SHE WAS A NEGRO chapter 17

(Parenthetically speaking…

It has snowed off and on all week. No a Midwest kind of snow. Just flakes most days, some hard, none lasts very long, but that brings with it cold weather. We should be stilling on our front porch by now. In addition I have developed allergies this year. I can’t believe it. And coming with that my nose is running like a leaky faucet. When I woke up I began reading about the plagues in Egypt. I feel like I have a plague right now. Yuck!)

I really didn’t understand the question. Yes, she was a Negro. So what? One third of my class was Negro’s. “That’s why your picture is in the paper. You were dancing with a Negro” I really needed more information. Why would my picture be in the paper because I danced with a Negro? She had been my primary partner for nearly two years.

Dad wasn’t mad about my dance partner. He was just trying to explain why my picture was in the paper, but he was mad. He was mad that I was dancing. I had been specifically warned about this sin — dancing was wrong and I was not permitted to do it. “Come with me.” Yeah, I knew what that meant. We were going to the back yard where he would cut a branch off the willow tree and proceed to whip me until I cried. I knew the drill. Cry early and get it over with. That was where I developed some acting skills.

While I was waiting for the switch to be readied, grandpa stepped out on the back porch and called him by name. “What are you going to do to Clyde?” I am going to take this switch to him because he has been dancing and doing it behind our backs. “Humm. Is square dancing wrong?” “Yes it is. All dancing is of the devil.” “Then you think everyone who dances should get the switch.” “It would teach them all a lesson.” “Well then, wait a minute. Way before I was born and even before I met your mother, I went to all the area dances. Square dancing is hard work and a whole bunch of fun. If that’s what you think should happen you should start with me. I nearly square danced my legs off when I was young and ain’t never been whipped for it.”

Grandpa walked down to the willow tree where he and dad got into a heated discussion. I stood quietly for a while and then slowly slipped away. He never came looking for me and the subject was never brought up again, but the dirty looks were enough to warn me that I got away with it this time, but grandpa will go back home soon and the law goes back into effect.

For the life of me I could never figure out all that I did wrong. I knew some of it. I tricked my mother into signing a permission slip (an issue that never came up) and I forged her name the on the permission slip. I did dance against their express wishes. I understood both those things, and being a kid that felt guilty for everything, I was traumatized. But I guess not enough to give up dancing. They never mentioned the permission slips, but disobedience was still wrong and I was clearly reminded of that. I was grounded for a while and told never to dance again. I heard what they said, but I knew I would do it again. I decided I would continue to dance until I got a very good explanation about what was wrong or I figured it out for myself. I still haven’t figured it out.

I know it was always the place. I learned at church that many of these things weren’t that back if bowling was not in a bowling alley, if pool, was not in a pool hall, if skating was not in a skating rink. Weird. I saw kids necking in the shadows at dances in high school, and there were some drinking, but that was nothing my friends and I were doing. Those activities were never a temptation to me. I may have liked girls, but the thought of necking in the middle of a crowd was never my idea of a good time. I couldn’t stand the smell of smoke and I was already aware of what drinking seemed to do to people. I valued self-control way too much. So I kept going. My high school years were filled with dancing and movies. There I go again, off to hell in a hand basket. I just wanted to escape those coming years with some degree of dignity — and fun. I was headed there until fall, but I was already a nervous wreck. High schools were dangerous places. But I had to go. I wanted to go on to college and become and architect.