Becoming ME

Becoming ME

When I think back to my life as a Middle schooler who just trying to fit in I find myself a little embarrass and ashamed of this kid.  I even wonder if that kid would even speak to me.  It’s truly amazing how people change of a short period of time.  For me, change came sooner that I wanted for me.  But as I’ll show when I became different I became me.
  Ralph Learning Center has always been considered the “Bad Kids School” where they send all the no good, shit face, black kids. But I was never one of those.  I got in a few fights in elementary, and force to spend the entire day in the cold assistant Principle’s office.  But I never cursed my way out of something or talked down a teacher like they were some bums off the street.  Course if I can even remember elementary I would be able to tell you about some of the things I did.  But after Hall Fletcher I was thrown into the Lion den of Middle school.  I’m the youngest in the family which only means I’m my brother and sister’s toy to be play with until I cry for momma to come and save me.  When my sister went to Middle School in 1996, she    suffered with the Big Bad White Bullies that could get away with everything because their white.  They stole her ring and Beeper, and any other expensive items.  4 years later it was my turn and my momma decided to send me to Accelerated Learning School where it was Support to be much safer.  I’ll come back to that soon enough but it time you meet the Sgt! 
Sgt. Nash looks like one of those guys you’ll see on the GO ARMY commercials, driving the tank or jumping out of the helicopter with a big machine gun and a small survive pack.  As for personality, he’s completely the opposite although he was strict in his teaching it wasn’t boot camp.  He listened to what you have to say and would praise you for such a wonderful idea or laugh at and make a joke out it later on.  Even so it was never a put down or said in a way that make you hate him for it.  My favorite past of the class was when we had class discussions; he would encourage us to ask questions and would give us honest and trusting answers. We would start talking about current events and suddenly we’ll end up on the Carolina VS Duke or jumping out of planes for fun.  I would never forget that first day we met Standing tall and proud he was the anchor of a ship called change.  Big and strong all around I shudder to speak in his presents, and the only thing that made my heart pound even more were his first words, “I just retired from the US ARMY.  I was Sgt Nash and now I’m your 8th grade English Teacher.”  My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped.  Really he was the best teach I ever had and would take his class all over again.
But sadly my life isn’t always this wonderful.  In fact, it wasn’t until I got to high school that my life became exciting as far as social life. Not to say my live is terrible cause there are people who don’t have many of the things I do.  No it just sometimes I wish I more was like someone else maybe the person who has spent all night away from home, or the person who has been around the world or even the US.  I honest don’t consider the memories in my life interesting.  When I was in elementary my sister abused me wanting to control me.  My dad died when I was 6 leaving my momma to take of us by her self.  I barely know my brother in fact, kinda scare of him. My social life didn’t kit off until 7th grade though that was mostly because I was trying to fit in.  The only thing interesting about me see that I had 9½ fingers yet play the piano like I still have all ten.
August 19, 2000. 11:35 Am. I jus woke up and since I missed my cartoons, I decided to play on the old Super Nintendo with:” Super Mario World” one of my all time favorites.  I was on the first level when I started hearing my momma cutting grass with her electric-weed eater.  We started cutting glass together this summer and I would always use the lawn mover.  So after reaching the first castle with the first Koopa Kids I decide to go help her out since that’s what we did together.  I was 4 foot 7 and was pretty big for a 6th grader was pretty big on eating.  I throw on some cloths and was outside within minutes. She had already had the lawnmower out help starting it up, and then I was off cutting the top of our backyard.  Our back yard is one huge hill cut in two.  And before it became a tree graveyard, it had the most and the best shade you could ask for.  At the same time, this shade made the temperature much cooler and is the reason why snow stays longer back there.  The grass was still wet even though it was almost 12 in the afternoon, so as I’m cutting, a huge grass ball begins to ball up around the blow out and at first it’s a minor issue and doesn’t bother me.  Five minutes later, and the ball has completely covered the blow out.  Now I don’t know why I didn’t turn the mower off or why I decided to go even farer but I did  I’ve always told everyone I was thinking about Mario and the next level.  Imagine putting your hand inside a bender for ten seconds.  The deafening and terrorizing sound along is enough to keep any kid’s hand away.  Now imagine that bender with a lawnmower’s blade.  There’s not much room inside the lawnmower you can bare fit a brick in there let along a hand. I was feeling all up on the top and could feel the churning blade spinning around underneath it. All I would have to do is pull it out from the top but I instead I drop it.  Like the slow motion and action movies the blade came and sliced through the middle finger while nicking the index nail.  My other two must have duck after the slicing of the middle.  I guess I owe my hand’s safety to the glove I was wearing because it took the worse of this slice. 
