Discovering the Meaning of Love and Life
The boy watched the clock. It ticked to the moment he waited for all day. The moment he would play baseball.
School meant only two things to the boy: recess and after school.
He remembered kicking the ball. It hit his female teacher in the head. Next thing he knew he was in class with the teacher walking up to his desk. She wrote a big red F on the top of the his paper. He put a line though the front of the F, which made it look like a A. She turned red in the face. After that the boy got only bad grades.
Figuring if he was dumb a least he would have fun. He daydreamed of making a fantastic catch like Willie Mays. He felt in his blood the bravado of Juan Marichal whose pitching delivery started with his foot kicking above his head. He wanted to be like Willie McCovey who kept playing despite terrible knee injuries. Willie Mc would run around the bases even though he could hardly walk.
The ballplayers loved what they did. He wanted to be like them using every bit of talent to achieve heroics. After school, the boy was happy playing baseball and daydreaming. This was his last year of elementary school.
After a long walk he walked by the sign the middle school. He didn’t notice the sign. His mind was occupied. He had just walk through the middle of the gangs.
The whites were on one side of the street and on the other side were the Chicanos. For the first time he saw what gangs. Inside the school everything was cliquish. Few of the kids from elementary school went to Fischer. His baseball playing afternoons were over.
Becoming a paperboy and he threw his energy into the paper route. Hating school his only ambition was to get out.
The next year there were still to gangs, but now they were Chicano and Black. The neighborhood was changing and so was the world.
Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered. The neighboring highschool rioted so all the Blacks were let out of Fischer. The world was turning ugly.