Cheryl Barnette

Hold Your Breath

Hard Days My first day of kindergarten was hard. I needed my mother, hence the temper tantrum. I thought she had abandoned me in some monstrous brick and mortar building, old, void of love. Yanked by the arm, I was dragged off to an unknown destination for a meet and greet with the PrincipaI, Mr. Brooks. What an intimidating introduction. I, a young black girl, and he, a rotund white haired elderly Caucasian man, with a scowling red face. Me, with my tiny, scrawny body, arms and legs, resisting with tremendous strength though, even with the vise-like grip on my arm. It was a hard day. Five year olds are not supposed to have hard days.