The Diary of a Rambunctious Black Child

By Clayton Bolling

The Diary of a Rambunctious Black Child is told through a riveting diary from the perspective of a ten-year-old boy named Cory Carroll. Cory has a fantastic sense of humor and pokies fun at life. His best friend is his diary. At times he feels invisibility and contentious toward his racist fifth grade teacher questioning her cruelty and intolerance against black children in her classroom. Cory doesn’t know the true meaning of words like racist, bigotry or prejudice. He only heard of those words through Passing. They are foreign to him like ice is to hell. His mother tries shielding him from the wicked realities of those words. His mom decides to take the family south for summer vacation. There, Cory enters a world he’s not accustoms to. He is exposed to the harsh truths of having brown skin in the south. He experienced some of these realities in the north, but not as cold, harsh and cruel in the south. Hatred, jealousy, lies, deceit, sexuality, rape, witchcraft, secrets, suicide, and murder are realities he must come to terms with. Cory learns their true meanings quickly and has reservations about life in the south. He uses his only tools listening and watching, developing his own analytical conclusions. He experiences lessons far beyond his capacity and expectations. Cory will cherish and carry these lessons throughout his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664176584

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Copyright © 2021 by Clayton Bolling.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/19/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

June 1963

Dear Diary- Summer took its time arriving. It’s the last day of school and the kids and I are excited with anticipation for the large wall clock to strike 3:00 and the school bell to ring. The air was extremely hot and heavy. A large fan stood in front of the classroom blowing hot air. Turn the damn thing off, I thought to myself. Three more hours to go. It seemed forever. It would be the end of the school year and the beginning of summer vacation. My head raced with anxiety. I spent part of the morning cleaning out my old wooden eighteenth century wobbly desk. It was an undaunted task that had to be done. Usually, I had to be told to clean it by my teacher. It would become crammed with junk. Rotten food, old papers, toys, games, and my pet turtle I kept in a box named Al. Removing pictures and grade A papers from the bulletin board was a joyful task. None of the A papers were mine. Happily, I tossed them into the trash, show off. Finally, the bulletin board was bare. A faded cork like surface remained. Afterward, we quietly single filed to the playground like innocent little Sparrows. My heart raced. I couldn’t wait to get outside nor any of the other children. Quickly, we started walking. Then it turned into a jog. Finally, we started running full speed leaving our teacher behind.

Dear Diary- Once outside, all hell broke loose. We went wild like uncaged savages yelling and screaming running wild all over the playground. It was lunch time but no one bothered eating. We were having too much fun. We played all sorts of games. Dodgeball, kickball, punch ball, volleyball, anything you could do with a ball. Some of the girls jumped rope and played hop scotch games boys wouldn’t be caught dead playing. They would be called a sissy or faggot. However, I dared to cross that line. I played those games with my sister at home. There weren’t any black girls her age to play with so I was elected by my mother. My sister Cheryl was 9 and I was 10.

Teachers stood on the side huddled in group like Penguins during breeding season talking and watching the children. Once in a while I’d catch them peaking at their Timex watches. They also couldn’t wait for summer vacation to begin. They probably disgusted hot topics such as summer vacation plans or how much money they were getting over the summer.

Dear Diary- While running past a group of teachers, I abruptly stopped and stared at my teacher Mrs. Gerdano. When I first met her I thought she was the school’s janitor. She wore five and dime dresses to school and had a hump in her back. Her face was full of moles. She could have easily passed for Quasimodo. I looked dead into her eyes and saw the bowels of hell. She stared back perplexed. I managed to forge an evil smile at her and felt no guilt. Reluctantly, she painfully smiled back. I wanted to take a butcher knife and plunge it deep in her heart. She was a dirty cracker bitch. I loathed her with a passion. She bleached her hair to look younger. It didn’t work. It’s like trying to bleach out the sun. Her makeup was so thick, she looked like a mummy 100 years old plus 10. I would have loved to had given her a bucket of shit for Christmas but she didn’t believe in it, slut.

