Painted black

The story

              "One fifteen Taylor Street!  One fifteen Taylor Street!"  I said over and over again.  "What are you doing?" mom asked me.  I told her "never mind."  I was repeating my new address over and over in my head hoping to remember it.  We had just moved to Cornith, Mississippi.   It's kind of strange here; everyone has funny accents and uses words like "yawl" and "yonder." It also smells different. It's a lot more fresh and clean, not like it was when I was polluting my lungs with every breath I took back in New York. Apparently the blacks and whites go to different schools here, which is strange because back in New York City we were not separated.  Everyone rode buses together and were taught by the same teachers. They were not always treated the same but we still all went to the same school. I have absolutely no problem with black people, in fact, I have many friends that are black back in New York.  This is not the case for everyone, especially here! I don't see what the big deal is? They are the same as us,  just a different color.  
                "Hey come on down here and help your mother with the dishes," my dad said.  "Ok," I replied. My dad is a big guy who is around 6 foot 2 inches with brown hair and blue eyes.  His company relocated from New York to here.  So if he wanted to keep his job we had to move.  So we packed up everything, left all my friends behind and drove forever to get here. I finished doing the dishes and went to bed because I had a big day ahead of me,  my first day of school.
                I woke up this morning with a huge cramp in my neck.  What a great way to start out the day.  I got dressed in my new school uniform.  I ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast and walked to the bus stop.  When the bus finally came and I get on it iformity.  At least in New York everyone was different. We pull up in front of the school and I make my way to my new locker.  It's a little freaky not knowing anybody.  
                Next to my locker there seems to be some sort of break room for the teachers.  Several of the teachers were having a conversation.  I overhear one of them, "Can you believe I was walking home and this Negro had the nerve to come up to me and ask me for money?  Of all the nerve!  Like I would give any of them my hard earned money!  These Negroes acting like they deserve the same as us.  They need to forget about money and go back to picking cotton in the fields where they belong."    All the other teachers agreed with them and they had themselves a laugh like it was some kind of joke.   Overhead the bell rang and I hurried because I was going to be late for my first class.
                All through the day this conversation kept replaying in my head.  I noticed many others having the same view.    This really started to bother me. I had some black friends in New York and I am just realizing how bad the hatred is and how I want to do something to make difference.   It's not right and nothing will change if people don't stand up to it.   So I came up with an idea.  That night I went to the general store and bought some brown paint. 
That next morning I went to school with my entire body covered in brown paint.  I have never been treated with such disrespect, anger, and hatred.  People spit on me, tripped me, started fights with me and many other things.  I got myself a pass right to the principal's office where I was told to leave the school with a wonderful note to my parents stating why I was being expelled and not to return. I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but in my head it was the right thing to do.   My parents kind of freaked out but saw the bravery of what I was trying to prove.  We wrote to the principal, the school board, and president Hoover and received no reply, but I won't give up.  This will not be the end my fight for equality.