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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 02/12/2022
Violet: Childhood.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesAuthor's Note:
This is the second story about Violet, a young girl who is growing into someone very Special. There were sings of her uniqueness even in First Grade. There will be more.
*****
I was only six years old when I first met Violet. She and I shared the same First Grade Class. Sister Mary Gertrude, who was as wide as she was tall, and the word “matronly” included her picture in the Dictionary, was our teacher. That first day at school we had recess. A half hour of unguided (but not unsupervised) play. The Nuns hung around the periphery like a flock of Antarctic Penguins in the black smocks and white Bibs and collars.
I was kind of a shy boy. So I just sort of walked around the fence that surrounded our “parking lot” Playground. When school was over, it went from playground to parking place for different events at the School. There was one small area with a few swings, a sand box with no sand in it, and two giant truck tires to climb over…or in. A perfect fort for the many games of the Old West, acted out by tough six year old Hombres, without a Tenderfoot among them. Today, tho, the tires lay undiscovered and unused. So I sat on the edge of the top tire.
I watched as a girl with purple eyes went over to a girl sitting on the swing. The girl on the swing was crying. The purple eyed girl lifted the crying girls head up in her own little hands.
“Why are you crying?”
To my surprise the girl on the swing made several very quick hand motions. The girl with the Purple Eyes squeaked out a:
“I don’t know what you mean. Can’t you talk?”
The little girl left the swing and stood up. She took the girl with the Purple Eyes hands and covers her own ears with them…and then her mouth too. I knew right away what was going on. My next door neighbor had a deaf daughter. I knew how to say hello and spell my name. So I leaped down from my loft perch more than three feet off the ground. I landed awkwardly and fell.
The girl with the purple eyes turned immediately, dragging the other little girls attention towards me as I clambered to my feet. They were now, both staring at a clumsy little red head who had been sprinkled with freckles across the top of his cheeks and nose. I was a bit taller than both of them, and that would change by Fourth Grade…but I would grow again in Tenth Grade…but that is later …for now, they just saw a small little red headed boy staring at them.
I spoke first, in both sign and out loud:
“She is deaf (pointing to the little girl). She can’t hear you.”
Then I pointed to myself, and signed my name. The girl lit up like a Christmas tree. She signed so fast, I had to ask her to slow down, a bunch of times. She signed her name: Linda. She asked mine (Kevin) and then pointed to the girl with purple eyes. Signing : “What’s her name?” And that is how I met Violet. And Linda. I knew how to sign “Nice to Meet you!” And that made the little girl cry…again. But in a good way.
By the end of recess, we were the three Amigos. We still are. Violet was amazing. She got a book: “The Joy of signing.” From the School Library, and with Linda as our Teacher/Guide/Tutor, and friend, we learned to communicate. Violet was a quick study…and I had to work hard to catch up. We got so good that Sister Mary Gertrude had us teach the Nuns the basic signs…and then our entire First Grade Class. Linda fit right in with all of us. Violet was the catalyst. She wanted everyone to know the belonged.
Let me tell you another story…and remember, this is a six year old girl.
Tommy Shaw lay on his back. James McMichael had put him there. James was in Third grade and already as big as any of the Sixth Graders. And he was a bully. Tommy didn’t back down…he went down, bravely. A bit of blood dripping out of his nose. Violet reached down to hand Tommy a tissue. Then she straightened up and put her little hands on her hips and stared at James. James stared back.
We had formed a circle when the fight started…and the Nuns would be cackling and screeching on their way over in a minute…once the realized what was going on. Before they could intervene the rest of us just stared at the “Face Off” between tiny little Violet and Big Jame McMichael. We thought she was going to say “pick on someone your own size!” Like you see in movies or read in books. Or maybe she was going to call him a bully…to his face! She caught us all off guard, including the bewildered James McMichael. Because she didn’t do either of those things…what she did…was this:
She walked right up to James, reached for his clenched fist and said: “Here, hold my hand, and let’s go for a walk.”
James, stunned, maybe in shock, maybe just wanting to see what was going to happen let her lead him off to walk the circumference of the fenced in Playground. Even Tommy (still holding the tissue to his now drying bloody nose) had a weird smile on his face.
