The Watsons Go to Birmingham: Chapters 1–5

Dad said this would generate a little heat but he didn’t have to tell us this, it seemed like the cold automatically made us want to get together and huddle up.

Byron had just turned thirteen so he was officially a teenage juvenile delinquent and didn’t think it was “cool” to touch anybody or let anyone touch him, even if it meant he froze to death.

And he was a respectable boy too, he wasn’t a clown at all.

Dad started talking Southern-style, imitating this Hambone guy.

Ain’t got nothing against ’em, but don’t believe you’d be too happy living ’mongst a whole slew of Chinese folks. Don’t believe you’d like the food.

I went over to the Brown Bomber’s passenger side and started hacking away at the scab of ice that was all over the windows.

It was a good thing my face was numb from the cold already or I might have froze to death.

“Oh my Lord!” Momma screamed, and I thought she was going to do one of those movie-style faints, she even put her hand over her forehead and staggered back a little bit.

Joey blubbered out, “This is just like that horrible story Kenny read me about that guy Nar-sissy who stared at himself so long he forgot to eat and starved to death. Mommy, please save him!”

I’ve often told you that as Negroes the world is many times a hostile place for us.

I’ve pointed out time and time again how vital it is that one be able to read well.

I’ve stressed on numerous occasions the importance of being familiar and comfortable with literature.

And Byron Watson, if you are incapable of taking some of the fire out of your eyes I assure you I will find a way to assist you.

If, instead of trying to intimidate your young brother, you would emulate him and use that mind of yours, perhaps you’d find things much easier.

Every other time someone was late he’d just laugh at them and tell the rest of us, “This is the only way you little punks is gonna learn to be punctual. I hope that fool has a pleasant walk to school.”

This guy was real desperate for a friend because even though I wouldn’t say much back to him he kept jabbering away at me all through class.

But LJ wasn’t satisfied with doing one or two, I guess he wanted a raise, so one day he said to me, “You know, we should stop having these little fights all the time. We need to have one great big battle!”

We had a great big pile of dead dinosaurs off to the side and had to keep shaking more and more reinforcements out of the pillowcase.

When that last scarf came off there was always a real nice smell, like Joey was a little oven and inside all these clothes she’d baked up her own special perfume, with the smell of shampoo and soap and the pomade Momma put in her hair.

You’d have to be pretty tough to stand around giving people Maytags on a day as cold as this with those skimpy clothes on!

The Great Carp Escape was about a carp that was trying to get out of a net in the Flint River.

The whole upstairs smelled like a giant match and she knew something was fishy even before she got to the top step.

They danced into the living room and Joey started looking nervous. She ran over and huddled up next to me.

It was hard to do, but I kind of felt sorry for Byron, though not too sorry because I knew he deserved whatever happened, first because he had a chance to escape and didn’t take it and second because he was being a bad influence on me.

Joey climbed off Momma’s lap and Byron’s eyes got bigger and bigger but his traitor hands kept him pinned to the couch.