MaryAnna Destroyed Me with a Repeat-After-Me Song in 5th Grade

My rainbow bike sticker glitters effortlessly in North America across Maple Street, peddling full speed to all the neighbor's back yard. I begged my mother to bring the BMX gift my dad bought me before we moved to Texas back in 1985. Mother was pregnant, remarried the year before, and left my sister and me in San Diego with our wonderful Granny. We still think with her new husband and soon-to-be newborn son, they were never coming back for us, yet they finally did.

My new girlfriend on Maple Street was Hispanic and passed to me by her older sister, who told me I was too young for her, but her younger sister would like to hang out with me instead. Her name is Brandy, and she encourages me to go with her to pick up the enormous granny smith apples for our lunch every weekend at the neighbor's backyards.

Back in those days, we could carelessly enter the fruit tree gardens and fill our baskets up as the neighbors begged us to help them get rid of all mother Gaia's goodness. That was Arlington, Texas.

I Lost My Girlfriend Like a Big Dummy After She Wears Her Natural Hair

Brandy was so gorgeous and always wore her long brown pigtails after she came back from church. Except for one day when she came outside to play before changing her clothes. Her hair, long and free, dropped past her shoulders as she came out to hug me.

I stepped back and ask, "What happened to your hair? Where are your braids?" Embarrassingly mistaking her hair naturally belong in braids I immediately broke up with her. Tears and frustration ran down her tiny face as she tried to explain that this is how she must dress for church.

She came back out an hour later looking stunning as usual, with her perfect pigtails riding away from me to my total confusion. How stupid of me to think that her hair should always be in braids. Oh well, we stayed friends but remained 10-year-old singles.

However, I loved our neighborhood. I never experienced racism when we lived in Texas, but I knew I could feel it like the inside of my bones. Of course, Brandy did not mind me at all. Not even the other kids on the block or at my new elementary school. I attended five different schools in the 5th grade- two in San Diego and then three in Texas. I don't remember doing any schoolwork, but somehow I passed to the 6th grade.

My First Experience with Racism. Embarrassingly Funny, But Not For Me

Coming from southeast San Diego in the middle of an urban gang neighborhood, Maple Street was different. However, I did have an issue with two white kids one day. We were all riding our bikes up and down Maple, Sanford, and Cedar St. I promised that I would not hurt a fly a day in my life, but after we went home for lunch and came to play, they turned on me like night and day

The two white kids were brothers, and I immediately noticed a change in their demeanor as they begin to chase me on their bikes. It was pretty comical to me at that time because I was much faster and more challenging than they were. My thoughts were they had an older sibling who they told was my friend. No need to read between the lines of what was said, but they were not a threat at all.

I would find a quiet and earthly place on Maple Street. The Boys and Girls Club was two blocks away, so I would speed through the streets to play the Galaga arcade game as long as I could get the extra spaceships.

The Thunder Road scene from the movie Grease, between the First and Seventh Street Bridges, is where I pretended to race in the empty water canal one afternoon. That day it was muddy from the rain in the canal sometime previous, and my bike was embarrassingly stuck. I desperately tried to run the cycle back up the embankment with no luck until I cried all the way home to my step-dad. It took him 5 mins to find the short side to climb and he pulled the bike out. He seemed as frustrated at me as I was embarrassed.

The Day My BMX Bike Got Stolen Even With a Missing Seat

The street has not changed in decades. The wooden fence is still broke down. One day, I met my friend who lived in the upstairs apartment on the Westside. Candy flew over the leaning wood piece by piece on a sunny day, and he was hiding on the other side. Well, I guessed that is how to make friends in Texas. Well, sort of how you make friends in Arlington.

We happily played with our toys using our youth and playful imaginations. My buddy would come over and ask to borrow my bike to go to the store. One day, I went around the side of the duplex, and it was missing. I knew it was him because no one else knew where I placed the bike after one day when I dragged my muddy tires across my Mom's floor inside.

I pressed my friend against the sidewall behind the growing tree in front of the duplex. After an hour of interrogations, he finally confessed to stealing my bike to go to 7/11. He told me he sat it outside, and someone stole it from him. His mother scolded him in front of me when I told her and offered my mother $50, which I never saw, nor was the bike replaced. But I would never hurt a soul, and we remained friends, almost.

