Lessons Of A Fourth Grader

A valuable lesson about myself that I learned from my friend in North Carolina. This writing is based on the time I spent there, but some aspects (like names) have been changed.

LESSONS OF A FOURTH GRADER

By

Louis M. Warde

         I have wondered many times out of many days over many years what happened to the boy. He taught me so much, few of it intentional. I'm sure I taught him as well, but nothing so useful as what he had inadvertently taught me about myself.

         I moved to a little town in the middle of North Carolina called Fuquay Varina.  Moving was something I was accustomed to by this point so entering fourth grade with no companions from the previous year was no more than a small thought, tickling the back of my mind. It didn't take long though, until I met him and his brother.  I never really cared for James's company, but he tagged along everywhere his younger brother, Joe Paul, went.

         Living only two houses to the right, Joe Paul and I would spend most evenings tromping through the wheat field behind the houses, trying in every way possible to elude the watchful gaze of James, or using what spots we could around the vacant home between each others to hide. Rarely did we succeed, but he sure taught me how to run.

         Months into my life here, a young family with a three year old child moved in to the house between, but were quick to assure us that our tricks and plots should not be foiled by their staying there. So for a while things remained the same. But a tension grew between Joe and his brother James that, at times, amplified to a nearly palpable level. It was around then that I learned that James had been aspiring to be like his father, using Joe Paul as his personal stress reliever. Bruise after bruise, I couldn't tell which ones were left by the booze-blinded father or the over zealous, misinformed brother. Something was born within me that day.

         I'd lived my life before this believing that all people were good inside, by nature. I thought that they were designed to be forgiving and compassionate, but that day, I learned how wrong I had been. I felt foolish and naïve to believe that the world could be such a simplistically peacefully, trusting, and loving place. I was angry. I had to confront James about his wrongdoing and hoped to discourage him from growing up to be like his father, but this only brought his own angst to the table, expressing how angry he was with me that I was better friends with Joe Paul " a fact I couldn't deny.

         Tensions eventually cooled down, and it looked as though James had laid off the punches and let his turmoil go. Everything was dandy. The three year old, Austin, next door to us had even, on occasion, begun to play a few games with us. Sure he was a little young to play most of the games, but what's one more, right? We played hard, making mischief for the neighbor across the street. She was the only girl that lived on our street, but I had my sights set on one in class. That didn't stop me from doing my part as a boy to make trouble for a girl. Months went by, and things went well with James, though, I heard through the grape vine that their father was still beating their mother, I could only assume they were both still victims as well. Deep in my heart I felt a churning, uncomfortable sensation, like fire in my gut, it burned inside me, but I did nothing.

         We left once, to go see the Atlanta speedway, just my mother, my sister, and me. It was a fun trip, but I couldn't bring myself to feel comfortable about Joe Paul having no-one to protect him. Even though I couldn't do anything to stop the punches, as long as he and I were playing, his dad wouldn't come near him. In all the time I was there, I never once saw his father step foot outside. It was a fact I was both grateful, and dispirited by. I knew though, that when we came back from the trip, that poor Joe Paul would be pelted with bruising, and I was right.

         When I came back, something in him seemed different. I'd lost all the progress I had made with showing the boy how he deserved something better without ever really bringing up what his father did to him. He'd even begun believing me, doing better in school than I was, though I had problems of my own in class. But all that was lost now. He'd retreated back into his shell without someone there to show him that he was worthy of a better life, that he could be anything he wanted. On more than one occasion it took everything I had not to grab him by the shoulders and yell at him, to will into him my determination, but things don't work that way. So I nurtured our friendship again. More determined than ever to show Joe Paul that his life was worth more than a beating.

         I spent every waking moment next to him, though I wasn't allowed inside, His mother thanked me regularly. She told me how grateful she was to have someone who liked spending time with her boys as much. It broke my heart to see three wonderful people in such a terrible place, surviving such a terrible situation. A thought struck me one afternoon as we ate hot dogs in the blazing one hundred and five degree day. These people that I had come to care for; They weren't living, they were surviving. Each one barely making it through each day. Terrorized by the fear of fists from a drunkard with some sort of misplaced regret. I knew that I would probably move away again, but I wanted to at least do what I could to give them whatever courage was possible.

