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From: " +Grant. " <+Grant@grant.grant>
Newsgroups: alt.fan.prettyboy
Subject: +*+*+*+ The Adventures of Stevie #14 "Balls and Rights" +*+*+*+
Date: 8 Jul 2010 18:45:02 -0500
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The Adventures of Stevie #14
These stories were told to me by friends and other people. Some of them
are true. Some of them are only partly true. Some of them should have
been true. LOL
My first post about Stevie ("Call me Stephen!") was when he was 12 and
in summer camp, and was told by another camper. This was from a time
before computers would fit on a desk and when people communicated with
friends in other countries by actual letters sent through the postal
service. When children did this those friends were called "penpals".
Carlos is Stevie's penpal in Argentina and knows English. This is a
fictional contrivance to enable Stevie to tell us his stories because
he isn't here in person. I think.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
The stories may not be posted in chronological order.
Stevie's school is for gifted children who don't fit in regular schools.
Stevie is 11 in this story, which takes place after the end of the
regular school term, and before summer camp.
This story happens before The Civil Rights act of 1964.
The Adventures of Stevie #14 "Balls and Rights"
Dear Carlos,
Sometimes I get so mad it makes me want to cry even when I think
about it later. If you see wrinkled spots on this letter, now you will
know why.
Me and Father went to a new sports store to buy things for me to take
to camp. It had just opened the first day and the owner was there. He
is old and fat. He smiled a lot until he saw who was next in line to
pay for two soccer balls. He said "I will not serve you. I don't serve
your kind." The tall man he said that to was very dark skinned and he
had his two children with him. A very pretty girl about 8 and a nice
looking boy about 9. They were holding onto his arms, which made him
have problems holding onto his balls at the same time. He was trying to
pay attention to that and talk to the owner at the some time. He said
"Pardon, I don't understand," with a foreign accent. I liked the way it
sounded. Musical. I don't think the store owner liked it, and his face
was ugly full of hate and he said very loud "Leave! Get out of my
store!" The man said "I am from another country. I don't understand all
your customs here. What have I done wrong?" The little boy looked
confused and the little girl started crying. The owner yelled "I don't
serve colored people. I don't want you in my store." I think the man
was getting ready to leave when I did something.
All this time father was holding me back with a hand on my shoulder.
I said in a whisper to him "But she's CRYING!" He let me go and I ran
to her and hugged her and said. "It's alright. He won't hurt you. I
won't let him." Her brother looked scared too so I took his arm. I
think he felt better then. His father looked surprised at me and then
smiled like only a very nice man can. I turned to the owner and yelled
at him "You made her cry! Why did you do that? She didn't do anything
to deserve it!" He looked surprised. I think he didn't expect a little
boy like me to talk to him that way. I don't think anybody else did
either except father. The rest of the people in the store came around
and watched. I told him "You want to make money with your store,
right?" I didn't wait for him to answer and said "You can't do that if
you don't let people give you any. You can't sell anything if you make
people mad at you. That's stupid!" He looked about to explode at me,
then father talked to him.
I should tell you something about my father now. He is different from
other men more ways than I know how to tell you. He always wears a
black suit outside the house. He says so people don't know he caries a
gun under his arm. He is very quiet most of the time. So quiet
sometimes people forget he's there. When he speaks people have to
listen. I don't know how he does it but he makes his voice so sharp it
doesn't have to be loud for people to hear everything even in a very
big noisy room. He does something with his body language when he wants
to which makes people afraid of him, like he is going to kill them or
something. He did that and said "I don't know where you're from, but
around here that's not a good policy. We have people from all over the
world living here. If word gets out that you discriminate, you will
have very few customers, if any at all. If you want to keep your
business here, you had better change your attitude." Then he let his
coat open a little so the owner could see his gun. The owner looked
afraid and said like he was pleading for his life "It's the way I was
raised." Father said "That's no excuse for frightening children and
making your business fail. Change and succeed, or you WILL fail and
go."
Then a man came to the front. He said "I am Rikard. I too come from
another country, where we are still recovering from the war in Europe.
Many millions of people died because of racial hatred. Many of your own
country's soldiers fought there bravely and gave their lives to save
many others. I too would do that if necessary, to prevent it from
happening again. Please reconsider your intentions. Don't let them all
die for no purpose." Father said "I served in Europe in the war." Some
other people there said it too. The owner said "My oldest son was
killed on Omaha Beach." Rikard said "I am sorry. He was very brave. You
must be very proud of him." The owner said "Thank you, I am."
I said to the owner "He would want you to be nice to everybody, so
you can make him proud of YOU." He started crying. I ran around the
counter and hugged him. I told him "It's alright. You don't have to cry
because you can be nice now, I know you can. It will make you feel much
better." He looked at me like I was some strange thing he never saw
before. He said slowly "I never thought of it that way. You're right. I
was wrong. Very wrong. I want to change. It will be hard to change what
a lifetime taught me, but I will try very hard."
I went around the counter to stand with the kids again, and he told
the man who was still juggling his balls, "Sir, I was wrong. Please
accept my sincere apology. I am very sorry for making your fine
daughter cry. Please accept the soccer balls as my gift. I insist. It
will make me feel better if you accept." The man said "For that, I must
accept. You are very gracious. Thank you." Then he said something which
I think surprised everybody. "I am from Ethiopia. My grandfather is our
ruler. On his behalf, I extend his welcome to you, should you ever
visit my country." Then he turned to my father and said "And to you,
good sir, and your family, and to you Rikard, and most of all, to you,
wise and brave young man." That was to me. We all said "Thank you"
together like we almost planned it. The man and his kids were leaving
then the owner said "Please, a moment. May I take a photograph of your
family, so I can aways remember you?" He did, and with me and my father
too. Then the family left the store.
We paid for all our things and left the store. The family from
Ethiopia was still outside waiting. They wanted to talk to us. We
talked like friends. He asked my father what he does. He said he works
in security and he asked "Shouldn't you have a security detail? If you
need one I can arrange it for you." The Prince said "Yes, but we
thought we didn't need it today. They are with my wife." We talked some
more. They came to dinner with us the next day. They are very nice
people. I like them a lot. We all do.
We went back to the store to get something else two days later. All
our pictures were on the wall behind the counter. The owner said hello
to us like we were old friends. Sometimes being nice works but father
told me sometimes it makes things worse. He said what I did could have
caused a riot and maybe people could have been killed. He said it has
happened before just the same way. I asked him why he didn't stop me.
He said it was his judgement it wouldn't happen then, by the way the
other people reacted. They were on my side. I wished I could judge like
that. He said I would someday when I have more experience.
I think discrimination and prejudice is stupid and wrong. There is no
good reason for it, and hate hurts everybody. We don't have to have any
of those things. I think being nice to people is a good thing. Too good
to keep to myself. Sharing is good too, don't you think?
Your friend,
Stephen
--
Grant
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