I waited until we were all seated at the dinner table, deliberately breaking my mother’s rule forbidding conversation that could be disruptive to our digestion. As my mother served fried chicken, I said, “I have some news.”
My father placed a chicken breast on his plate and looked to me. My mother tossed the salad. “Oil and vinegar okay?” She proceeded to pour the mixture without our input or acknowledging me.
“Maddy,” my father said. “Sam said he has news.”
My mother stopped tossing the salad and looked at me, but before I could utter a word, her eyes went wide in anticipation. “Is it the class valedictorian? Oh, Sam, I knew you would get it. I knew it. I’m so proud of you.”
“I didn’t get it,” I said.
My mother slowly set down the wooden utensils and slumped into her seat in silence. “What do you mean?”
“I mean they chose Ernie,” I said.
We listened to the hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the clock in an awkward silence my father finally broke. “Well, that’s quite an honor for Ernie, isn’t it? We’ll have to call the Cantwells and congratulate them. Won’t we, Maddy?”
But my mother did not answer. Her mouth was pinched tight, and her brow furrowed. She turned her head to avoid crying in front of me.
I stood and walked to her, placing my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom,” I said.
“No,” my mother said, crying tears of anger. “It’s not okay, Samuel.” Then she did something I had not heard up to that day or since. She swore. “Damn it! It is not okay! Those members of the board of trustees are cowards. All of them are nothing but a bunch of cowards.”
“Maddy,” my dad said. “Let’s not be ungracious.”
“Why not?” she seethed. “Everybody else is.”
“Ernie’s had it rough, too,” I said, trying to be sympathetic to the racism Ernie had endured. Inside, however, the pain was excruciating, and I wondered if I’d be able to face Ernie again without bitterness.
“You earned this, Samuel,” my mother said. “You earned this, and they are not going to take this away from you. Tomorrow morning I am going to make some calls and let them know they can’t—”
“No,” I said, interrupting her. “No calls, Mom.”
“This is not right. It is not right.”
“No calls,” I repeated, with a firmness that gave both my parents pause. “Maybe it isn’t right. But it’s the way it is. Okay? It’s the way it is, and the sooner we all realize this, the better it will be. We won’t be getting our hopes up for things that are unreachable.” I sat back down. “Do you remember the time you said that the sooner I learned to accept the fact that I was different, the sooner I could learn to deal with it?”
“I never said any such thing to you.”
“To Dad,” I said. “When I didn’t get accepted to OLM and you went to that reporter friend of yours and it was all over the news. Dad said it would have been better to just let me blend in, and you said that could never happen because I can’t blend in and the sooner I learned to accept it, the better.”
“Samuel, that is not what—”
“I’ve accepted it, Mom. I’ve accepted who I am. Okay? I’m not a kid who’s going to get picked to play kickball, or to be the lead in the school play. I’m not going to be invited to parties or be chosen class valedictorian. I’m not. And I’m okay with that.” It sounded convincing, though I wasn’t okay with it. It hurt like hell, rejection. And the pain lingered like an open wound that, just as it started healing, was ripped open again.