Hey, Nigger Boy, Come Here!

Chapter Two

              I arrived at the store, parked my bicycle outside, and entered the store to get the bag of sugar.  As I was standing in line holding the bag of sugar in my arm and clutching the money tightly in my hand, suddenly I was hit in the face and knocked to the floor by a big white man, well over six-feet tall, who was standing in line ahead of me.  On the floor, holding the bag of sugar and the money, I felt anger as I never felt before, and there was pain from the blow to go with the anger.

   I looked up from the floor at the cashier, a young white woman, and she looked at the man and asked him why he hit me and knocked me to the floor? His reply was "I don't want a nigger standing that close to me!"  The man then left the store, cursing and calling me names, and he had a few names and unkind words for the cashier because she questioned his actions.

   After getting up from the floor, I paid for the sugar, put the change in my pocket, and headed outside to get my bicycle.  The cashier watched from the door of the store as I rode off.  As I rode my bicycle with tears rolling down my face and the pain from the blow to my face increasing, I prayed a prayer to the good Lord to let me grow up to be big and strong, so I could kill the next white man who raised his fist to hit me in my face.  I wanted to get the crying over and done with before I arrived home because I did not want my mother to see my crying.

   There was something about my mother, no matter how hard I, or my other sisters and brothers tried to hide something from her, she could look at all of us and tell when something was wrong.  When I walked into the kitchen to give her the sugar, she looked into my face, squinted her eyes and asked me,  "Gene, What is wrong?"

    Holding back my tears, I told her what happened at the store, and she began to pace the floor, which was her way of letting everyone know whe was pissed off and ready to fight.  She asked me several questions about the incident, and she even repeated some of the questiions to make sure my answers were the same.

   I told her that I recognixed the man who knocked me down in the store, as the same man who owned and operated the Spur gas station next to the railroad tracks just off Jackson Street, on Remington Avenue.  My mother as well as my father were very familiar with the station because they purchased gas from the station on a regular basis, as did many other colored families in the community.  My mother was gathering all this information and formulating a plan to provide it to my father when he got home from work.

   The normal routine my mother followed when she had to tell my father something unpleasant, would be to tell him after we had eaten, but today was out of the ordinary, and that routine would change.  When my father arrived home from work, he and my mother had a private meeting in their bedroom where she shared the details of the event I had earlier told to her.

   After the meeting between my mother and father, my mother set the table and we all sat down to eat.  My mother always prepared father's meal first, then she would prepare the meals for everyone else at the table, and finally, she would prepare her own, and when she took her seat at the table, may father would say grace and we would eat.

   There was no discussion of the incident at the dinner table, but I could tell that he was formulating his plan of attack, however, that plan would not go into high gear until we finished our meal.  After leaving the dinner table, my father called me into the living room and had me tell him what happened at the store.  As I told the facts of the indident to him, I was careful to tell every detail in the same manner as I told my mother, because he was aware of what I told her.

   When he was satified with my answers, he put me in the family car, a 1952 maroon Pontiac, drove to the grocery store where the indident occured, and went inside to speak with the cashier.  I remained in the car.  After his conversation with the cashier, he returned to our car and drove to the Spur gas station.  After parking the car, my father instructed me to remain inside the car, and he went to the bench where the man who hit me was sitting.  My father confronted the man, and I could tell from a distance that the man was getting angry with my father, and my father was letting his anger show as well, because both were speaking loudly and shaking fingers at each other.

   At this point my father signaled for me to join him where all of this was taking place.  As I approached the spot where they were standing glaring at each other, I noticed the big white man's.......