“What’s she saying to him?”
We all just watched as hand in hand, deep in conversation, little Violet and Big James McMichael circled the playground…completely oblivious to the rest of us gawking at their many transits. For almost the full half hour, they walked - hand in hand. We saw Big James McMichael’s posture go from defiant, to alert, all the way down to compliant. He was walking and listening…and then…he laughed. It made us all stare harder.
Just before the first bell (warning us that there were only two minutes left in recess) Violet and Big James McMichael walked back towards the gaggle of us kids who had done nothing more that Recess than watch a little girl hold hands with a big bully and circle the yard. They marched right up to Tommy Shaw- who, to his credit, held his ground, fists balled up and ready for a second try.
Violet looked at Tommy, then at Big James McMichael…and said out loud for all of us to hear:
“Tommy, James has something to say to you…don’t you James?”
James was still holding little Violets hand. He let it drop and then kind of shrugged.
“Tommy, I’m sorry. I just…well, I was just being mean. I am sorry.”
Then we almost fell over backward when Big James McMichael reached in his pocket, pulled out a full sized Tootsie Roll, offering it to the slightly stunned Tommy Shaw.
“Here, take it. That should make us even. Is that okay?”
To our delight Tommy answered with a simple:
“Okay, but that is to much. Split it with me?”
You would have thought somebody bought Big James McMichael a new bike, or something the way he reacted to Tommy’s counter offer. He beamed.
“Why sure!”
And they did just that, breaking the Tootsie Roll exactly in half.
The last bell rang. We only had one minute to head back to Class.
I went over to Violet and asked her what in the world did she say to Big James McMichael.
She held my hand as we walked back to Class. She never answered. At least not directly. I heard her say only one word. She said it with a mixture of frustration, admiration, and curiosity. I still remember her face when she said it:
“Boys!”
One day, after Christmas Holidays, I was walking with Violet in the Snow. We were headed over to Linda’s house to have some hot chocolate and cookies. I had a surprise for Violet. We were both still in First Grade, but it was second semester and we were older and wiser. Violet still claimed her eyes were purple. And they were…sort of. My Uncle runs a Flower Shop down by the Rapid Transit Terminal Downtown. I got him to give me a bouquet of Violets. I was going to give them to her. Hold my Mom’s compact (with its little shiny mirror) and show her how she got her name, and the right color for her eyes.
I took the tiny bouquet out of my brown paper sack. I know Violet wondered what was in it… she even asked if I brought more cookies. I had smiled at her.
“No, no cookies. Something better!”
She laughed too.
“Nothing is better than cookies!”
I had to agree. That made us both laugh until we cried.
Then I wiped my eyes. I turned her to look right at me…and with what little confidence I had (I was still just six years old) I pushed the brown paper bag up against her coat. A coat with severe large flakes of snow clinging to it. Her eyes widened with a “what is this” look. She opened the bag - a bouquet of Violets with some sprigs of green throws in was revealed. She pulled the flowers out and stared at them, then she sniffed them, then she looked at them some more.
“These are beautiful! So pretty. My gosh.”
I took my Mom’s compact out from my pocket.
“Okay, now, I want you to look at your eyes in my Mom’s mirror…please?”
She took the compact in her bright red mittened hand. I had to open if for her (I don’t wear mittens, or gloves, I don’t know why. I just don’t.). She looked in the mirror for a long time. Then she looked at the flowers in her other hand. Then back to the Mirror. Then she held the flowers next to her eyes, and looked in the mirror.
She whispered in a voice soft with wonder…bordering on awe:
“Violet. My eyes are Violet, not purple!”
Then she threw her arms around me in an unexpected (but not unappreciated) hug. She screamed into my ear:
“My name is Violet. My eyes are Violet. I am Violet.!”
We giggled and ran to some deep snow and made Snow Angels. Then we hurried to Linda’s house so Violet could show her new found discovery to her. She also wanted to know how to sign “flowers”. When Violet wasn’t looking…as we trudged up the icy steps to Linda’s house, I signed a sign Linda had taught me upon request. That sign was for:
“Beautiful.”
