Mr. Henderson's Class - Part 2

On Saturday afternoon a few students from Mr. Henderson’s class met in Anaka Clark’s basement.

“Wow,” said Jordan. “Are these your Grandfather’s records?”

“All 538,” said Anaka. “I had to take inventory last week. He said they’d all belong to me one day, including the record player. But I don’t want them. I didn’t tell him that, though. He’s very sensitive. It would break his heart.”

“Harry Belafonte’s Calypso hits,” said Lewis. “What the heck’s a calypso?”

“Put that back,” said Anaka. “My grampa’s very fussy about his records. Every one of them is in alphabetical and chronological order.”

“I’d take them all in a minute,” said Jordon. “They’re like musical fingerprints from another age.”

“Yeah,” said Lewis, “the stone age.”

“You listen to that girl,” said a voice from the stairs. “And put that record back where you found it.”

The woman made her way down the stairs, carrying a tray of iced-tea.

“Hello,” said the woman. “My name is Mattie. “I thought you young ones might be thirsty,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Anaka. “We’re supposed to be writing a song, but don’t know how to get it started.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” said Mattie. “You know how much I love music. I might have a few ideas. When I was a child in Trinidad, I would write songs all the time, don’t you know. But I never wrote them down. It didn’t seem necessary at the time. I was too busy having fun to worry about such things. I would make them up and sing as I danced along the beach. It was such big fun for me.”

“Do you remember any of the songs?” said Jordan.

“There were so many,” said Mattie. "That was the 50’s, don’t you know, and the white tourists would come by the plane load. I was blacker than most of the other’s on the island. And those tourists, sitting in their beach chairs under a blazing sun, were so white. It was quite the contrast. It used to hurt my eyes just to look at them. I used to sing about that. It would make me laugh. How fortunate I was to be me and not have to blind others with my glow. Sometimes when I take Anaka to the beach it reminds me of those times. Anaka’s a little too pale for the sun. I make her wear a shirt.”

“Yeah,” said Anaka. “Thanks for that. She treats me like a two year old.”

“You’ll be thanking me later in life,” said Mattie, “when your skin is not wrinkled and ugly like a baked potato.”

“Your funny,” said Lewis. “I wish my family could afford a housekeeper.”

“Uh, oh,” said Anaka. “You better duck, Lewis. Tornado wind’s coming your way.”

“What?” said Lewis.

“Housekeeper?” said Mattie. “What has you thinking I’m the housekeeper?”

“Um,” said Lewis. “You, um, brought us iced tea?”

“So you’re thinking Anaka doesn’t get her iced tea unless it’s brought in special by the housekeeper?”

“No, ma’am,” said Lewis. “It’s just that I, um, I-“

“Don’t think before you speak?” said Mattie.

“Something like that, I suppose,” said Lewis.

“Maybe you’re supposing we have a valet in the White House who runs the country when he’s not pressing someone’s trousers? Or maybe we have ourselves a shoe shine boy sitting on the United States Supreme Court? Who, on occasion, makes a decision affecting the lives of millions?”

“I meant no harm,” said Leis. “I can be an idiot sometimes.”

“Then let us start from the beginning,” said Mattie. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Matilda Jones. I am Anaka’s grandmother. Yes, I married me a white man. A very decadent thing to do in the 60’s, don’t you know. And as much as he still hurts my eyes when he’s out in the sun, I love my husband still. So, young Lewis, the next time you see a black woman on the street, step out of your way of thinking and dwell on the possibilities. See the artist, the lawyer, the wife, the mother, and, yes, maybe even the housekeeper. But always step out of a certain way of thinking before thinking housekeeper. It will make you the better person, don’t you know?”

“Sounds good,” said Lewis.

“Now what’s all this about a song?” said Mattie.

“It’s a class project,” said Anaka. “We’re to write a song about getting along.”

“Then you’ve come to the right person,” said Mattie. “I know all about getting along. People always fight change, don’t you know. So, sometimes you got to push it on them. But you do it with a smile. It usually works in my favor. When it doesn’t, you got to stand your ground and put up your dukes. That’s how my grammy would put it. But start with a smile. I remember one I used to sing as a child on the beach. Let’s see, it went something like this,

You’ve got to simplify
You’re life, man
Go jump in the sand
And have a little dance

Simplify your life, man
Think out of the world
And take a little chance

"I don’t remember any more than that. But you have yourselves a chorus. You can make up your own verses. For now, I have to wake your grandfather from his nap. He’s terrible grumpy when he oversleeps, don’t you know. Good day, for now, children.”

The children bid Mattie goodbye and scoured the basement for some proper musical instruments.

They were on there way.