Read Online With the Might of Angels by Andrea Davis Pinkney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrea Davis Pinkney
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kicking and screaming about it,” Mama said. “But even crybabies can’t stop what’s right.”
So, school integration is going forward. Tomorrow I report to Prettyman.
Tonight Daddy came and sat on the edge of my bed. With the curlers in my hair, I’d taken to sitting up at my headboard, hoping to fall asleep that way. It was easier than waking with tooth marks on my forehead.
Daddy held me gently by both my shoulders. He was looking at me squarely, so I knew to pay attention to what he was about to say.
He explained that the people from the NAACPhad advised that he and Mama not come to school with me, that having them there might cause trouble.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
“Dawnie, you may see a lot of people gathered outside of the school tomorrow. Not everyone is in favor of you attending Prettyman Coburn, and there might be some who protest. The NAACP officials feel it may be harder to protect you if we’re there. Protesters may feel less threatened by one Negro child, versus all of us. If they see colored adults, they may get riled. This could cause them to want to retaliate.”
I listened carefully. The skin at the tops of my ears went warm.
Daddy had more to say. “Dawnie, you were born with the gift of gab. But sometimes that gift is not to be shared. This is one of those times. If someone offends, lock your lip, child. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
Mama came into my room after tucking in Goober. She explained that she would walk Goober to Bethune, like always, and that Daddy would walk me part of the way to Prettyman, but needed to say good-bye on the corner of WaverlyStreet and Vine Road. He would not come close to the school building.
Daddy’s work shift had started earlier, and Mama would be picking up Goober from Bethune in the afternoons. So I would walk home from school by myself. “Just make sure you stay on the main streets,” Daddy said. “And keep alert.” I nodded again, twice this time, to show I understood.
After Daddy and Mama kissed me good night, I looked up two of Daddy’s words in my dictionary.
Protest: An expression of disagreement or complaint.
Retaliate: To return like for like, often in an evil manner. To avenge, be out for blood, defend. Now my whole ears were warm. My neck, too.
Monday, September 27, 1954
Diary Book,
If I live to be a hundred, and I’m stuck to a porch rocker with bad legs, three teeth, and a mind as rusty as a rained-on pogo stick, I will never forget today.
I hope I don’t wear out my pencil in writing it all. But I can’t help but tell everything. Just as it happened.
I was up and dressed while the moon still hungabove our house. Daddy had come home from his shift at Sutter’s and was ready to take me to school when I came into our living room. Goober and Mama were up, too, eager for this day to start.
Mama had pressed my dress with a mighty will. The bow, too.
She’d packed my lunch in a molasses bucket, and wrapped the whole thing in the leftover fabric used to sew the panels into the sides of my dress. Even my lunch tin was ready to make a good impression.
It’s one thing to
wear
a new dress and stiff shoes.
Walking
in them is a whole
’nother
thing.
Daddy took my hand. We started out quietly. No talking, each embraced by the in-between. The sky was dressed in blue velvet. Stars decorated its cape. Our streetlights spread yellow pools onto the sidewalks.
Everything was still. Even the dew was asleep.
Daddy seemed to be thinking on something. His hand clenched mine. His jaw was tight. I was thinking, too. About Yolanda. About the New York lady with the black dress. About Goober. And most of all about Prettyman Coburn.
A raccoon stopped me and Daddy fromthinking too deeply. She peeked out from the fence post at the edge of Mrs. Thompson’s tea-rose garden. That raccoon moved with a sure waddle, not the least bit bothered by us. She was so pretty. And special. Her black eye mask was decorated with two full rings of
So, school integration is going forward. Tomorrow I report to Prettyman.
Tonight Daddy came and sat on the edge of my bed. With the curlers in my hair, I’d taken to sitting up at my headboard, hoping to fall asleep that way. It was easier than waking with tooth marks on my forehead.
Daddy held me gently by both my shoulders. He was looking at me squarely, so I knew to pay attention to what he was about to say.
He explained that the people from the NAACPhad advised that he and Mama not come to school with me, that having them there might cause trouble.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
“Dawnie, you may see a lot of people gathered outside of the school tomorrow. Not everyone is in favor of you attending Prettyman Coburn, and there might be some who protest. The NAACP officials feel it may be harder to protect you if we’re there. Protesters may feel less threatened by one Negro child, versus all of us. If they see colored adults, they may get riled. This could cause them to want to retaliate.”
I listened carefully. The skin at the tops of my ears went warm.
Daddy had more to say. “Dawnie, you were born with the gift of gab. But sometimes that gift is not to be shared. This is one of those times. If someone offends, lock your lip, child. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
Mama came into my room after tucking in Goober. She explained that she would walk Goober to Bethune, like always, and that Daddy would walk me part of the way to Prettyman, but needed to say good-bye on the corner of WaverlyStreet and Vine Road. He would not come close to the school building.
Daddy’s work shift had started earlier, and Mama would be picking up Goober from Bethune in the afternoons. So I would walk home from school by myself. “Just make sure you stay on the main streets,” Daddy said. “And keep alert.” I nodded again, twice this time, to show I understood.
After Daddy and Mama kissed me good night, I looked up two of Daddy’s words in my dictionary.
Protest: An expression of disagreement or complaint.
Retaliate: To return like for like, often in an evil manner. To avenge, be out for blood, defend. Now my whole ears were warm. My neck, too.
Monday, September 27, 1954
Diary Book,
If I live to be a hundred, and I’m stuck to a porch rocker with bad legs, three teeth, and a mind as rusty as a rained-on pogo stick, I will never forget today.
I hope I don’t wear out my pencil in writing it all. But I can’t help but tell everything. Just as it happened.
I was up and dressed while the moon still hungabove our house. Daddy had come home from his shift at Sutter’s and was ready to take me to school when I came into our living room. Goober and Mama were up, too, eager for this day to start.
Mama had pressed my dress with a mighty will. The bow, too.
She’d packed my lunch in a molasses bucket, and wrapped the whole thing in the leftover fabric used to sew the panels into the sides of my dress. Even my lunch tin was ready to make a good impression.
It’s one thing to
wear
a new dress and stiff shoes.
Walking
in them is a whole
’nother
thing.
Daddy took my hand. We started out quietly. No talking, each embraced by the in-between. The sky was dressed in blue velvet. Stars decorated its cape. Our streetlights spread yellow pools onto the sidewalks.
Everything was still. Even the dew was asleep.
Daddy seemed to be thinking on something. His hand clenched mine. His jaw was tight. I was thinking, too. About Yolanda. About the New York lady with the black dress. About Goober. And most of all about Prettyman Coburn.
A raccoon stopped me and Daddy fromthinking too deeply. She peeked out from the fence post at the edge of Mrs. Thompson’s tea-rose garden. That raccoon moved with a sure waddle, not the least bit bothered by us. She was so pretty. And special. Her black eye mask was decorated with two full rings of
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