My Back Pocket

   The school bell rang twice. That meant it was time for the second graders, like me, to go to recess. My classmates dropped their pencils and an excited buzz filled the room. Recess was meant to be a time for running off steam, playing with friends, and clearing our minds in the fresh air. Not for me! For me, those two bells meant twenty minutes of terror. Twenty whole minutes of feeling totally alone in the world. Twenty whole minutes of running and dodging bullies and deflecting hurtful comments on everything about me - my clothes, my hair, my size, my culture, my skin color. I did not look forward to being a target again.

   I had tried everything to avoid that dreaded twenty minutes. I asked my mom to write a note saying I was too sickly to play outside. No help there. She said I had to learn to let that stuff run off me like water off a duck. I tried not doing my homework so the teacher would keep me in from recess. After she talked to my mom, that door was closed too. Sometimes I would try to hide, but the bullies always found me. Then one day, I decided it was time to take action against my status as the perpetual victim. I went on strike. When the two bells rang, I crawled under the reading table and refused to budge.

   It didn’t take long for the teacher to enlist the aid of the behavior specialist at school, Mrs. Fellows. Mostly, the kids all liked Mrs. Fellows, but they knew it was not smart to cross her or disobey school rules, because she meant business. To tell the truth, I was scared, but I was committed to stick to my plan no matter what. After about ten minutes, Mrs. Fellows casually entered the classroom. She stopped for a few seconds to greet the teacher and then walked over to the reading table. She bent over to look me in the eye and said, 

   “Hey, James. Would you mind coming out and sitting on a chair? I’m way to old to sit under that table with you. I might never get up!” Her smile seemed so kind, that I agreed and came to sit next to her.  

   “So, something very scary must have happened for you to need a safe place to be. If you want, we could talk about it. Maybe I can help. I know a lot of kids, and you aren’t the only one who’s felt overwhelmed and out of ideas. What’s up?”

   I explained to her about my predicament.  

   “This is a difficult problem. We might have to come at this from a few different angles. First of all, do have pockets?”

   “What? What do you want to know that for?”

   “Because, it’s always a good idea, when things like this comes up, to have something in your back pocket.”

   “My jeans have back pockets. What would I put in there?”

   “It depends. Do you like to sound funny or smart?”

That seemed like an unrelated question, but I chose smart.  

   “That won’t be hard. Your teacher tells that you are very smart.”

   Mrs. Fellows took a piece of paper and pencil from the middle of the table.

   “What part of this problem bothers you the most?”

   “When they make fun of my curly hair or my brown skin.”

   She immediately started to write something on the paper and then gave the paper to me. Because I was smart, I’d could read what she wrote.  

   The note said, “Isn’t it cool! My skin is the same color as Michael Jordan’s. The color is called mahogany It means a deep rich brown. Same color as Martin Luther King’s too. Thanks for reminding me.” Then in capital letters it said, “TURN AROUND AND WALK AWAY TOWARDS A PLAYGROUND SUPERVISOR.”

   After I had read it, she told me to put the note in my back pocket everyday. If someone bothered me, I could take it out of my pocket and read it in a strong confident voice. She asked if I’d like to practice with her. She played the bully and I practiced reading. I got pretty good at the strong voice and I hardly even needed the paper. But Mrs. Fellows told me to keep it in my pocket for good luck.  

   The next day I was ready to try out my plan, but the bully group didn’t show up at recess. I wasn’t sure why, but when I asked the teacher she said they had a meeting. I was just glad to have a break. It was pretty nice to be outside in the fresh air. It felt so good that I smiled and started to run. This time I wasn’t running away. I was running because I was free.

   The following day, the group did show up. For the most part they left me alone. Eventually, though, one of them broke away from the group and walked over to me. I put my hand in my back pocket and took a deep breath.

   “You know you’re different from us. You have frizzy hair and dark skin. You don’t belong here.”  

   Cue back pocket. I confidently read my paper to him. He just stood there looking like he didn’t know what was going on. When I turned and walked away towards the playground supervisor, he didn’t even chase me. He just stood there. Wow! I couldn’t believe it! I wanted to run right in and hug Mrs. Fellows, which of course wasn’t allowed.  

   The rest of my day went great, and for the most part, so did the rest of second grade. Every now and then, I met with Mrs. Fellows and she always gave me something for my back pocket before I left her office. Sometimes it was another note to respond to new situations. Sometimes the note just said things like “YOU ARE SMART AND BRAVE.” She made me feel smart and brave. She made me be smart and brave.

   I’m graduating from high school this year. I had to write a college essay about a person who had helped me in my life. I choose Mrs. Fellows. She has retired and moved to Florida, so she won’t know how important my back pocket is to me now. I always make sure that every pair of pants I buy has one. When I’m about to enter a new situation, I often feel like hiding under the reading table again. Instead, I write myself an imaginary note and insert it in the special pocket in my mind. I rehearse a few times, usually in front of the bathroom mirror, until I feel confident. It still works just as well as it did in second grade.  

   Some days, my imaginary note just says “YOU ARE SMART AND BRAVE.” And I am!