I hated her fuckin guts. If I ever saw that bitch walking with a cane, I’d kick it from under her. If she was in a wheelchair, I’d push it down ten flights of stairs and feel good about it. She was extremely awful to black children in my class. Three scared black boys and one frighten little girl. The school was predominately white and of course no black teachers. During recess, black children weren’t allowed to associate nor play games with white children. Mrs. Gerdano would place us against the fence spread apart so we couldn’t communicate with one another. It was a desolate period in our lives. We’d comfort each other by smiling at one another, but our faces told another story. Our faces quickly turned to misery and agonizing despair. Our eyes were saying to one another be strong, it’ll be over soon. The bell rung bringing recess to a halt. It was time to line up. Black children were always placed at the end of the line. I hated that dearly. I felt like nothing. I was helpless, powerless. My mother knew I hated that bitch. Each Monday morning after a nice weekend, I’d play sick to keep from going to school. Ma drove Cheryl and I to school making sure I’d get there. She insisted I go because she couldn’t stay home with me. She had to work.

Dear Diary- I wish there was a way I could poison Mrs. Gerdano’s cups of coffee she sips during class. I could buy some rat poison from the hardware store and slip it in her coffee to kill her ass. One of her pets, a little white girl named Darlene is having a birthday party in class. The only reason blacks were invited is to bring her gifts. I’m going to rap two cans of dog food as a gift, then serve some up on crackers mixed with tuna fish, black children excluded. They’ll never know the difference, Bon Appetite.

Dear Diary- Today I rebelled. I had all I could take from that bitch. I empowered myself. I decided I wasn’t going to be mistreated by her or anyone else anymore because of my skin color.

The bell rung signaling recess was over, line up. I stood next to Mrs. Gerdano against the fence, therefore I was first in line. She told me to get at the back of the line with the rest of the black children. I refused to budge. She snatched me out the line shoving me to the back. I refused to go and began crying. Suddenly, hatred engulfed me. Then it hit me. Leave, leave the school, leave the playground. Briskly, I walked off the playground. She asked.

Where are you going?

Home to get my mother, I replied. I knew my mother was working. However, I knew the house was unlocked so I could’ve gotten in. Gerdano began running after me. I couldn’t believe she gave chase after me. I started trotting at a slow pace. She began running faster and faster. She knew her job would be in jeopardy if a child left the premises while in her custody. Eventually, she caught me. I let her. I could have out run that bitch anytime, any day and anywhere. She brought me back to the playground. She grabbed me by the collar. I smacked her hand away as hard as I could and told her to get the fuck off me, bitch. She was stunned, shocked. The rest of the class watched in horror and disbelief. I reared up at her like a cage wild animal ready to attack. It was unheard of for a child to leave school alone or hit a teacher. I felt she deserved it. I should have smack the shit out of her. Under such strenuous circumstances I felt I had no other choice. It was a new day after that. I was placed at the head of the line. We filed into the building and stopped at the water fountain. I was still mad but thrilled. It was exhilarating to be first in line. I couldn’t believe I was the first black child in line drinking water. I took my time savoring each drop. Usually, I was last or next to the last with other black children and was only given seconds to drink before Gerdano would yell, Enough. It felt intriguing being first. As I sipped the cool water, I heard a white classmate named Joey say to Mrs. Gredano.

Mrs. Gerdano, I’m beginning to like your class.

Oh yes, all the kids like my class. I don’t know why Cory doesn’t, the bitch replied. I rolled my eyes at that stank bitch. She drowned herself in cheap perfume and god did it smell awful. I wanted to say to her try soap and water for a change. It does wonders. She treated black kids like we were inhuman or something. One day we returned from the lavatory. Jillian, the only black girl in class was picking lint from her hair in the girl’s bathroom. Her mother would oil her hair, face, and legs because she had to walk a mile to school in freezing temperatures. There wasn’t any busing then. You went to school according to where you lived. The oil protected her hair, skin, and face from the cold. Lint would sometimes stick to her hair. When we returned from the bathrooms, the white girls would tell Gerdeano.

