Colorblind

by Leah Harper Bowron

  “I see,” said Reverend Reed. “And what did you do?”

  “I remembered what you told me,” said Miss Loomis. “You said that I must keep my job at Wyatt at all costs. So I apologized to Lisa and kept my job.”

  “Good girl, Sister,” said Reverend Reed. “You did the right thing today. A white lie to help the movement is always in order.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Miss Loomis. “Lisa is my favorite pupil. My apology caused me to lose face with my star student. I just can’t go back and face her again.”

  “Face her you will,” said Reverend Reed. “You have made tremendous strides at Wyatt—we can’t go back-ward now.”

  “Let one of the young colored teachers take my place,” said Miss Loomis.

  “Say ‘black,’ not ‘colored,’” said Reverend Reed. “No, we can’t be sending a young black teacher sporting an Afro and saying ‘black power’ and ‘black is beautiful’ to Wyatt. The movement needs you, Sister Loomis. All you did was tell a little white lie.”

  “All right,” said Miss Loomis. “I won’t quit now, but I won’t be back next year.”

  “We’ll see, Sister Loomis, we’ll see,” said Reverend Reed. “The Lord always provides a way.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Bee

  It was mid-April, and the sixth grade was buzzing about the spelling bee. Lisa had been studying the list of words every night with her father.

  “Sissy,” said Mr. Parker, “spell ‘architect.’”

  “‘Architect,’ A-R-C-H-I-T-E-C-T, ‘architect,’” said Lisa proudly.

  “Sissy,” said Mr. Parker, “My work is done. I think you are ready for the class-wide bee tomorrow.”

  “‘Bee,’” said Harold, “B-E-E, ‘bee.’”

  “Very good, Bubba,” said Mr. Parker.

  “Does a spelling bee sting?” asked Harold.

  “No, Bubba,” said Lisa. “It is a contest to see who can spell the most words without making a mistake.”

  “Sissy’s going to win,” said Harold. “She knows the most words.”

  “Thanks, Bubba,” said Lisa. “You’re my biggest cheerleader.”

  “Time for bed,” said Mr. Parker. “Sissy’s got a big day tomorrow.”

  Lisa got ready for bed. Although she seemed too excited to sleep, she soon drifted off. Lisa dreamed that Miss Loomis turned into a huge balloon at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The balloon looked like Miss Loomis, and it towered over onlookers. In Lisa’s dream the Miss Loomis balloon was wedged between the Snoopy balloon on one side and the Santa Claus balloon on the other side. All of a sudden in Lisa’s dream the Miss Loomis balloon exploded in midair, sending fragments of balloon back to earth while clouds of helium floated upward. Lisa remembered this dream when she awoke.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to Miss Loomis,” thought Lisa.

  Lisa’s mother entered her room carrying a dress. It was a white dress with a pastel paisley scarf encircling the hipline.

  “What’s wrong, Lisa?” her mother asked. “You look upset.”

  “Just a bad dream,” said Lisa.

  “I have a new dress for you to wear tomorrow,” said Lisa’s mother.

  “But I don’t understand,” said Lisa. “The class-wide bee is today.”

  “I know, silly,” said Lisa’s mother. “You can wear your Sunday dress with the pink flowers on it today. The new dress is for the championship bee tomorrow.”

  Lisa could feel herself getting tense. Memories of the pageant dress flooded her brain. Money spent on a useless dress. Hopes dashed in the name of beauty.

  “But, Mother,” said Lisa, “this could be like the pageant dress all over again. I may not win today.”

  “Of course you will win today, Sissy,” said Lisa’s mother. “Your winning the class-wide bee is based upon your memorization skills, not your beauty.”

  Lisa began to get a nervous stomach. The pressure of winning today just became enormous.

  “Thanks, Mom,” said Lisa tensely. “The new dress is beautiful. I hope to wear it tomorrow.”

  “You need to do more than hope,” said Lisa’s mother. “Think positive—you will wear the new dress tomorrow.”

  Lisa’s mother left the room, and Lisa began to get dressed for the class-wide bee. Lisa wore her Sunday dress with the pink flowers on it. The dress had a fitted bustline, short sleeves, and a medium-sized print of shell-pink flowers on an ecru background. Lisa’s padded bra made the dress fit perfectly, and Lisa wore a shell-pink ribbon in her hair to match her dress. To complete the ensemble Lisa also wore shell-pink Sunday shoes.

