October 12th

The calendar Mrs. Koffman gave everyone in my kindergarten class lied on the floor as I fumbled with the T.V remote to figure out how to use it. This was a special calendar because every day had an objective to complete.

“The one with the most challenges completed gets a prize.” Mrs. Koffman said as she flung her arms around like a magician.

I ripped off the tape that held the battery cover and remote together to check if the batteries were the problem. Cockroaches crawled on top of my calendar. I shoved them off.

As I read the tasks, I remembered raising my hand for help. She shrugged and assured me that the tasks were easy enough for any kid to do. Go to the park, draw with chalk, visit the library, it was easy she said.

Easy never crossed my mind.

I cannot go to the park because there was no park to go to. There was just a sign that said park closed at dusk. They took away the park. They were sick of the big toys being tagged with gang signs. Now, the so called park is just a small, open field with one tree in the back right corner. The big kids littered the field with their trash. Potato chip bags, empty beer bottles, and cigarette buds played on that park now. I cannot go to the park.

I cannot draw with chalk because there was no money for chalk. I asked my mom one day for chalk and a tear fell to her cheek. All I had was a box of Crayola crayons, which contained only eight crayons. Actually, seven. I ate the blue one, wrapper and all. They were free with a coloring book when the firefighters came to visit the neighborhood to show kids how to dial 911. All the kids huddled around the firefighters, fishing for free hand outs. I whittled my crayons down to nubs. They were the only things I had that added color to my life. Chalk was a gift from god. No kid in my hood had chalk. If someone did, the big kids probably already beat them away from that one kid. I cannot draw with chalk.

I cannot visit the library because mom and dad both worked too hard for minimum wage. I asked my dad one day to take me to the library by holding up one of my books like Simba. He was drunk, so I assumed that him yelling and knocking the book out of my hands meant he was busy and just wanted a break. I almost convinced dad to take me the next day when he was sleeping on the couch with his shirt off. But then he was called in to work. He exhaled and told me next time. There was no next time. I cannot visit the library.

I cannot fly a kite because that was only for the good kids. I got in trouble for cutting the beige curtains up with my safety scissors. We had money for scissors, but not paper. I checked all the drawers for paper repeatedly because I forgot which ones I already opened. Not a single page, so I eyed the curtains. Mom spanked me for doing so. I told her that I learned how to make snowflakes in class, and I wanted to show her as I snipped the scissors. She looked at me funny. Then, I asked if we could get a kite. She shook her head. She mentioned that only good kids have things. That made sense to me since my closet was only filled with disappointment. I cannot fly a kite.

The calendar said to watch Sesame Street on T.V. on October 12th, and I waited my heart out for October 12th. It was the only thing I could do. I smacked the remote on my palm to get the double AAs to work. I went past every channel, twice! Dad kicked me off the couch, and told me that the kid shows were over.

The one thing I could do, and I missed out on it. I couldn’t watch Sesame Street. I couldn’t do anything. Mrs. Koffman lied to me, so I never won the prize.