Band-Aid

After waking up from my nap, I felt like I was coming off a good drunk. When I got up and peed I noticed a slight red tint, reminding me that there’s a 5mm kidney stone waiting to be born. (Don’t worry my urologist already knows). In my 60 + years on this earth for the last 20 or so it seems like my body enjoys coming up with ways to off itself. But with each doctor’s visit we either spoil its plans or at least throw a band-aid on it. 

After my last few stories I found myself going back into my past. Not so much rooting out the bad times but inside reliving some of the good times I lived in elementary school. After the trauma of first being bused to Pooler Elementary and the effigy incident. Us Bloomingdale kids were moved to the majority black school Tompkins Elementary in Woodville for 5th and 6ed grade. With a mix of working class white and black kids are parents work at Union Camp, Great Dane, or the Ports. To the best of my memory we all got along pretty well. I think the key to it all were the majority black teachers at Tompkins Elementary.

Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Smalls, 5th and 6ed grade teachers respectively were in my opinion excellent educators. Mrs. Johnson with her Grandmotherly gentle ways. And Mr. Smalls my first male teacher who told us about his adventures in Europe and allowing us to sit in his beautiful Lincoln-Mercury Mark IV. Each in their own way taught me not only my ABC’s, but about unconditional love, storytelling, and of pride. Funny how time flies, because now I’m pretty sure I’m as old, if not older than they were in the early 1970’s. Wow. It’s been 45 years since I graduated high school. And looking at the world now it seems as angry as it ever was. But at least for a little while I had a refuge, a tiny little pocket of heaven between the community of Woodville and the banks of the Dundee Canal.