  Miss Loomis designed the bee for the three classes of sixth graders. Each class would compete for a winner, and the three winners would compete the following day for the championship. Parents were not allowed to watch the class-wide competitions. The parents of the three winners would be allowed to watch the championship bee.

  That morning during homeroom, Lisa talked to Cathy and Karen about the bee.

  “I know you’ll win, Lisa,” said Cathy. “You’ve been studying those word lists night and day.”

  “Thanks,” said Lisa, “but you two have as much of a chance of winning as I do.”

  “Guess what,” said Karen. “I got a letter from my dad wishing me luck in the bee.”

  “That’s great, Karen,” said Lisa. “You can spell your way to victory.”

  “No, Lisa,” said Karen, “you can spell your way to victory.”

  “Fair enough,” said Lisa, “fair enough.”

  The day seemed to drag along until finally sixth period arrived and with it Lisa’s class-wide bee. The students sat neatly in their desks as Miss Loomis went over the rules of the bee. Miss Loomis would call the name of a student, and the student would stand. Miss Loomis would pronounce the word to be spelled, and the student would pronounce the word, spell the word, and pronounce the word again. If correct, the student would remain standing. If incorrect, the student would sit down. Before spelling the word, the student could ask for the definition of the word and ask that the word be used in a sentence.

  Miss Loomis went alphabetically down the roster calling on students to spell words. In the first round, out of twenty-four students, only eleven remained standing. Lisa made it easily through the first round by correctly spelling the word “discrimination.”

  “Only a colored cuddler could spell that word,” said Will, who was sitting down.

  “Yeah, a colored cuddler,” said David, who was also seated.

  Miss Loomis just heard the dreaded phrase “colored cuddler” spoken not once, but twice in her class. Her palms began to sweat, her heart began to race, and a wave of nausea rose inside her.

  “Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” thought Miss Loomis, “why are those boys provoking me? What would Dr. King do? Just ignore them. Yes, he would ignore them.”

  “This spelling bee is rigged in favor of colored cuddlers,” said Will.

  “Yeah, colored cuddlers,” said David.

  Miss Loomis just heard the dreaded phrase spoken two more times. The phrase “colored cuddler” was now echoing inside her brain, giving her a migraine headache. It was becoming impossible for Miss Loomis to ignore Will and David.

  “Please make the boys stop, Lord,” Miss Loomis silently prayed. “Please make them stop.”

  But the boys continued their racist ridicule of the spelling bee.

  “Will, please use the word ‘discrimination’ in a sentence,” joked David.

  “There is a lot of discrimination against Miss Loomis at Wyatt Elementary School,” joked Will.

  “Will, please define the word ‘discrimination,’” joked David.

  “Discrimination is what white people do to Negroes to keep them in their place,” said Will.

  “Can’t ignore anymore, can’t ignore anymore,” thought Miss Loomis.

  Miss Loomis’s head was now throbbing, and she felt like throwing up. Her headache made her thoughts repetitive.

  “
Stop the boys, stop the boys,” she thought. “Get back to the bee, the bee.”

  “Boys, settle down,” said Miss Loomis. “‘Down,’ D-OW-N, ‘down.’”

  Miss Loomis looked scared. Very scared. She now had trouble holding the word list because her hands were shaking. The students were staring at her. Will and David were laughing.

  “Something is wrong, really wrong,” thought Miss Loomis.

  “We will now begin the second round, the second . . .” said Miss Loomis in a high-pitched, nervous voice. “Karen, please spell the word ‘gigantic.’”

  “‘Gigantic,’ G-I-G-A-N-T-I-C, ‘gigantic,’” said Karen.

  “Co-correct,” said Miss Loomis. “Cathy, please spell the word ‘ballad.’”

  “‘Ballad,’ B-A-L-L-U-D, ‘ballad,’” said Cathy.

  “I’m sorry, sorry, that’s incorrect,” said Miss Loomis. “The correct spelling is B-A-L-L-A-D.”

  Cathy sat down and brought with her her hopes of winning the bee.