Yeah Mrs. Gerdano and she was picking stuff out her hair. The bitch wasted no time attacking Jillian for nothing. I can still hear her yelling.

What were you doing picking stuff out of your hair for? yelled Gerdano. Frighten, Jillian uttered something in a low tone as she cradled her arms and lowered her head on her desk weeping softly. I couldn’t hear her response. Gerdano kept yelling at her. I felt helpless. I wanted to scream at Gerdano, leave her alone, leave her alone, but I couldn’t find the courage nor strength. The words wouldn’t come. I felt numb all over. She seemed to pleasure herself by being cruel to children of color. Listening to her degradation against Jillian made me want to pick up something and kill her ass.

Gerdano made a black classmate named Carlos sit alone in a corner at the back of the classroom. That was his regular seat away from the rest of the class. I knew he felt alone. She treated him like an animal. I liked Carlos we were friends. He was chubby like me however, slow and had a speech impediment. Gerdano often made fun of Carlos in front of the class because Carlos shuddered.

Ms, Ms, Ms, GGGGdadadaoooo, she would mimic, then yell at him to speak right. She made the class laugh at him. I felt bad and once again helpless. Carlos did manage to teach me a few Spanish words mostly swearing to use on Mrs. Gerdano. We’d never let her hear us using them, but it sure was fun saying them.

Dear Diary- I have bad news. Carlos mother passed away. I just found out. Mrs. Gerdano showed no remorse toward Carlos, not even an I’m sorry for your lost Carlos. Although he was Puerto Rican, there weren’t too many Spanish speaking people in the area. What I like about Carlos was the fact his skin was brown like mine. When news of his mother’s passing hit the classroom, the first thing I did was share my lunch with him. I didn’t have much but what little I had shared with him right down the middle. Even my small carton of milk. He didn’t have any lunch, no mother to make it for him. On parent’s night, the bitch included his desk with the rest of the classroom making it look like his desk was always part of the classroom. She set up a dirty little lie to hid her dirty little secret. I know for a fact because I went with my mother on parent’s night to show her where my classroom was located.

Dear Diary- Remember my little white friend Joey, the one who proclaimed he liked Mrs. Gerdano’s class while we drunked at the water fountain? Well, I whipped his ass good after school today. I beat him up and down the street, around the corner, over the hills, through the woods and back again, while asking him if he still liked Mrs. Gerdano’s class. The next day he was a no show for school. I did it because he tried over shadowing and under minding my legitimate reasons for hating that bitch.

Dear Diary- Walking off the playground from that day forward, Gerdano treated me very carefully. The bitch knew I’d take flight in a minute if I didn’t like how she treated me and other black children. I was no longer placed at the end of the line nor any of the black children. We were a loud to participate at recess. Carlos and his desk joined the rest of the classroom permanently. Mrs. Gerdano kept her treatment toward black children secret until I had the audacity to challenge her authority. I put an end to her reign of terror against black children in her class, without realizing what I had done. She was afraid I would tell what had happened in her classroom and I knew it. She changed her attitude toward black children. May she burn in hell, Bitch!!!

Finally, the bell rung. It was 3:00. School was officially over and summer vacation strength ahead. We were ready to take off like racecars revving our motors racing to freedom. We successfully completed our mission, which was to pass to the next grade. We lined up the last time for Mrs.

Gerdano. I looked down at her oversized worn out brown shoes and spit three times hoping she would break her legs over the summer. I cursed her. If I didn’t learn anything that year, I did learn the true meaning of the word hate. She passed out report cards. I was promoted. Carlos and Jillian weren’t. I believe the only reason I passed was to get rid of me and to keep my mouth shut. Of course later on, I did tell the parents of Carlos and Jillian how mean she was to them. An investigation ensued at the Board of Education. The other black kid Tony who was half white also passed. Before we stormed off the playground, we said our good-byes to one another promising to see each other next school year in September. However, some of the children I would never see again. Although Gerdano tried keeping us separated from white children, we managed to befriend many. Three classmates I learned died that summer. Two in auto accidents and the other due to illness.