         James backpedaled on me. His father blaming me, saying that it was because I had been sticking my nose in their business. It was the first time I had spoken to the man, and hatred threatened to fill my heart, but I couldn't give in. I wouldn't allow myself to be like him.

         It all came to a boil not long after that. I had been playing some sort of game, I believe it was closer to graveyard tag than any other variation. Joe Paul and I were in particularly high spirits and James was brooding, but still playing. Austin's mother let him play outside with us that day. It happened so fast. Behind Austin's home, there was a small shed, maybe three feet by three feet. It looked like an old outhouse. Joe Paul and James were on the side closest their home. I was on the side closest to mine. I had been uncomfortable all day, despite my good mood. The fire in my gut was brimming, and I feared I might lose control. Little Austin was running toward Joe Paul, squealing as little ones do, Joe was all too eager to play, but something in James snapped. He screamed some inaudible command at the toddler and charged toward him, fury in his eyes.

         Like electricity tingling every muscle in my body, I moved involuntarily. My mind blank but my bones determined. Because of Joe, I could run quicker than any of them. I knew that if I didn't make it, James would hurt little Austin, and no part of my being could allow that. I charged toward him, cutting his pursuit off and burying my shoulder into his. James went flying, my body tight with a strength I had never felt before. The fire in my gut was my passion for what was right. It was the sensation that urged me to do what I could to make things better. To fix things.

         James ran to his father, and his father called me to the window where he usually yelled from. He swore to me that if I did anything like that again, he would beat me too. I wanted so badly to show him how strong I could be, but I thought of something better. As he yelled, spit flying from his lips, I smiled.

“You want me to beat your a*s, boy?” He shouted to me.

         I grinned.  I still have no idea where it came from.

        “Gimme' your best shot. We'll see who's faster, you or the cops. I know what you do to them, and if I were you, I would find a new punching bag.” With that, I turned and walked away, the image of his startled face lingering in my mind.

        We moved after that, but I learned that I could turn no blind eye on terrible things like this, and I haven't since.

Author's Note

Though it was a long time ago, I still remember many of the words that I said, and quite a bit of what happened while there. Still, some of the words that I used I'm sure I said in a different way, but I did in fact say them.

This picture is from pixelperfectdigital.com and is not a work of my own.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

That was a great comeback plotted story line... I did not skip a beat... seems this is based on facts and those are always one you want to read... the moral of this... keep boiling to a point where you either stand up or concede... even if the enemy is all to proud... you did it kid... with tact and determination.... almost reminds me of the series: The Wonder Years...

Of course... by that comment I mean at the time of this event... not now in the present time... Good to read you... you open yourself and give apart of that to the world to experience and understand what life is about... Ditto to that...

[L.M.Warde]

Why thank you. Looking back over the memories was surprising. I didn't realize until reflecting on it for this piece how natural and almost formulaic the evolution of the situation was. I felt like it was something worth recording. Thank you much for the review!

[Glen Yumang Manese]

I wanted to give this a more informal review yesterday... I was on the way to dinner with the wife... I will say that you have a balance with conveying the words to the reader... This also has the "Bullying" scenario style with the protagonist being the father and older brother... and the victim and you being the hero in the story line... Glad to have found and read this piece...

[L.M.Warde]

Thank you very much, I had to work on that for a while to eventually wind up writing what came naturally to me. Telling tales that have actually occurred felt (beyond the expected level) like a more pure sense of how I could say things. It was a revelation that caught me off guard. I battled needlessly against it for a long time. I'm very glad that you enjoyed it, I'm sure I'll do more like this in the future.

[Riding the Rainbow]

Thank you for what you did in the past..I'm sure they still think about you..I hope they found freedom..
Thank you from all the people who suffered and still suffer like Joe

[L.M.Warde]

Sorry For taking so long to get back to you, I heard through the grape vine that their mom packed up and got protection for her and the boys. I don't know it for sure but goodness knows I hope for it everyday. Part of the reason I took up writing was that I want to become a successful, published writer, but the other reason was that I wish to use some of what I would make as a writer to help families in need like that.