With the damage done I pulled my hand out and there it is a chopped off half of it former glory, a mistaken kill that didn’t deserve it, and yet all I can look it as hangs from the thin piece my young radian skin.  No tears, no scream, no pain, just hanging by the very strand of the bottom skin.  I sometimes wonder what that kid thought when he saw his finger.  Oh my GOD!!” or “Wow I cut my finger off” .I know my momma and my sister didn’t take it lightly; in fact they both were freaking out as if I chopped my whole hand off.  Faster then I dare remember I was up the steps, wash in the sink, and to the door.  I remember thinking on the way to the hospital how strange this was to me because it didn’t hurt, I could still feel the finger under the towel, and as far as I was concerned it was a stretch and could be easily stitched up.  They put me to sleep just as it started to hurt and by hurt me I mean hurt you can’t sleep with, hurt that makes you want to scream just to block out the pain.  I can’t imagine how someone loosing an arm feels yet along a leg while they sit there waiting to be operated on.  When I woke I was absolutely clueless of where I was or what was going on.  It took almost ten people just to get me to the car. 
The case was huge yet I only felt and recognized three of my fingers.  I think I went to school Tuesday told everyone and became to main focus of that school.  But it’s wasn’t until the doctor took the cased off that the pain really set in.  The size of a raisin is how I saw it.  The index nail a dead gravestone of what once was.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and did all I could to hold myself together.  It didn’t work I cracked to was crying all the way home.  I sometimes wish I could be with that kid when gets home and runs to his bed crying himself to sleep.  I wish I could tell him “it not as bad as you think.”  And “it will get better.”  I dare not think how my momma felt about this when she saw her son cry his sweet young heart out over this lost.  It was almost as bad as losing my daddy. 
Fortunately things do pick up and become more enjoyable.  It does grow back and now looks like a fat grape.  After the cased came off and the “ghost finger finally went away, I became the biggest West side gangster in school.  I throw up my new west side sign the big “W” that only I could do even when the other bent the middle fingers it still didn’t match my sign.  But as they say, “all good things must come to a end.”  The end for me was a gigantic stomp landing on top of me.  I failed 7th grade in 2001 because of this gangsters wanna be.  As I watch this kid I feel the need to beat him like the black mothers of yester years.  I would curse when told and act all hard when really he ain’t nothing be a wangster.  I failed 7th grade while my so call friends went to 8th and forget about me. It wasn’t until 8th grade when the Sgt, became our teacher that I opened up again but in the right way.  He saw my disability as a good thing and I should embrace it.  In a humidly and sarcastic kinda way laughed at it but like I said he did it in a way that didn’t make you hate him for it; besides, I’m been picked on about my finger and other things so bad at RLC it doesn’t even bother me anymore.  Mr. Nash opened up my eyes to an entirely new world of achievements.  He encourage, demanded that I show myself as different and unique.  Instead of picking the simple easy article, try something more concerning and controversial.  Instead of holding in questions ok ahead in ask.  When he found out I could write poetry, I became his favorite student as far as teacher.  Being a student in Mr. Nash’s class was the best privilege any kid could ask for.  He’s what I and this kid I once was would call an inspiration and a blessing.
.  It won’t grow into a new finger; it doesn’t need to.  I have already grown into a better person with it.  So Instead of throwing up “West,” I throw up ”Matt” instead of cursing my way out of punishment I’ll listen and learn from mistakes.  I became different and by becoming different I became ME.