Thirty Cents Worth

Whispering voices and laughter filled the hallways of my school as I walked with my friend toward our next class. I resisted the impulse (冲动) to become yet another person using these few moments to judge others in order to make myself feel better. I repeated to myself, “Thirty cents”, as I continued to walk in silence, something I rarely did. My friend dug her elbow into my side and complained, “That’s just annoying. Why would anyone want blue hair? It’s unbearable!” I thought before my tongue sprang into action. Ordinarily, I would just give the expected giggle and nod-but for some reason, I hesitated this time.

My thoughts turned back to the previous Sunday afternoon. After flying through the house grabbing and tossing things into my soccer bag, I discovered that I was out of Blister—Block Band-Aids (防起泡创可贴),an essential for the next day’s game. My mom dropped me off and promised me she’d be right back. I rushed inside and grabbed the goods.

There was a line at the register, as usual, and I waited my turn. I slowed down for a minute and examined the man in front of me. I was shocked. He was old and had a smell of gasoline and cigarettes. His hair was messy and reached below his shoulders. He wore a red vest covered with dust and jeans faded beyond recognition. His blue eyes were glassy and tired, and his dark red face was deeply wrinkled by hard times.

He reached the counter and greeted the saleswoman with a nod. She turned away her eyes as he pointed to the cigarettes behind the counter. She grabbed the carton (香烟纸盒) he was pointing to and quickly rang him up (用收银机收下了钱). He grabbed the plastic bag and slowly walked away.

Hardly had he left the counter when I gave her four one-dollar bills and the Band-Aids as she nodded in agreement with my disgust.

“Sorry,” she said. “You’re thirty cents short.”

“Oh, no. I don’t have thirty cents! My mom isn’t here. She’ll be right back. Can I run out to the car real quick?” As I was trying to explain my case, the cashier was visibly annoyed by the delay I was causing.

I could feel the blood rush to my face as the people behind me in line started complaining.

“That’s okay. It’s only thirty cents,“ the man said with a warm smile and a wink.

There was a pretty strict system of segregation (种族隔离)in Atlanta. For a long, long time I could not go swimming. until there was a Negro YMCA(黑人基督教青年会). A Negro child in Atlanta could not go to any public park. I could not go to the so-called white schools. In many of the stores downtown, I couldn’t go to a lunch counter to buy a hamburger or a cup of coffee. I could not attend any of the theaters. There were one or two Negro theaters, but they didn’t get any of the main pictures. If they did get them, they got them two or three years later.

I had grown up hating not only segregation but also the cruel acts that grew out of it. I had seen police violence with my own eyes, and watched Negroes receive the most tragic injustice in the courts. I can remember the organization known as the Ku Kux Klan. It stands out white supremacy(至高无上), and it was an organization that in those days even used violent methods to preserve segregation and to keep the Negro in his place. I remember seeing the Klan actually beat Negro. I had passed spots where Negroes had been savagely lynched (用私刑). All of these things did something to my growing personality.

In my late childhood and early adolescence, two incidents happened that had a tremendous effect on my development. The first was the first empty seats at the front of the store. A young white clerk came up and murmured politely:

”I’ll be happy to wait on you if you’ll just move to those seats in the back. “

Dad immediately replied, ”There’s nothing wrong with these seats. We’re quite comfortable here. “

”Sorry, “said the clerk, ”but you’ll have to move. “

”We’ll either buy shoes sitting here, “my father said quickly, ”or we won’t buy shoes at all. "

Therefore he took me by the hand and walked out of the store.

I remember riding with him another day when he accidentally drove past a stop sign.

Growing up on a goldfish farm is something treasured (珍爱). My great grandfather started Hunting Fisheries in the late 1920s and grew it over time. He passed it onto my father and aunt. The place was magical. The farm sat in a natural wetland surrounded by a forest. In the morning, the mist (薄雾) would rise from the fishponds (鱼塘), creating an amazing wonderland. But underneath this beauty was a lot of hard work. The days were long, and the tasks were endless. I remember my dad working countless hours on the farm. He poured himself into his job. Because of his enthusiasm for work, he had to miss many occasions that were important to me. I wrote a phrase to try to change his mind: “Of course you have to go to work. The fish don’t know it’s my birthday.”

Last week, my birthday was coming.

Fish in the pond jumped up and down.