Prologue

I ran down the street soaking wet from the sweat of nervousness that I felt. My heart was beating uncontrollably, I was so afraid. I felt as if I was going into cardiac arrest, all of this factored in with the elements. I looked over my shoulder as the sleet struck my face like shards of wet glass. I could hear the sound of my sister’s voice getting louder and louder as she gained momentum “YOU GOT ON  MY  JACKET? I’M GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN I CATCH YOU! YOU’RE DEAD KIM! DO YOU HEAR ME? YOUR ASS IS DEAD!” shouted Shay. Yes, I could hear her loud and clear, maybe I shouldn’t have done it but I did. There was no turning back now. My sister Shay was closer now, a lot closer than she had been moments ago. I continued to run with great speed, trying my dam-dest to get away…NO!!! Stay away from her and the pain that she would inflict upon my body. This was just another day in my life of... Elementary, My Dear!

Before I get into why I was being chased by my sister or running for my life, I have to take you back to how this all began. As far back as I can remember, I have always hated things that didn't have anything to do with me having fun. I loved playing games, watching cartoons, eating Froot Loops, ice cream, candy and cake. I enjoyed anything that would and could make a child feel happy, euphoric even. FUN!!! Fun, more fun and good times, that's what I was all about. However, there was something that I never wanted to experience, that was the big “S” word…SCHOOL. I hated school so much. I also hated the fact that summer had come to a close and it was now time for me to go back to this place that I dreaded so much. Now don’t get me wrong, I would play pretend school with my friends and cousins but that was then and this is now. The tables have turned and I have decided that, I AM NEVER GOING BACK THERE, THAT’S ALL TO IT! It's just that everyone keeps talking about school this and school that. No ifs, ands or buts about it. We all had to go and to me, this summer vacation shit didn’t last long enough.

As I take a look back at my life, I can honestly convey to you that I hated school with a passion. From elementary school to middle school, high school and even college. I loathed any and everything that had to do with it. For me, school was nothing more than a prison sentence. It was just something about being in a classroom where someone could ask you to answer a question that you may not have the answer for, that always seemed to bother me. Why put someone on the spot? When you knew deep down inside, they didn’t have the answer. Hell, they didn’t even raise their hand nor did they make a gesture for you to call on them, so why pick on them?

You really don’t know if they were just shy, afraid or if they had even grasped the concept of what was being taught. My theory is that there is never a right or wrong answer, every answer is potentially correct and it just depends on who you’re talking too. I have always been a firm believer that everyone does not learn on the same level. So, my question is, How can a teacher who has been taught to teach in a particular style, using the 5 basic methods of teaching, continue to teach thirty plus students the same exact thing? This seems rather impossible to me. Wouldn't it be sort of mundane to teach them all on the same accord? What the hell is a grade anyway? Just my thoughts.

When I think about the time that I was growing up, I can honestly say that I was a very inquisitive child and was so full of life.  Although I was very shy when it came to strangers and people I didn't know, when it came down to my family and friends I could never shut up. I had many questions and I was very eager for knowledge. You couldn’t tell me nothing and I thought I knew everything but I didn’t. Whatever it was, I had to know about it… I needed to know about it!  I was never one to pry (so I thought) but never was I ever inappropriate. Although, I would always get caught trying to listen in on conversations that did not concern me, so I guess you could say I pry’d a bit. I wasn’t old enough to have knowledge or wisdom to understand the meaning of what they were always gossiping about. My grandmother, who we called MA’MA would often times say, “MAKE HASTE AND GET OUT OF HERE! This conversation doesn’t concern you”. While taking a long drag from the cigarette that parted her full lips. “You are not grown and if I see your little narrow behind in here again trying to listen to grown up conversation, you’re not going to like the outcome. Now get on outta here! Cause’ if you don’t, I’m going to get a switch off of that bush out there and beat your little black ass!”