Another Round of Shame
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Another Round of Shame
Alabama was hot and humid in the summer but it was cold in my heart. Deep down I knew I was an uninvited person. Who was I to believe that this was my home? My home was situated in Mobile, Alabama. It was a modest home, with high ceilings a dusty banister, floors of polished timber and simple carved furniture in the upholstery. But what was home without Pa?
The oppressive weather was suffocating me as I closed my eyes and laid on the couch, all my thoughts swirled into one. I could never forget that very day. It was a tedious Saturday evening when the two officers invaded into my sense of belonging. Two figures knocked furiously on my unhinged, worn out door. It creaked and let out a loud moan to the abrupt entrance of two unfamiliar people.
“Mr Crawford, Mr Cra-a-wford.” The sing song tone mocked the mere presence of mine as I stood firm on my own two feet. They came draped in long identical coats with a musty stench. Their immediate arrogance and stance proved them to be of high authority.
“Wheres your Papa lassie?” His simple words were filled with spite directed to black people feeling like a fresh slap on the face.
“Uhm, Mr Cra-w, uh I mean Pa is ” I stuttered and fumbled over my clumsy words. I felt my stupidity and embarrassment as I flushed into a bright shade of red with my foolish response. I felt so helpless and inferior just by the disgust he had in his eyes at me.