Emerging Courageous online
Magazine
- Stories
Miss
Emma
by Jaye Lewis
Two things I learned, on my fifth birthday. I learned
that I was "white trash," and I learned what it means to be a
"lady."
I was a wild, child of the south, living in a sharecropper's cabin, on the back of an old cotton plantation. Half naked, barefoot, and dirty, I had free reign on my surroundings. We were "dirt" poor, and nothing was ever going to change. Then, I met Miss Emma.
Our dilapidated fence lay right up against her pristine, white picket fence. Miss Emma owned a private Kindergarten and daycare, and day after day I watched the girls and boys, in their beautiful clothes, play games, and have parties, with frosted cakes, and tea, in china cups.
I don't think that I existed to the other children, until the day of my fifth birthday. Miss Emma had always been kind to me, talking to me as though I was interesting; laughing at my jokes, and smiling at me with her soft, warm eyes.
Suddenly, that day, I was noticed by the other children, and they began to call me names. "Redneck!" "Cropper!" "White trash!" I had no idea what they meant, but I would yell back, calling them "sissies" and such.
Miss Emma hurried over, and, with a look, she made the children hush. She then did something, both wonderful and terrifying! She invited me to come over for tea. Oh, I wanted to go to her school, more than anything, but nothing was free, in 1951, in the south.
"...But, Miss Emma, I don't have pretty clothes...."
"Oh, don't worry," she assured me, "just come as you are! We're having cake...and ice-cream!"
I ran and asked my mother. She mildly mentioned my clothes, but I didn't care how I looked, and I didn't want to miss a second! I got my way. I couldn't wait! I climbed the fence and ran over to where all the children were about to line up in their pretty, little chairs.
I don't remember what game we were playing, but all of a sudden, all the children were laughing and pointing. I started to laugh, too, until I realized they were pointing at me! I looked down to see what they were pointing at, and there I beheld my filthy, naked feet.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I heard. "Look at the white trash! Look at the dirty, white trash!"
It's amazing how quickly I got the message. I burst into tears, and I sobbed. Immediately, Miss Emma was at my side. "Stop. STOP!" She commanded. "How cruel! Jesus would be so sad! Don't you know that Jesus walked on dirty roads, wearing sandals?! Jesus had dirty feet!"
All the children stopped laughing, lowering their eyes. I was still making the "breathy" sobs of a brokenhearted child.
Miss Emma put her arm around me, gently leading me to her house. "Come on, honey. We'll fix this. Everything will be all right. You'll see." The other children followed, as Miss Emma led me into the front door of her house, down the hall, and into the prettiest bathroom I had ever seen.
"Here, honey," she said, as she gently lifted me into the tub. "You sit here on the edge of the tub, and I'll wash your feet." There was stunned silence, all around. I said nothing, as I felt the warm water and the soap envelope my feet and legs. As Miss Emma's beautiful hands stroked my feet and legs, I felt the ice melt from around the corners of my heart.
As she ministered to me, her lovely head down, her hands soothing my feet, and her compassion healing my heart, Miss Emma said to us all, "Remember, Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, and He commanded us to do the same."
I don't remember much more of the day. The children were more kind, and I got to eat cake and ice-cream on my birthday. I had learned what it felt like to be called "white trash," and Miss Emma taught me that a "lady" is a soft spoken woman, with a compassionate heart.
Jaye Lewis (c) jlewis@smyth.net