Peanut Snarper and Desegregation in the Public Schools

Kateland was my first love. While I was in first grade America implemented de-segregation in the public schools. While attending Belvedere Elementary School in Fayetteville, North Carolina token African-Americana students were brought to our school. It must have been difficult for them, having been plucked from their own neighborhoods, bussed across town, and transplanted to a predominantly caucasion school. Who could imagine that feeling except the student who experienced it? African-Americans have been experiencing similar things throughout the history of the United States, because the appearance of the black man in America was a product of slavery. What a burden to have to carry your whole life. After three years of being the majority at Belvedere the tables got turned. I became the transplanted student being bussed across town to Ramsey Street Elementary School. (Back in those days we used the words "black" and "white" before Political Correctness had even been invented. Black and white were straightforward words we all understood.) I didn’t have strife at Ramsey Street Elementary, because the students were not old enough to understand racism. Kids were just kids, and they were not concerned with trivial seeming issues such as race. Being a kid was hard enough. Why stir the color of your skin into the stew of pubescent problems such as pimples, greasy hair, being fat, and having crooked teeth? Luckily I had all of these, and they appeared appropriately and ironically during junior high school. Junior high in addition to fostering these complications, it turns out offered the same social injustice provided by de-segregation. Unlike my experience at Ramsey Street School, Washington Drive was a tough black school in the middle of an urban downtown. (In retrospect it could have been considered "inner-city.") I learned immediately what it felt like to get dropped off in a place facing a daunting, indifferent, but offensive schoolyard of strange black faces that seemed to have no interest in accommodating what appeared to be a weak white student. I became "vic" for continued attempts of extortion of my lunch money accompanied by threats of violence if I didn’t comply. As a twelve year old I was at a loss for not having been schooled in how to handle it. This was my first introduction to the art of politics, and little did I know it meant being an effective talker. This was a street education, and it was thrust upon me without my choice. With surprise and no desire to experience it, I resisted hoping for a better enlightened situation. (This came only after becoming involved in the music program playing in the band) Over time and with continued strain my thick head finally realized I had better use my street friends as role models for accommodating these urban African-Americans. ("When in Rome you do as the Romans do...," as the song says.) My best friend Peanut Snarper was the most successful. Like James Dean he all ready was interesting as a person. He possessed all the necessary characteristics to be be popular. He was aware of these things and worked on the aspects of appearance and personality. A cool haircut was necessary. Long hair finally was reaching us in suburban/urban America in l977, so your haircut went a long way to keep away bullies. This is when I had to let my hair grow out for the first time. Who new hair had such magical powers that its study merited becoming a Broadway musical? Sampson rules. Peanut had a flair for dressing cool. You couldn’t just wake up and pull something out of the bureau. You needed a theme in your clothing. My first girlfriend although resistant and abusive used the "athletic" or "warm up" suit as her tool of survival. When you are not that attractive or well spoken, something must become your tool of survival. This item represented that you had your life together. Something was providing happiness, so the utter despair of being in a tough, poor, urban, ghetto school the majority of your day didn’t depress you. Although the principal announced "sweats" were not appropriate school attire, she pushed the envelope and wore these colorful striped cotton and polyester warm up suits anyway. Peanut cut the sleeves off of his sweatshirts and wore a flannel shirt on top of them. He even had a motorcycle in junior high school! (Incidentally this is when my own personal quest began for acquiring a motorcycle.) When I became aware of these cool habits, I was summoned to follow for the sheer sake of survival. I was tired of being bullied. I taught myself how to draw using Peanut's drawing as my model. He drew the Peterbuilt and International trucks. His father was a truck driver that was gone most of the time, so he was exposed to these things. His mother was German. I learned how to draw these things along with the Panzer tank. We branched out and began using our own creativity as a guide for subjects to draw. I started an underwater empire with interesting submarines and artillery pieces. We learned how to draw warfare with explosions and flames coming from muzzles of the guns. We also had a game we invented where with the flick of a pencil you could destroy an enemy by drawing straight line from your man to theirs. These were survival techniques that allowed you to rise above the ignorance that surrounded you. I tried to get the girl, but my body was not muscular enough. Skateboarding fixed this, because I was able to shed unwanted pounds of accumulated baby fat around my middle. This is why I hold skateboarding in such high exteem. It allowed me finally to “get the girl.” After two years of living in fear, I was poised to devour the rewards for such a destitute existence. Enter Kateland. Upon attending a mostly white, affluent, highly respected high school where both my parents taught, an attractive and sexually confident girl bumped me with her hip at the pencil sharpener in Mrs. Shaw’s American history class. I’ll repeat that. She bumped my hip with hers. There was no precursory talk. There were no fond glances. There were no love notes. She made the first move, a calculated strike for what she wanted. I didn’t respond immediately, because with my new-found popularity attributed to Peanut and weight loss due to skateboarding, I had multiple choices. My long hair, newly thin body, and agility on a skateboard were appealing to middle-classed girls. I didn’t have to do much but be cool. They approached me. There was Laura Lambert, a charming down home beauty with a voluptuous body to match. There was Candice White, an avid talker with braces and an ample and well defined breasts. There was Janet Beard, the girl I had chased the majority of elementary school. Back then I did not have the “talk” necessary to gain the affections a woman. Still we flirted. She sat in the back of that history class. As the years evolve the posse that was in vogue at Washington Drive was not the posse in vogue at Terry Sanford High School. My old clique quietly faded into oblivion, smoking pot, drinking Tuborg Gold beer, and making below average grades. They were replaced by a budding, adolescent, heterosexual love. Is there any better kind?