Dear Diary- I never saw Carlos again. From what I heard, his father packed him up and moved away. I often think of Carlos. Sometimes, I look up at the sky and wonder where he’s at and what’s he doing. Many children moved away that summer. It wouldn’t be until years later I’d find out why. Too many minorities moving in the neighborhood. We ran off the playground yelling and screaming. I couldn’t wait for summer camp to begin.

Dear Diary- It’s Monday morning. I couldn’t wait for its arrival. It felt like it took eons arriving. The first day of camp July 5th the day after the 4th of July weekend. Oh how we partied. We had a huge cook out with cousins, friends and neighbors. We invited everyone we knew. It’s funny though, we seemed to never get invited to any of their homes for gatherings. It’s always at our house. They waste no time flocking here. The only bad thing I hated about it is I’m stuck with cleaning up their mess. I guess it’s all in fun. Sometimes I would love to say to them, keep your black asses home! I got up early because I couldn’t sleep. I was over whelmed with excitement. It was about 6:00 A.M. I began making lunches for Cheryl and I to bring to camp. Mom loaded up on cold cuts, cheese and bags of chips. Camp provided milk. I’m sick of milk. I drunk it the whole school year. A soda would be nice.

My older brother Zero 14 would be working for an anti-poverty agency cleaning up ghetto housing projects with other kids his age. It was a summer job program for inner city youths. Mom dropped Cheryl and I off at the camp site building. I took Cheryl to the girl’s side and I went to the boys. As I entered the gym where the boys congregated, they were section off by ages 5 and 6 year olds, 7 and 8 year olds, 9 and 10 year olds and so on. The eldest group was the 13 and 14 year olds. Camp started at 8:30 A.M. and ended at 3:30 P.M. Everyone dressed in shorts, sneakers and T-shirts. Even the camp counselors. It was a relief to wear shorts considering we had to wear long pants throughout the school year. It was school policy. The directors Marty and John blew their whistles for our attention. They welcomed us then told us the rules and regulations of the camp, which I already knew from last year. Each counselor was given a schedule for their group. My group’s 1st period was Arts and Crafts. However, before any group left the gym we had to exorcise. It was too damn early in the morning for that. It lasted for twenty long grueling minutes. It seemed forever. We did pull ups, sit ups, pushups, jumping jacks, running in place and finally, deep knee bends.

Dear Diary- I was so anxious for summer camp to begin, I totally forgot about morning calisthenics. For a chubby kid, morning exorcises is the last thing on my favorite things to do list. I hate mornings. They’re trying to kill me.

After all that, our group lined up and headed to the Arts and Crafts room. I was excited, sore but excited. Arts and Crafts was a favorite on my things to do list. We made jewelry for our mothers. Necklaces, bracelets, picture frames made of macaroni and painted different colors with neon glow paint. Some of the kids ate the macaroni. Ash trays made of clay for our fathers who did or didn’t smoke. For ourselves, we made obscure objects using clay. To this day, no one knew what they were. My claim was I made an exact replica of the Mona Lisa. Actually, it was a slab of clay shaped in an oblong figure with two eyes and a set of tits with nipples. The other boys really enjoyed my sculpture. They flipped out. One kid named Teddy created something far better than my work of art. He created a large penis with big balls hanging. The instructor saw it and became angry for some unknown reason. Her face turned red from blushing. She ordered Teddy to destroy it. Instead, he put it in his camp sack and took it home to show his mother. How thoughtful of him, I thought.

Dear Diary- Teddy brought his art work back to camp. He had a black eye which his mother gave to him. I asked him if I could have his sculpture and he