would never grow-up to be anything; other than the person who rides passengers up & down in a department-store elevators, or, the guy in the zoo_who feeds peanuts to the elephants!"I also remember how this was the only time while living with these Jamacan's, they took my defence; once i returned home and mentioned how my day was at school. Naturally however, the reason these people, if we must call them that/lol(not-so-much)anyway, they felt that by me being called theN`word, somehow they too were being personally insulted; which was of course right_if people actually even know i lived with these folks_since i didn't get out of the house all that much, and, if they still didn't beat me anyway in-the-end!

The thing that still bothers me however, and makes me question myself as an intelligent, God-fearing, rightious man, isn't: the unfairness of the situatition The Foster Agentcy placed me in, but, simply how desperiatly i would like to meet, Mrs.Church, one day on the street, and say:
"What do you think of me now?"