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For me, it started the day after my 15th birthday.
I had suffered through the embarrassing ordeal of having my mother be one of my teachers in the spring semester. The ending of the school year trumpeted, for me the end of school, the beginning of summer which started of my celebrated birthday. Despite my parents, both educators in the local school system, being nearly over bearing and puritanically conservative people, they were very considerate when they came to throwing my birthdays.
However, it is at that time when I started to be aware of issues, like that what passed as “conservative” opinion in the house I grew up in was really just bigoted monger-ing. I had learned that individuals of color, regardless of ability seldom scored as well as other Caucasian and Asian students in my parents classes. They both were considered hard teachers, but over the years, one would hear things at the house and the rumors in halls at school.
So, the last semester before my 15th birthday, I did a little experiment. Having been a top student, possessing exceptional study skills as is typical with any one that has teachers as parents, I knew that the I would produce an “A” paper. I knew a girl from an African American family that was a nice gal, but seldom ever received a grade higher than a “B,” She was typically upset with the grades, which previously I put down to seething jealousy and lesser abilities. But, I still had to know. So, I switched papers with her. I had put the most work that I have ever done on any report that I had ever worked on in school, and knew it would finish the year for me with straight A’s.
The gal, Tina, agreed to do so. Unfortunately, my fears were confirmed. Tina received an “C+” and I received my typical “A.” I couldn’t recall being more confused and disappointed in how unfair that it was. I walked around in a shocked state through the last two days of school and the through the following week to my birthday. I didn’t even find solace in running all day on the tennis courts as I had, even two weeks earlier.
So, that following Monday, when educators are still at school, I was home alone, looking at the nifty birthday gifts, which included the Michael Jackson’s Thriller Album. I remember opening that and seeing the disapproval in my mothers eyes. It was the greatest album then and every one wanted it and a friend had got it for me. So, dressing in a tennis skirt, tee shirt, and bobbie socks, I grabbed my Prince racket bag that contained all my tennis equipment and rode my bike to the courts to try to but this whole matter behind me again.
It was then I decided that I would peddle by Tina’s house, which was really out of the way, but I felt that I had to apologize to her for my family and the unfortunate discoveries I had made. Even though I was barely past five feet in height, the tennis and bike riding had made my 110 pounds agreeable to my tennis outfits. I had “discovered” what boys liked at a dance during the fall semester for Homecoming. I was not impressed with the jittery and uncertain way that they seemed to all possess in abundance.
So, in the hot morning, I had no idea as to what I was really going to say when I got there. But when I did arrive and learned that Tina had already left for one of a couple band camps that she would be at this summer (she being a really talented musician, something that I wasn’t) from her father, who was home for a while the local plant shut down for two weeks of maintenance and upkeep. Her father, it struck me was not as old as my parents, and after some cajoling from him, I explained why I was there.
It turned out that he recalled my mother, who he described as a bitch, and knew all along that she didn’t like blacks. The name calling of my mother was a cold bucket of water in my face. Here was a man calling my mother a bitch with out a second thought. It turned out that he had my mother for a teacher shortly after his parents, Tina’s grand parents, moved to the area. He too had been a good student before, but couldn’t ever get higher than a “B-“ Hr recalled that he was blistered good when he brought those grades home by his father. After years of substandard grades, they just learned that grades for blacks from my mother were never going to be any higher. My mother was a bigoted racist it turned out.
I nearly broke in to tears. I didn’t want to hear it, but already knew it. Tommie, as he wanted to be called, had not gotten the scholarships he needed to get into a more prestigious college and settled for the community college, where he did receive better grades, but a diploma from the local community college didn’t carry the weight of a more reputable college did. As a result, for the last 15 years, he had been scratching out a living at the local wood mill. You could see that his lot I life wasn’t what he had planned and the welling of memories only served to make him more bitter.
His commanding presence was immense. I had been aware that Tina had lost her mother in a car accident along with her surviving grandfather on a trip back to see family out of state. As the accident happened away from the town, the local press barely paid any attention and this man was supporting his family on his own. Two more children, both younger than Tina, would yet experience the set backs of veiled racism in the schools, and much latter, life in general.
I was overwhelmed with regret and needed to make amends for the difficulties that my parents had caused him. I said as much.
“Well now girlie, I can hardly have the beating that my pa used to hand out because of the grades I received taken back,” he smirked.
“No, you’re right, you can’t. My mom should have gotten the spankings instead,” I blurted out. “But I can try to make it up for you. I can cook and clean for you and take care of your other daughters when you return to work.”
“The two youngens have gone to their aunts for part of the summer. My wife’s sister spends time with them as a surrogate mother for the two. They have not yet gotten past their momma’s passing.” He added reverently. “So, unfortunately, aside from a little cleaning for the next two weeks, there isn’t much you can do.”
But I could see that his mind was racing. Out of some where in my mind, I said quickly, “how about you take the spankings that my mom should have received and that you got out on me?” I quickly, “please.”
“I don’t think that would be the best solution and not really enough to make up for things.” he chided gently.
“Please, I will do what ever I have to make for everything. I swear,” I said, nearly pleading with him.
“I don’t think that you know what you are actually offering sweetie.” He stated, but it came out as a question.
“Yes I do, I really do.” I said, not really knowing what I offered, being swept away by the tides of emotions.
“Are you serious?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes I am!” I responded emphatically.
“So, you are willing to be a servant for me?”
“Yes I am!” I responded again.
“Well, today I will need to watch you clean the dishes.” he said.
He motioned over to the sink. There were only a couple dishes in the basin. He sat in a chair at the table in the kitchen as I walked over to the sink. I felt a wonderful ease as I ran the water and knew that he was watching me in my skirt from behind. My plump little butt bulging the tennis skirt out. I thought quickly that I had wished that I hadn’t worn the liner panties with them. Then I could give him a little tease.
Om short order I finished the dishes, dried them and put them away. When I turned to him, he did appear to have appreciated my efforts to sway a little and said in a flat tone, “if you come back tomorrow, I will know that you are serious about being a little slave. There will be a test” With that, he ushered me out the door and gave me a stinking swat on my behind.
The ride back to my house was an ordeal. I was wet thinking about the swat and making things up for him that I knew that I would gladly do what ever he wanted.
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