Violet: Childhood.(Kevin Hughes)
Author's Note:
This is the second story about Violet, a young girl who is growing into someone very Special. There were sings of her uniqueness even in First Grade. There will be more.
*****
I was only six years old when I first met Violet. She and I shared the same First Grade Class. Sister Mary Gertrude, who was as wide as she was tall, and the word “matronly” included her picture in the Dictionary, was our teacher. That first day at school we had recess. A half hour of unguided (but not unsupervised) play. The Nuns hung around the periphery like a flock of Antarctic Penguins in the black smocks and white Bibs and collars.
I was kind of a shy boy. So I just sort of walked around the fence that surrounded our “parking lot” Playground. When school was over, it went from playground to parking place for different events at the School. There was one small area with a few swings, a sand box with no sand in it, and two giant truck tires to climb over…or in. A perfect fort for the many games of the Old West, acted out by tough six year old Hombres, without a Tenderfoot among them. Today, tho, the tires lay undiscovered and unused. So I sat on the edge of the top tire.
I watched as a girl with purple eyes went over to a girl sitting on the swing. The girl on the swing was crying. The purple eyed girl lifted the crying girls head up in her own little hands.
“Why are you crying?”
To my surprise the girl on the swing made several very quick hand motions. The girl with the Purple Eyes squeaked out a:
“I don’t know what you mean. Can’t you talk?”
The little girl left the swing and stood up. She took the girl with the Purple Eyes hands and covers her own ears with them…and then her mouth too. I knew right away what was going on. My next door neighbor had a deaf daughter. I knew how to say hello and spell my name. So I leaped down from my loft perch more than three feet off the ground. I landed awkwardly and fell.
The girl with the purple eyes turned immediately, dragging the other little girls attention towards me as I clambered to my feet. They were now, both staring at a clumsy little red head who had been sprinkled with freckles across the top of his cheeks and nose. I was a bit taller than both of them, and that would change by Fourth Grade…but I would grow again in Tenth Grade…but that is later …for now, they just saw a small little red headed boy staring at them.
I spoke first, in both sign and out loud:
“She is deaf (pointing to the little girl). She can’t hear you.”
Then I pointed to myself, and signed my name. The girl lit up like a Christmas tree. She signed so fast, I had to ask her to slow down, a bunch of times. She signed her name: Linda. She asked mine (Kevin) and then pointed to the girl with purple eyes. Signing : “What’s her name?” And that is how I met Violet. And Linda. I knew how to sign “Nice to Meet you!” And that made the little girl cry…again. But in a good way.
By the end of recess, we were the three Amigos. We still are. Violet was amazing. She got a book: “The Joy of signing.” From the School Library, and with Linda as our Teacher/Guide/Tutor, and friend, we learned to communicate. Violet was a quick study…and I had to work hard to catch up. We got so good that Sister Mary Gertrude had us teach the Nuns the basic signs…and then our entire First Grade Class. Linda fit right in with all of us. Violet was the catalyst. She wanted everyone to know the belonged.
Let me tell you another story…and remember, this is a six year old girl.
Tommy Shaw lay on his back. James McMichael had put him there. James was in Third grade and already as big as any of the Sixth Graders. And he was a bully. Tommy didn’t back down…he went down, bravely. A bit of blood dripping out of his nose. Violet reached down to hand Tommy a tissue. Then she straightened up and put her little hands on her hips and stared at James. James stared back.
We had formed a circle when the fight started…and the Nuns would be cackling and screeching on their way over in a minute…once the realized what was going on. Before they could intervene the rest of us just stared at the “Face Off” between tiny little Violet and Big Jame McMichael. We thought she was going to say “pick on someone your own size!” Like you see in movies or read in books. Or maybe she was going to call him a bully…to his face! She caught us all off guard, including the bewildered James McMichael. Because she didn’t do either of those things…what she did…was this:
She walked right up to James, reached for his clenched fist and said: “Here, hold my hand, and let’s go for a walk.”
James, stunned, maybe in shock, maybe just wanting to see what was going to happen let her lead him off to walk the circumference of the fenced in Playground. Even Tommy (still holding the tissue to his now drying bloody nose) had a weird smile on his face.
