My journey from grades six to eight in Scituate, Massachusetts was both eye-opening and challenging. I was only twelve years old, so I didn’t understand the culture change I was going to experience in those first three years. As I look back, I now know how those years shaped my life not just in my teens but well into my twenties. Even today as I weave my way through my sixties, those years taught me lessons that I still cherish today. When I think back to those years in Scituate do I have things I wish I could change “Yes” but those years and those lessons are responsible for me becoming the person I am today.
It is a challenge to try and remember what I was feeling fifty years ago, but I will do my best to share the stories that most stand out in my mind. It was September 1976 when my brothers and I set out on our journey to Scituate. I remember our first bus driver. We called him Mr. Jerry. He would pick up my brothers and I first. I think of all the bus drivers we had; he was my favorite. I don’t know if I ever told my brothers this, but when kids were bullying me, Mr. Jerry stood up for me. When Mr. Jerry was around, no one bothered me. As a twelve-year-old my vision of White people was developed by what I saw on television and family conversations. We were the children and grandchildren of Black people who lived through some of the worst times of racism 1940s to 1970s. My experience is based on the stories I overheard. I remember one of my uncles giving me the playbook on how to act around White people. Mr. Jerry was the first White person who contradicted everything I saw and heard. He looked out for me, and he didn’t care about my skin color. He was about standing up for what was right.
The Scituate Elementary School went to the sixth grade. When I think about that time, there is one story that comes to mind. We had a cake baking contest and any student could enter and the class would choose the best cake. At that time, we were living at my grandparents’ house. I made a German chocolate cake with coconut frosting. It was the first cake I ever made on my own. When we got to class, I saw all the fancy cakes and thought to myself, “Their parents made those cakes.” The kid that won had a red, white, and blue cake shaped in the numbers 76 (Not to be confused with 6-7) to represent the bicentennial. I came in last place. My friends and many people in my family said I lost because I was black, but my mother took a different route. She told me that I should be proud of what I was able to accomplish on my own. You took on the challenge and followed the rules of the contest. She said to me that you are the winner in my eyes. She said that if I live my life in that way there is nothing I can’t accomplish. Today I understood what she meant but then all I could see was the unfairness of it all.
When I got to Junior High School that was the time, I found my music voice. It was my way of feeling excepted. It was something I was good at because I struggled as a student especally when it came to reading and writing. What I struggle to accomplish in my studies, I accomplish in music. I was chosen to sing the song “Silent Night” to the then Governor Dukakis and his wife Kitty. It was on a show called “For Kids Only.” I remember sitting in the living room at our apartment at Academy Court and my whole family was there watching PBS on Christmas day and there I was singing on TV to the Governor. It was the first time I felt I was seen and heard. I remember my mother telling everyone, “I told you he could sing.” I will always cherish that moment.
In my next chapter I will share with you the moment I felt both included and excluded.
I want to take this moment to remember the Reverend Jesse Jackson. He was a leader in the Civil Rights Movement. What I remember most as a young child was his speech, “I am Somebody.” These were words I repeated in my mind during my teenage years.
Rest in Peace Rev, Jackson
Charles Redd RN
Dignity Freedom Fighter
Dignity Freedom Fighter 