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Sparkle (6)
"When I first get up in the morning I feel fresh and it feels like it would be a good day to me. But after I get in school, things change and they seem to turn into problems for me. And by the end of the day I don't even feel like I'm young. I feel tired."
John, 13
The Me Nobody Knows: Children's Voices From the Ghetto, Stephen M. Joseph, ed. (first printed in 1970, reprinted in 2003)
The word that I had been admitted to Masterman, a public school for gifted children, came not a moment too soon. It was April, 1967; I was 10 years old. I was considered one of the top students at Kearny Elementary School, but socially and emotionally I was failing badly. Had I not been transferred to Masterman when I was, I am not sure how I would have coped with my growing sense of loneliness and isolation. Reflecting upon these experiences leads me to think about how a child's interactions with home, school, neighborhood and the larger environment affect her perceptions of her place in the world, and her chances of overcoming its obstacles and seizing its opportunities.
In recent years, psychologists have advocated for models of child development that give central consideration to the role of culture and socio-economic status in shaping the way a child views the world and functions within it. Yvette Harris and James Graham, author of the 2007 book, The African American Child: Development and Challenges (Springer Publishing Company, New York, NY), argue that this is especially important for understanding children of color.
I had never been accepted in Penn Town, the neighborhood in which I had lived since moving to Philadelphia from Camden, New Jersey at the age of six. To begin with, I soon learned that only a few of my peers had ever been to New Jersey, so I was something of a foreigner. Even though Camden was only a few minutes away by car, and we lived fairly close to the Benjamin Franklin bridge, not many families owned a car, and the public transportation services that shuttle between the two cities now hadn't yet been built. I must have talked about Camden too much, because I remember a boy telling me that he had been to New Jersey once, and it wasn't so special, so there!
My father's second-hand Chevy and my outsider origins weren't the only problems. I lacked the social qualities that would have given me some currency among my peers. I was a slow, awkward runner, I couldn't fight, and I had left Camden before I learned to jump double-dutch. Worse yet, I was double-handed, which meant that I couldn't turn the ropes with a sufficiently reliable rhythm. To make matters worse, I was an only child, so I had no natural allies, and I had my own room. My father and stepmother wore second-hand clothes, but I had a new school wardrobe from Sears every year and the latest toys. Worst of all, I was the teacher's pet.
I might as well have had a "kick me" sign tattooed on my forehead. As is true in every neighborhood, we had our designated bullies, and I was a favorite target for teasing and occasional beat-downs. For the longest time, I didn't fight back; I'm not sure why. Nor did I know how to play the dozens, the ritual game of insults built on race, class and gender stereotypes. I also had the annoying habit of questioning the logic of the taunts directed at me and others during an argument. It was common, for example, for a girl to say that she would "beat the black off" another girl. I couldn't help wondering about that, because they also went around saying there was something wrong with looking too black. Following that logic, wouldn't they consider it an improvement to have some of the "black" removed? Like the robot in Lost in Space, I spent a lot of time saying, "That does not compute."
Eventually, there was a girl who declared that she would beat me up after school that day. She had been threatening to fight me since summer camp, and now the weather was cold enough for a coat. She had been a constant menacing presence. We met at the appointed hour, and, thinking that I would stand up for myself for once, I took a swing at her. She pulled my coat
