24 CityLight.org
may 2012
walking in his footprints hard to handle
for a five-year-old like me, but it was a
challenge that I thoroughly enjoyed.
I reached inside the pickle jar and caught
one of my prized possessions. When
Chester noticed the sewing string on the
insect's leg, a broad grin spread across his
face showing off his shiny gold tooth right
in the middle of his mouth. The June
bug was trying to get away from me, but
I held tightly to the
string, racing around
the yard, keeping
pace with the June
bug as it tried to fly
away. Still grinning,
Chester shook his
head and called the
field hands to load
up on the bed of our
red 1932 Chevrolet
truck. The hands
scrambled from all
corners of the yard
and field. Tired and
weary, they were
ready to go home for
the day, and Clayton,
the driver, would take them home.
Clayton was fortunate to still be alive.
One day, his wife, Ruth, caught him cheat-
ing on her with another woman and threw
lye mixed with milk into his face while he
sat in our red Chevrolet truck. The potent
lye mixture had streaked down Clayton's
face and the left side of the truck, scald-
ing Clayton's face and peeling red paint
off the truck. That incident put Clayton
in the hospital, and when Daddy went to
visit and pray with him, Clayton's head
was bandaged up like a mummy's. Dad-
dy's prayers were more potent than the lye
mixture though, because Clayton returned
to work although he kept his battle scares
for the rest of his life, just like our old red
truck.
As the field hands were loading up the
truck to go home, Chester was still watch-
ing me play with the June bug. He rubbed
the top of my head, his gold tooth shining
as if frozen in an eternal grin.
"Well, suh, sees ya `morrow, Little Man.
It's `posed ta rain."
I stuffed the June bug inside my clear pick-
le jar, alive with other June bugs, and start-
ed running toward
the house. I could
see Mother stand-
ing on the porch and
heard the dinner bell
ringing. Her bright
red apron flapped in
the breeze like two
hands clapping to-
gether. "I shore was
hongrey." I hoped
Mama Martin had
made her famous
yeast rolls.
The people around
the table were jovial
as usual. I don't know
what had prompted the conversation, but
they were telling stories about Daddy in his
youthful days. He had thrown the family
cat down the tall flight of stairs nine times
to see if a cat really did have nine lives. Ev-
eryone seemed to think that was real funny,
but I knew that if I tried the same thing, I
would get a whoppin'.
I sat the pickle jar full of June bugs down
near the kitchen sink. The familiar sight
of steam rising from the fresh cooked farm
vegetables was like an Indian smoke signal
inviting me to sit down and eat. Yippee!
There sat the light fluffy yeast rolls, the but-
ter still dripping off the tops, just waiting
When I Became Aware of
Racial Prejudice
By Gladys Grimaud | Continued from pg 6
"I just didn't
understand, but,
even at five years
of age, I wanted
it to be different
some day."