The class applauded.
Again, I had met a challenge
and embraced it.
Several months later, the teacher
asked me to stay after school.
“Helen”, she said “You are no
longer on probation.
You are a very good student.
In fact, I think you should
be moved up to the fifth grade with
the ten year olds.
Ask your mother before I make
a decision.
I went home and told my
mother.
She said, “Helen, what do you
want to do.
Stay where you are or move to
the other class”.
I answered, “I’d like to stay
with the kids I know”.
She said fine, tell your
teacher your decision tomorrow.”.
I told my teacher and she
said that’s alright, stay with us.
Over the years, I used to say
more than once I could have been
double promoted if I wanted to but
decided not be with the older kids.
I loved the word “double
promoted”.
Maybe that was the beginning
of my love for words and those words
made me feel special.
My cousin, Joe was two years younger
than me and was raised to be a very
good boy.
My aunt was very strict.
He was to greet guests and
offer to take their coats, saying
words like “Thank you” and “Can I
get something for you”.
I thought this was prissy and
felt sorry for Joe, a dark eyed,
beautiful curly hair kid who
stuttered.
I disapproved of his folks
giving him orders.
I detested orders but of
course, I was never told to talk
slowly.
I think if my folks were to
give me order about talking it would
be something like “Helen, you talk
too much, give someone else a chance
to talk”.
I was a chatterbox.
There was an old lady that lived in
a small house next door.
She had a cat and since I am
a cat lover, I spent much time
calling “Kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Several times the kitty
almost made it over but her owner
usually saw me and called her away.
I guess I was becoming a
nuisance though all I wanted to do
was to pet the furry creature.
The lady yelled at me and
said “Leave my cat alone, you hear
me.”
That made me very mad, really
mad.
After all I meant no harm to
the kitty; I love kitties.
I told my cousin Joe to follow me
and that I was going to teach that
mean lady a lesson.
Joe followed me obediently,
up the outside back stairs, all the
way to the top overlooking, the cat
owner’s backyard.
I said “Joe, watch me.
When she comes out and gets
near the fence, we’re going to spit
on her head.
Joe nodded in agreement.
Sure enough, she soon came
out and move toward the fence.
O.K.
Joe, lets do it together.
One, two, three – spit – and so we
did.
She looked up and yelled at
us.
Who cared? I showed her.
more
. .
