Travis's Story

TRAVIS’S STORY It is amazing how much the color of my skin affects me. I am fifteen years old and I have been reminded constantly of the effects of my skin color. When I was a little boy, I lived in a very small apartment with my mother, father, grandma, and aunt. It probably sounds terrible to you, but I didn’t mind it much. I liked how close we all were and how my family seemed larger. I slept in the main room of our home and had to wake up quite early each morning in order to get any time in the bathroom. The entire floor of the apartment shared one bathroom. My typical morning began with my mother’s voice and the rush of early morning light surrounding me and lifting me from my dreams. My mother is an amazing woman, no matter how much I dragged my feet or refused to open my eyes, she never lost her temper. Once I would finally get up I would have to speed to that bathroom. I never understood how a hot water tank could run out of water in less than five minutes, but that’s what I was used to. Upon my return from the bathroom, my father was usually anxiously waiting for his turn to brave the arctic water. Mother would always have breakfast prepared and ready for me. I loved her food, it was always hot and somehow she always knew what I wanted to eat. On any normal day my father would return to the tiny apartment somewhat more agitated than before. Although it never made sense to me at the time, money was always an issue in our family. When I would ask for some money to get a ride to school my mother would almost always say that it was much better for me to walk. I mean I understood that we did not have much, but then why couldn’t I work? I would suggest that I go and help carry out groceries to earn a little extra money, but my offer was always rejected. My grandma mentioned something about morals and that money wasn’t everything. Honestly though, money was almost everything. If we would have had more money we could have had more food and a better place to live. Our needs would have easily been met with a little extra cash. Anyway, other than the slight lack of money there was only one thing that I did not enjoy about my little life. To explain this you need to think of a time when you wished your parents would just leave you alone and stop telling you what to do all of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but let’s be honest, we have all been there. Now imagine that times four! Since we were all so close, everyone thought it was their job to parent me! It wasn’t till one day at my friend’s house did I really start to realize the difference between me and other kids my age. It was a sunny day in August when I was at my friend Billy’s house. We wanted to ask his parents if he we could take our bikes out to a pond just outside the town. I patiently waited, expecting for the decision to be made after a lengthy discussion of all the possibly out comes, pros and cons, ways to get there and all the ways we could get injured. The talk of injury would then of course lead to a story of how grandma killed a chicken that one time in who knows where and somehow that would lead to a life lesson. Before I knew it the tea was already hot for the afternoon and the chat that would follow. Meanwhile little me, who has been sitting here on the verge of tears all this time contemplating whether or not they would even notice if I just left. But no, his mother just replied “oh that’s fine dear!” Are you kidding? Oh she’s joking right! That’s not her real answer! No, that’s not possible… is it? Hold on, am I still breathing? Oh that’s fine dear?! What has happened to this planet and what did I ever do to make god hate me? Why couldn’t I ever get a simple answer such as this? I didn’t even care about biking any more. It had felt like someone shattered the world I lived in! I went straight home with the full intent of releasing a full blown court case on my family and demanding that they all resign from whatever positions of authority they held in my life. I was almost to the door when a strange looking man with a weird looking mustache hurried past me with a disgusted look on his face. At first I thought he was making the face at me, but then I heard some of my friends laughing and screaming about some rat that this guy had apparently tripped over. My mind completely lost track of my new outlook on my family and I ran to see the rat. This was no ordinary rat! It was huge! I spent close to an hour chasing that thing around our mostly brown front yard. I was having a lot of fun when I heard someone from upstairs in the apartment call my name. I ran up to find that mustache man in my apartment. My entire family was standing around our kitchen table with the man. Grandma called me over and told me to stand by my father. I was confused; I didn’t know what was going on, something about money, morals and keeping a neighborhood nice. I got lost in all of the grown up talk until finally my father explained to me that we would be moving to a much bigger and better house in the country. A shock ran through me and I didn’t know what to do! I would have my own room. I would have my own space. Our family would have our very own bathroom and would never have to share with other families again.