SPELLING MISSISSIPPI: THE COUSIN KENNY CHRONICLES (VOL. 9)

Growing up in the South, my town was part of the last school district in America still adhering to forced busing as part of a larger desegregation policy. Consequently, my elementary school was 40% black even though the black population of my town was less than 5%...As such, for many of us white kids, it was the first and only experience we had with black culture.

I recall one Spring day, in school, we were learning to spell the names of all 50 states...The teacher would go around the room, in a clockwise manner, selecting students to spell a particular state...Connie spelled Vermont...Kendra spelled Maryland..and I spelled Kansas...Then the teacher called on CL.

CL was a black boy who was missing the top half of the index finger on his right hand...He was poor and he wore his big brother's old pants that were held up, not by a belt, but by one of those extra large safety pins people used to use to fasten cloth diapers...he smelled like cat piss...but he didn't have a cat...and his head was nappy...or so said the other black boys...he liked to draw pictures of dogs in country settings even though he lived in the projects where dogs weren't allowed.

"CL"?...the teacher asked..."Can you spell Mississippi"?...CL didn't answer...but he was moving kinda funny...his legs were shaking and his fists were drawn into a ball..."CL"?...the teacher asked again..."Spell Mississippi".

CL then took two steps back away from his desk...and then several of the other black kids, boys and girls, got out of their seats and rushed to stand beside him...and inexplicably, without warning, they began clapping...and shuffling their feet...and jiving to and fro like chickens in a barnyard...then they commenced to chanting and gesturing..."M" (and they all raised their hands up and touched their heads with both hands as to form the letter "M")..."I" (and they all stopped, stood straight up, hands to their side, to form the letter "I")..."crooked letter...crooked letter" (and they all swirled their hips around as if to form the letters "S...S")..."I" (and they stopped again, placing their hands to their sides to form the letter "I"..."crooked letter...crooked letter" (and they all swirled their hips around again to form the letters "S...S")..."I" (and again they stopped, grinning ear to ear, and placed their hands to their sides to form the letter "I"..."humpback humpback" (and they all bent at the waist while arching their backs like a cripped old man) to form the letters "P..P"..."I" (stopping for the last time, they again placed their hands to their sides to form the letter "I".

And then, as suddenly as it had started...the strange dance stopped...and they all returned to their seats...saying nothing more...the teacher stood there...seemingly not surprised at all (undoubtedly, as a veteran teacher, she had seen this dance before)...but the rest of us sat in wide-eyed amazement...in complete shock...this was unlike anything we had seen before...This shucking and jiving was new to us all...Our collective judgment of the performance had not yet been rendered before the teacher called on the next student, Russell, a freckled faced red headed boy who lived on a nearby tobacco farm.

"Russell"?...the teacher asked..."How do you spell Florida"?..."I don't know"... he said, pointing across the room to one of the black boys that had helped spell Mississippi..."but don't ask THAT ni**er how to spell Weesiana"

Cousin Kenny
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