Trash Day - Part I The Innocent Years (Cont), by Wes Brewton

"Trash Day" was a phrase which caused Bubba, Cookie, and I to jump for joy. Daddy would buy a truckload of lumber scraps to heat our house whenever he couldn't afford coal, and the day when it was delivered became known as "Trash Day."

Whenever we heard daddy tell mama that trash would be delivered, we would all get "sick." Attending school on trash day was like spending a day in jail.

When we heard the large Mack truck pull into the driveway, we would jump from our sick beds and run from the house. Our imaginations would be racing with projects we could build from the pieces of wood, even as the scraps were falling from the truck.

It was our chore to remove the lumber pile into the basement and store it in the coal bin. The choice pieces we would store in the garage for future projects and finding a large piece of soft white pine was like finding a nugget of gold because it was so easy to work with.

Alvene, another thing happened to me while we lived on Taylor and for years it affected me as a child. I remember daddy and another man standing on the corner of North Market and Taylor, a few doors from our house. Standing next to daddy, I was looking at this large ball-peen hammer he was holding as he stood shouting at a crowd of white people. I was frightened and bewildered as to why these people, women and men, were shouting at us from across the street.

Years later, when I was fourteen, while hunting alone, a colony of poor white people living alongside the railroad tracked sicced their dog on me. As he ran down the hill growling viciously, I aimed in front of him with my shotgun and fired. The poor animal rolled in a ball as if shot, jumped, and ran back towards the shacks. I told the people that I would kill him if he came at me again. As I continued on my hunt, I finally realized why I had those bad dreams about being chased by a large group of white people. It all came back as if it had just happened.

I went across Taylor Street to play with some kids down the block on North Market. I was no more than five at the time and kids playing was always an invitation for another kid to play. As we played, I remembered this woman running from her house yelling at me, shouting words which had no meaning to me, but I could feel that they weren't pleasant. She was joined by other women and men, and something deep inside told me to go home.

As I was walking home, the crowd grew larger behind me and I started to run. I ran into daddy's garage and as best as I could, told him that people were chasing me. He and this other man went and confronted this large group of people.

After that day, if I wasn't playing with our cat or Cookie, I would play alone until the others came from school.

~ Tomorrow, "Daddy's Garage"