Returning to Midland gave us the opportunity to understand the true meaning of a family life, since the majority of relatives lived there. We moved into a small house a few blocks away from my grandparent's sardine packed bungalow. Unlike most of the homes in Hazel Park, a greater abundance of trees shaded the street and the houses yielded more than four feet of space between them. The familiarity of the neighborhood offered an accepting sense of belonging. Our cupboards contained an overabundance of the necessities we needed, despite the only income came through A.D.C. (Aid to Dependent Children). We still lacked the luxuries of most other families, such as a car, telephone or television, but we always seemed to do well with what we had.
I returned to the same parochial school to finish first grade. The imminent challenge I faced grew from falling behind my other classmates, due to the loss of time from moving back to Hazel Park a few months prior and realizing Detroit area school curriculum faltered at maintaining the same pace. Realistically, everything the parochial school taught in kindergarten mirrored the same things I learned in first grade in the Detroit public schools. The expectations placed upon me seemed impossible to grasp. All my other classmates read full sentences, while I struggled to sound out words. The slow move forward proved to be a long one that didn't come without a price. I kept enough charm and enthusiasm to keep in the good graces with my teacher. She took the effort in a guarded sort of way to boost my apprehension to catch up with the rest of the class. The next three consecutive years proved her efforts to be in vain. I came close to being caught up with my other classmates by the time I started second grade, but still fell a little short. My second grade teacher lacked the compassion of wanting to understand the circumstances that put me in my current academic position. I became the underdog runt of the litter who never got the chance to be treated equally among my peers. I spent the next three years feeling superficial, inferior and downright stupid from feeling overlooked and ignored. Being called a dumb bunny constantly never really did much to boost my morale either. I struggled with uncertainties that no one person of authority ever thought to question. No one ever asked me how i felt about the impact of my parents divorce, living in a time when divorce maintained to be a taboo, not knowing if I'd ever see my father again .. or if the strange things I experienced would come back. It's more than any seven year old should ever have to handle, but eventually those worries earned me the titles of "slow learner" and "academically challenged". In the irony of it all, the "epileptic seizures'" my mom reported in the medical information for my school records, became a valid reason for me to be viewed and treated as challenged or incompetent. The experience took away what frail little self esteem I had left, while other occurrences helped build a feeling of oppression.