The First Time I Stayed Over My White Friends House

One weekend I pleaded with my Mom if I could stay at another friend's house one night, and she said yes. It was the first time I slept over at any Caucasian's house. I come to find out that they do silly things as we do, like put your tongue on the freezer's metal ice tray until it sticks.

The elementary school in Arlington on Maple Street was a brief stay once again. The strain of fresh green grass reminds me of playing football back in California. I was much faster than the other white students in all sports. They were no match for me from San Diego and playing tackle/tag on the asphalt with Akili Smith. Remember him? He became the starting quarterback for the NFL Cincinnati Bengals and threw as hard and straight at 10-years-old as I can today. Eventually, we were off to move again—another school, yet still in Arlington.

The Day MaryAnna Destroyed Me with The “Telephone Song"

My older sister and I attended the new school, and it did not meet our approval: more bungalows buildings and a much smaller campus. We felt like we moved from the suburbs back to the hood. Once again, I was the only Black boy in the class, and I felt my racism Spidey-Senses come back.

The first day I laid my eyes on MaryAnna immediately changed everything inside my 10-year-old little black boy's innocent perspective. None of the other little white girls would look at me, but I didn't care because all I did was ask about MaryAnna. Let me explain what finally happened.

MaryAnna's tiny frame and elegant freckled face bestowed my innocence by capturing my breaths. I am still a skinny guy, and I loved her size, leveling up to mine at the time.

"MaryAnna? I never heard of that before. You have such a pretty name." I expressed to her.

I honestly didn't know there could be a MaryAnna. I heard the names Maryjane, Marylou, and even Marianne, but I didn't think you could have a MaryAnna. She was so pretty and nice to me, so I felt fine after that until one measly day in class when our eagerly excitable teacher ask if we all wanted to play a game called, The Telephone Song.

I knew my teacher hated me and was an evil lady when she described the song lyrics as followed:

I am trying not to feel like any prejudice vented towards me, and my teacher makes up a song with my name. But, it wasn't the case this time. After hearing the call-and-response game rules, I was hooked and knew who I would call MaryAnna.

My lovely angel and the whole class knew that I only talked to her. I sit eagerly waiting for the first names to be called while starred at each kid to make sure they were not looking in MaryAnna's direction.

All the laughter echoed outside the bungalows as the entire class completed 180 degrees from cringing to pure joyousness until one kid called my Boo on the telephone. I immediately looked towards a pencil or whiteboard eraser to throw at his ass, but I remember that she had to call someone next.

You could hear a snail boogie board across a toothbrush of how quiet the earth stood still;

(Classroom) "Hey, MaryAnna..."

(My Love) "I think I hear my name."

(Classroom) "Hey, MaryAnna..."

(My Love) "I think I hear it again."

(Classroom) "You're wanted on the telephone."

My palms were as sweaty as my little nose was wide. Here was the moment of truth. MaryAnna knew how I felt, and I knew what she would do, but she took an eternity...

(My Heartbreak) "If it isn't Jason I'm not at home."

(Classroom) "With a rick-tick-tickety tick, Oh yeah! With a rick-tick-tickety tick, Oh yeah!"

"OH, NoOOOooo!!!" I screamed inside. I knew this teacher was evil, and this is the worst day of my life. My heart raced faster than Neo dodging a speeding bullet in the Matrix. The end of my 10-year-old life flashed before my eyes like the blue light specials at K-Mart. It is over for me, but with one more problem to face.

I had to pick up the telephone in my turn and couldn't call back MaryAnna.

Have you ever needed to teleport to Venus so you can incinerate into stardust? I astral traveled there and back to hell because I was the third person to be called on the telephone and wanted to say, "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or no longer is this person alive."

Every child in the world vividly stares in my direction as an unexpected classmate called my name. I desperately needed to vanish away as I felt MaryAnna ice skate across my heart like a Tonya Hardin comeback Christmas Special. I didn't want to play anymore at all.

(Classroom) "Hey, Charles..."

Without batting an eye, I opened my little mouth and said, "I think I have to go to the bathroom."

(Classroom laugh uncontrollably)

Not my intentions at all. The last thing I wanted to do was cause a commotion inside the room. Before I knew it, I heard the teacher scream, "Go outside right now, young man." The game had ended along with my life.

The most embarrassing and disappointing experiences in my life were ending in heartbreak and despair. Plus, I got in some big trouble.

However, writing this story helped me clean out my closet of pain and trauma. I appreciate Vocal for allowing me to express my story I held inside for decades.