|I am more into historical writings than this sort of subject, but yours caught my eye when flashing through some to read. When I read an interesting piece like yours, I go back and remember my sweet old high school English teacher, Miss Davis. She knew how to bring out the best writing skills in the worst of us. Her main point was that when you write, think of the reader creating a movie inside his head. As he reads, he is picturing the flow of events through images he creates in his mind from your words. If early in your story you say something like, “The rabbit jumped in a hole”, and later you mention the hole was in a tree and not the ground, you have completely destroyed the reader’s flow of images. It is difficult for a reader to reverse his imagination once it has been set in motion. Always be descriptive and never leave a reader to guessing what you meant for him to see.
I can see in your writing that you may have had a Miss Davis in your past. I could clearly see the meeting at school and feel the discontent of your friends. You obviously know how to tell a story and get your feeling across to the reader.
I don't usually comment on the content of a story, but this is one I relate to because of my 67 years as a white man, raised by color-sensitive parents. When I brought my Philippine wife home to meet my parents, my mother kicked us both out and I never saw her again until her funeral. I would like to share with you a bit of my past and my experiences with people of color:
Me and my 3 brothers were practically raised by an live-in unmarried black mother with a boy child. The child was my age and I spent more time with him growing up than I did with my brothers. We attended different schools, because in those days schools were segregated. I eventually graduated in 71 from a totally white school and had never spent much time with black folks except for my Nanny's son. We are still best friends to this day.
The only thing I knew about black people was what my parents would say. They were uneducated, stupid, unclean, and would steal the cloths off your back if given the chance. I never saw any of that with Nanny or her son, Jack. I never believed my parents, but never questioned them either.
I did not want my parents' help while attending college at UT. I got a job as a night policeman in Austin, TX and attended school in the daytime. My beat was east of Congress, or what was called the black part of town. It was the first time in my life I saw racism at its worst. We were all white cops in those days and no one wanted to respond to fights in black bars or tangle with any of the black gangs that hung around neighborhoods, selling dope. Though there wasn't a prejudiced bone in my body when I joined the force, I ended up worse than my mother by the time I resigned 4 years later. I had been hospitalized 3 times in those years as a result of arrest attempts in that area. My gun was taken from me twice after I was rendered unconscious when responding to emergency calls. In almost every street fight involving black males, there was a black female ready to get in the face of police, accusing us of being racists. If we attempted to arrest her, the fight would stop and the men would focus their anger on us.
From there I went to work for the World Health Organization. My first assignments were in the deepest regions of Africa, where I worked closely with village leaders to commission new hospitals we built for them. In those 5 years I developed very close relationships with the locals throughout the country and completely ignored the fact they had black skin. And, they never looked at me as a white threat to their way of life. They truly appreciated what we were providing for them.
Before retirement in the US, I worked side by side with a lot of black people and made many friends my deceased mother would never have approved. I have no friends who are racists, nor do I tolerate any talk of bigotry around me. I have heard many stories similar to yours; however, I have never witnessed that kind of racial behavior in my past. I firmly believe that such racial behavior is looked down upon by most white people these days. Sadly, there is still some around and comes mostly from uneducated white trash. At least, that is what I call them.
I look forward to reading more of your works.