  “Clara, please spell the word ‘spectacle,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Spectacle,’ S-P-E-C-T-A-C-L-E, ‘spectacle,’” said Clara.

  “Correct,” said Miss Loomis. “Jeff, spell, spell the word ‘battalion.’”

  “Would you give me the definition of the word?” asked Jeff.

  “Let me look it up, up in the dictionary. All right, left, right, a battalion is a large company of soldiers ready for combat,” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you use the word in a sentence?” asked Jeff.

  “The battalion was camped near enemy lines,” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Battalion, B-A-T-T-A-L-E-O-N, ‘battalion,’” said Jeff.

  “That’s incorrect, incorrect,” said Miss Loomis. “The correct spelling is B-A-T-T-A-L-I-O-N.”

  “Karen’s father is in a battalion captured behind enemy lines,” said Will.

  “Captured, POW,” said David.

  “He is not,” said Karen. “Take that back.”

  “Make me,” said Will.

  “Children, stop this fighting at once, twice,” said Miss Loomis while frantically trying to regain control of her classroom. “Lisa, spell the word ‘reticent.’”

  “Would you please give me the definition of the word?” asked Lisa.

  “Let me look it up in the dictionary,” said Miss Loomis. “Here we go, go, go. ‘Reticent’ means ‘shy’ or ‘retiring.’”

  “Would you please use the word in a sentence?” asked Lisa.

  “The reticent girl did not want to go, go, go to school,” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Reticent,’ R-E-T-I-C-E-N-T, ‘reticent,’” said Lisa.

  “Correct,” said Miss Loomis.

  “Lisa’s reticent, all right,” said Will. “She’s reticent because of her harelip.”

  “Do the bunny hop,” said David. “Hop, hop, hop.”

  “That’s the last straw, turkey in the straw,” thought Miss Loomis.

  “Will, apologize to Lisa right, right now,” said Miss Loomis.

  “I don’t apologize for the truth,” said Will.

  “It’s all right, Miss Loomis,” said Lisa. “It is true that I was born with a cleft palate and cleft lip.”

  “I know, know, honey,” said Miss Loomis, “but the word ‘harelip’ is mean, mean, and Will owes you an apology.”

  “No apology from me,” said Will. “David, would you use the words ‘reticent’ and ‘harelip’ in a sentence, please?”

  “The colored cuddler was reticent on account of her harelip,” said David.

  “Very good,” said Will.

  “I am the teacher, and you are the students,” said Miss Loomis in a trembling voice.

  “No Negro will ever be my teacher,” said Will.

  “I am the teacher!” screamed Miss Loomis.

  The class became silent. Will and David were quiet for the moment. The only sound Ms. Loomis could hear was the silent screaming in her own brain.

  With each round of the spelling bee, Miss Loomis became more and more unglued. She began to perspire heavily, and rings of sweat were visible under the arms of her pastel yellow dress. Her nervous twitches took their toll on her bun, which became more and more disheveled. With each comment that Will or David made, Miss Loomis extracted another bobby pin from her bun. She lined up her bobby pins in a row as if they were an army lining up for battle. But war she did not wage.

  Out of a field of eleven students in the second round, only three remained for the final round of the class-wide bee—Karen, Clara, and Lisa. Miss Loomis had become so anxious that she had to sit down at her desk for the final round. She held her word list in her trembling hands as a spitball hit her in the face. Then another. Miss Loomis took a deep breath.

  “What would Dr. King do if he were here today?” thought Miss Loomis. “He would practice nonviolence, and so must I.”

  Yet Miss Loomis took Dr. King’s practice of nonviolence to the extreme. She became helpless in the face of Will and David’s comments. Miss Loomis began the final round of the class-wide bee in a complete state of disarray. Her voice was high-pitched, her hands were trembling, and her hair had fallen out of its bun.

  “Karen, please spell the word ‘transient,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you please give me the definition of the word?” asked Karen.

  “Let me look it up, up, up in the dictionary. ‘Transient’ means ‘temporary, lasting only a moment,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you please use the word in a sentence?” asked Karen.

  “Her fears were as transient as the sunset,” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Transient,’ T-R-A-N-S-I-A-N-T, ‘transient,’” said Karen.

  “I’m sorry, sorry, that’s incorrect,” said Miss Loomis. “The correct spelling is T-R-A-N-S-I-E-N-T, ‘transient.’”

