Author’s note: In this mostly true tale our hero is a naive young boy who misunderstands several things he overhears. That’s why several words and phrases are deliberately wrong. Contains no graphic description of sex, body parts, or heavy romance. Characters under 21 only engage in innocent hugs or hand holding. Like the 1960’s this story includes racism, alcoholism, and tobacco use; all portrayed in a negative light. There is also a mildly disturbing but humorous scene involving menstruation. If any of that would bother you, please read something else.

In a small southeastern town, USA 1962

It was a really good day! Gramma was making me sketti and meballs! I never got sketti at home! I watched her dump the can in a pot, then my big sister Kimmy took me down to the basement to play. Kimmy scattered a bunch of plastic aminals around the basement and got a big toy dump truck out of the toy box. I pushed the toy truck around, making “Vroom” noises as I went around picking up giraffes, dogs, chickens, and other aminals. I was free and a half years old, and my big sister was eight. To me, she was nearly a growed-up. Sometimes Kimmy was wiser than my parents.

I didn’t understand most of what I overheard as Mommy talked to Gramma upstairs. “I really don’t feel like it anymore. We don’t want any more kids, but he keeps making me do it. He says if he doesn’t get it at least every other day, it makes him crazy. Sometimes he...” She started crying.

I had no idea what they were talking about, but I was sad that Mommy was sad. Kimmy walked around the basement, distracting me by scattering the aminals again. I saw a few tears on her face, but she said; “Good that you got ‘em all. Pick ‘em up again and make their noises this time.”

“Vroom!” I picked up a cow. “Moo!”. I took a few steps saying, “Vroom!” then picked up a dog. “Arf arf! Vroom!” I picked up a turtle and didn’t know what noise they made.

I overheard Gramma tell Mommy, “Well, you have to keep him happy somehow. It’s disgusting, and it’s a sin, but try...” She whispered something I couldn’t hear, then continued. “He might mess around with a nagga, but he won’t stay with one. At least it’s not like he’s with a kraut, that he might run away with.” Mom and Gramma hated naggas and krauts, just like they hated jabs. Gramma’s brother wasn’t around anymore, ‘cause he was a earo. He flew a hairplane in a war, and the jabs took his life away from him. I didn’t know any, or what they looked like; but jabs, krauts, and naggas sounded really bad to me.

But I got sketti! It was a happy day! Kimmy got my sketti and meballs from upstairs and closed the basement door. She sat me in her lap and started feeding me. I wanted to be a big boy, so I took the spoon and got some sketti on my own. I did it! Only a little bit went on my shirt, and it was SO YUMMY! I loved sketti!

Several weeks later, on the morning after I turned four, I woke up and was eager to go outside and ride my new trike. My big sister left for school and Daddy walked out of the bathroom. Mommy was crying and spit in the toilet, then threw up. Daddy said, “That was great, honey! Thank you!” He put on his shoes, then went to work, as Mommy sat on the bathroom floor making bad faces. Mommy gargled with mouthwash and smelled all minty. It wasn’t Sunday, but she told me we had to go to church. It wasn’t like all the other times I’d been to church. There were only two old ladies praying in the front, and a priest. Mommy told me, “I have to go do confession. Sit here quietly, I’ll be back soon.” It seemed to take a long time, and it was so boring! But on the way home, I got Ice Cream!

A few days later Mommy came home with a new kind of drink, in a clear glass bottle. She poured some in a cup and took a sip. She coughed a little and swallowed it. I asked her if I could try some. She said it was gin, a grown-up drink, but a little taste wouldn’t hurt. I took a small sip, and it stung my mouth like crazy! It burned my mouth and my throat, and it even tickled my nose! It tasted really bad! I hated it and quickly drank a big glass of water.

Mommy took another sip, then mixed it with a soda. I couldn’t understand how she liked it. Mommy started having gin and soda with dinner, then her and Daddy would go in their bedroom for a little while. Daddy would come out smiling a lot. Mommy would come out sad and wipe her mouth but would be fine after she had some more gin. She started taking me to church three times a week. I complained that it was boring, and she got me crayons and a coloring book. I was glad Mommy and Daddy didn’t fight much anymore.

A week after I turned five and Kimmy was eight, I noticed the house smelled bad and there was a haze in the air. Mommy was sitting at the kitchen table with her friend Linda, drinking gin and soda. Linda said, “ ... I know! My husband Ron hangs out with naggas and their horse all the time, too. He says he likes their music! How can he! It’s terrible, the devil’s music!”

I saw Mommy blow out a stream of smoke. I wondered if her insides were on fire, ‘cause the gin burned so bad? She didn’t seem upset, so I guessed she was ok. Linda sucked on a stinky white stick and blew out smoke too. She smelled bad from the smoke, and complained a lot, but I liked how her feet looked in her pantyhose. I sat under the table, looking at her feet and playing with my toy cars.

Mommy said, “I quit when I got pregnant with Kim. I almost forgot how much I like these. Thanks!” She sucked on her stink stick. It smelled bad and I didn’t want to listen to them anymore, so I went outside to play.

I was riding my trike up and down the sidewalk and met my new best friend, Jamal. He and his friend Shawna played with me most of the day. We took turns riding my trike and chasing each other, playing hide and seek, and playing in the sandbox. We had a great time.

The next day Jamal brought over his toy guitar. We tried to dance like Chubby Checker and Elvis as we sang. We played together nearly every day, until Kindergarten started in the fall. I was sad my friends had to go to a different school. Mine was “wides only”. I didn’t think I was that fat, but the grown-ups made the rules.

The day after school ended in the spring, I got a terrible shock.

Shawna sang “Hit the road Jack”. Jamal and I had fun singing along with her.

Jamal sang “Bad Leroy Brown”.

When it was my turn, I thought a little while and asked, “What’s that song that goes ba ba ba dun dah ... you know, by Barry Wide.”

Shawna and Jamal laughed like crazy. I asked them why.

Jamal clued me in, “Kevin, you stupid! He’s Barry WHITE, not WIDE! Hahahaha!”

I wondered, “Huh?”

Shawna giggled and said, “White, not WIDE! Hehehe! You think you go to your school ‘cause you FAT? Hahaha! It’s WHITES only! Grown-up honkeys don’t want us niggers around ‘em.”

I was flabbergasted! My jaw dropped and I couldn’t speak a moment. I coughed and wondered, “But ... but you can’t be niggers! You’re nice! You’re my friends! My Dad has friends that look like you too!”

Shawna’s Mom yelled that dinner was ready. She said, “You’re not s’posed to like us, but I’m glad you do.” She gave me a quick hug, then ran home.

Jamal teased, “Kevin and Shawna, sittin’ in a tree, K I S...” My Mom called me in for dinner too. I was saved!

For weeks I wondered, ‘How can Gramma and Mommy hate people just ‘cause they look different? Even really nice people?’