“What’s she saying to him?”
We all just watched as hand in hand, deep in conversation, little Violet and Big James McMichael circled the playground…completely oblivious to the rest of us gawking at their many transits. For almost the full half hour, they walked - hand in hand. We saw Big James McMichael’s posture go from defiant, to alert, all the way down to compliant. He was walking and listening…and then…he laughed. It made us all stare harder.
Just before the first bell (warning us that there were only two minutes left in recess) Violet and Big James McMichael walked back towards the gaggle of us kids who had done nothing more that Recess than watch a little girl hold hands with a big bully and circle the yard. They marched right up to Tommy Shaw- who, to his credit, held his ground, fists balled up and ready for a second try.
Violet looked at Tommy, then at Big James McMichael…and said out loud for all of us to hear:
“Tommy, James has something to say to you…don’t you James?”
James was still holding little Violets hand. He let it drop and then kind of shrugged.
“Tommy, I’m sorry. I just…well, I was just being mean. I am sorry.”
Then we almost fell over backward when Big James McMichael reached in his pocket, pulled out a full sized Tootsie Roll, offering it to the slightly stunned Tommy Shaw.
“Here, take it. That should make us even. Is that okay?”
To our delight Tommy answered with a simple:
“Okay, but that is to much. Split it with me?”
You would have thought somebody bought Big James McMichael a new bike, or something the way he reacted to Tommy’s counter offer. He beamed.
“Why sure!”
And they did just that, breaking the Tootsie Roll exactly in half.
The last bell rang. We only had one minute to head back to Class.
I went over to Violet and asked her what in the world did she say to Big James McMichael.
She held my hand as we walked back to Class. She never answered. At least not directly. I heard her say only one word. She said it with a mixture of frustration, admiration, and curiosity. I still remember her face when she said it:
“Boys!”
One day, after Christmas Holidays, I was walking with Violet in the Snow. We were headed over to Linda’s house to have some hot chocolate and cookies. I had a surprise for Violet. We were both still in First Grade, but it was second semester and we were older and wiser. Violet still claimed her eyes were purple. And they were…sort of. My Uncle runs a Flower Shop down by the Rapid Transit Terminal Downtown. I got him to give me a bouquet of Violets. I was going to give them to her. Hold my Mom’s compact (with its little shiny mirror) and show her how she got her name, and the right color for her eyes.
I took the tiny bouquet out of my brown paper sack. I know Violet wondered what was in it… she even asked if I brought more cookies. I had smiled at her.
“No, no cookies. Something better!”
She laughed too.
“Nothing is better than cookies!”
I had to agree. That made us both laugh until we cried.
Then I wiped my eyes. I turned her to look right at me…and with what little confidence I had (I was still just six years old) I pushed the brown paper bag up against her coat. A coat with severe large flakes of snow clinging to it. Her eyes widened with a “what is this” look. She opened the bag - a bouquet of Violets with some sprigs of green throws in was revealed. She pulled the flowers out and stared at them, then she sniffed them, then she looked at them some more.
“These are beautiful! So pretty. My gosh.”
I took my Mom’s compact out from my pocket.
“Okay, now, I want you to look at your eyes in my Mom’s mirror…please?”
She took the compact in her bright red mittened hand. I had to open if for her (I don’t wear mittens, or gloves, I don’t know why. I just don’t.). She looked in the mirror for a long time. Then she looked at the flowers in her other hand. Then back to the Mirror. Then she held the flowers next to her eyes, and looked in the mirror.
She whispered in a voice soft with wonder…bordering on awe:
“Violet. My eyes are Violet, not purple!”
Then she threw her arms around me in an unexpected (but not unappreciated) hug. She screamed into my ear:
“My name is Violet. My eyes are Violet. I am Violet.!”
We giggled and ran to some deep snow and made Snow Angels. Then we hurried to Linda’s house so Violet could show her new found discovery to her. She also wanted to know how to sign “flowers”. When Violet wasn’t looking…as we trudged up the icy steps to Linda’s house, I signed a sign Linda had taught me upon request. That sign was for:
“Beautiful.”
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