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Cecil
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Cecil |
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shadow974 Senior Member
since 2001-06-21
Posts 636Michigan 
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Cecil By Dan Owens There was a time, most of my life as I remember, that each slight was added to a hole in the depths of my soul. Somewhere deep within was this reservoir that I drew from when things weren’t going well. It would hold my spirit down and bring the realization that I was nothing, unworthy of all the joys that might fill me when my guard was down. I remember an incident in kindergarten; this little black boy called me over to his desk. I thought he wanted to be friends, so I went over to his desk when the teacher wasn’t watching, and he punched me in the mouth. I never told anyone. I just stood there looking at him, stunned. The teacher told me to get back to my seat. Then she escorted me by the ear. Who could I tell? Dad? He was never home, And if I did tell him, he would be so ashamed that I did nothing; besides, I feared him most of all. All I ever saw from him was anger when there was a problem. He was a man full of shame and pity for himself. He harped on the fact that he had to work sixteen hours a day for the railroad for us, but in fact, he was an alcoholic who spent half his money in the bar. Mom was afraid of people, and if I told her about the incident, she would say, “Now Dan, I’m not going to go up to that school. I would be embarrassed. What would they think of me?” She blamed herself for dads drinking. There had to be something wrong with her if her husband preferred to spend his time drinking instead of with her. “ It must be because I’m fat or because I have false teeth,” she would say. So I learned to shove my feelings deep inside, and I stayed clear of the boy. but every time my jaw would make a grating or creaking sound, I would remember and a deep sadness would come over me. The boy’s name was Michael Dunning and he haunted me until and incident in the fourth grade. We were taking a test and Michael was setting behind me. He was having some trouble with the test so I handed him my answer sheet. After class he asked me, “ why I helped him. Didn’t I remember that time in kindgarten”? I said, “ yes I do remember but you needed help.” After that there were a few times when he proved to be a friend, a friend that was won in the strangest way but still a friend. Once of the side of the school building out of sight of the teachers, a group of boys surrounded me. They were pushing and shoving me around. I froze. This over whelming fear came over me. I felt so ashamed. Michael walked up and told them to let me be and that was that. I remember, also in the fourth grade, a boy named Clarence. Clarence was different from everyone else. He had seizures, grand mal seizures. he would fall on the floor and shake. His whole body shook and he foamed at the mouth. A group of kids would gather around him and laugh. Not everyone laughed. I felt for him. I felt that I resembled him. I made friends with him. I identified with him and I felt sorry for him and for myself. Clarence didn’t go to school for long after a few seizures he left school and never came back. I remember a time in the fifth grade, a time with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Her name was miss winters and she was my teacher. Well, there was this boy named Cecil. He was as close to me as a brother only he wore a different color of skin. Miss Winters was beautiful and kind as I remember. I had a problem reading in front of the class. I was crippled by fear. I would get stuck on words like it and the and shake my guts out fearing that I had no guts. Miss Winters would try to help but to no avail. Then she would ask me to sit down and she would call on someone else. This was a ladder out of hell for me, and I loved her for it. At semester break my parents were invited to conference with Miss Winters. I was told to wait outside. They stayed in there talking about me for the longest time. I naturally got nervous so I walked home. It was only a few blocks. When mom and dad came home dad was livid. I was sure then as I am now that it was his shame that his son had to go to summer school but mom said it was because I walked home and they were worried. I was upset about summer school I could read! I could! Just not in front of the class. I had ten weeks of phonics but it was fun. We took a few trips. The fear I felt subsided when I heard Cecil read. He sounded like I felt. We played scrabble every day and I learned something. Cecil, although he was black, was just like me. He hurt. He felt fear. He felt shame. One day I asked him to come over my house and meet my family. When my sister saw him walking up the sidewalk she pushed me aside and told him that I had homework and couldn’t play with him. After he left she told me never to ask blacks over to the house. What would the neighbors think! The next week Cecil asked me over to his house. On my way to his house a group of black boys stopped me and asked what I was doing in their neighborhood and I told them I was going to Cecil Light’s house. He invited me over. They let me pass. When I got to Cecil’s house his mom answered the door and said that he had to eat and couldn’t play with me. The next day we looked at each other and I said, “ my family is strange.” He said, “ mine too.” We remained friends for the rest of the year. The next year we moved away. I saw Cecil again eighteen year later. My wife and I stopped to get gas near his old neighborhood. There was Cecil standing near a brick wall. He asked if I was Dan Owens and then I recognized him. “ Cecil, how are you.” “ O.K. “ he said. “ how about you?” “O.K.” I answered. Then we stood there looking at each other not knowing what to say. I felt like I was on the other side of the wall. We said good bye. our life's and our views had become cemented, and it wasn’t our own choosing . I’ve had to struggle with this inbred fear of the unknown, But in my heart I knew the truth about people. It was a long time before I learned to listen to the truth. Twenty years later, twenty long years, my son Dan met a young man while they were fighting in the gulf war. They were both members of a tank group that resqued some prisoners from the Iraqi's. As the young men grew to know each other they became close friends. Dan wrote home about his friend Cecil Light. Imposable but it was his son. I’ve talked to my old friend Cecil a few time since but that’s as far as it has gone. It is strange how old habits die so hard. The newness of youth has a quality of acceptance. They have values of their own to keep. Our boys friends and decorated veterans. Pride could give Cecil and I a lot to talk about. Alas, a crack in the wall. Throw your heart out in front of you |
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| © Copyright 2001 Daniel Owens - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Logan Senior Member
since 2001-05-28
Posts 1641Arkansas |
A nice write of how many of us felt at those times..You put it well together..nice job..gentle smile |
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