  Karen sat down, leaving only Clara and Lisa.

  “Lisa,” said Miss Loomis, “spell the word ‘licentious.’”

  “Would you please define the word?” asked Lisa.

  “Let me look it up in the dictionary, the dictionary. ‘Licentious’ means ‘lacking in legal or moral restraints,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you use the word in a sentence?” asked Lisa.

  “The licentious behavior of the prisoners caused turmoil,” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Licentious,’ L-I-C-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, ‘licentious,’” said Lisa.

  “That’s correct,” said Miss Loomis.

  Lisa remained standing.

  “Clara, please spell the word ‘deprecate,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you please define the word?” asked Clara.

  “Let me look it up, down, up in the dictionary. ‘Deprecate’ means ‘to disapprove of, often in a mild way,’” said Miss Loomis.

  “Would you use the word in a sentence?” asked Clara.

  “The quiet man deprecated loud parades,” said Miss Loomis.

  “‘Deprecate,’ D-E-P-R-A-C-A-T-E, ‘deprecate.’”

  “I’m sorry, that’s incorrect,” said Miss Loomis. “The correct spelling is D-E-P-R-E-C-A-T-E.”

  Clara sat down, and Lisa was the only student left standing. A spitball hit Lisa in the face. Another spitball hit Miss Loomis. Will and David were laughing.

  “Lisa,” said Miss Loomis, “it is my pleasure to inform you that you are the winner, winner, winner of the class-wide bee. Congratulations. You will compete tomorrow in the championship bee. Class, give Lisa a round, round, round of applause.”

  As the class applauded, Will and David became more out of control.

  “David, spell the word ‘Negro,’” said Will.

  “Would you give me the definition?” asked David.

  “A Negro is a person with black skin and kinky hair who talks funny and smells bad and lives in the quarter,” said Will.

  “Would you use the word in a sentence?” asked David.

  “The Negro teacher quit teaching at the white school,” said Will.

 
; “‘Negro,’ N-I-G-G-E-R, ‘Negro,’” said David.

  “You are correct,” said Will.

  Miss Loomis stared at her list of words and said the word “Negro.” She then began to talk uncontrollably. The words of Dr. King raced through her brain like a runaway locomotive. She began to speak as if in a trance.

  “I want to have a dream, but white folks givin’ me nightmares.

  “Sweet Jesus, I want to overcome Negro, Negress.

  “I want blacker skin, not mulatto or high yellow.

  “I had a dream.

  “Wind blew it away.”

  Lisa walked over to Miss Loomis, who was now crying. Lisa could feel Miss Loomis slowly slipping away like that Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon. Her cries soon became sobs.

  “I can’t t-t-take this anymore,” sobbed Miss Loomis. “I j-j-just can’t take this.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked Lisa.

  “Call Re-Re-Reverend Reed,” sobbed Miss Loomis. “Principal Breen has his nu-nu-number.”

  Sadly, Lisa felt herself grow stronger as Miss Loomis grew weaker. Lisa wanted to protect Miss Loomis at all costs. Even the cost of facing Will and David.

  “Karen, Clara,” said Lisa, “go to the principal’s office for help.”

  Karen and Clara immediately left Miss Loomis’s room for the principal’s office. Cathy walked up to Miss Loomis’s desk.

  “What can I do to help?” asked Cathy.

  “Just sit here beside Miss Loomis and pat her hand,” said Lisa. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

  Lisa walked up to Will and David, who were sitting at their desks. Lisa was scared, and her hands were shaking.

  “Will and David,” said Lisa, “you owe Miss Loomis an apology, so get up and go apologize right now.”

  “No,” said Will. “We don’t take orders from harelips.”

  Tears stung Lisa’s eyes. Will had used the dreaded word once again.

  “Now you owe me an apology, too,” said Lisa.

  “Never,” said Will.

  “Never,” said David.

  “We don’t apologize for the truth,” said Will. “Miss Loomis is a Negro, and you are a harelip.”

  “Yeah,” said David.

  “Miss Loomis is upset,” said Lisa. “The word ‘harelip’ and the word N-I-G-G-E-R are meant to hurt feelings, not tell the truth. So you do owe us an apology.”