My Name Is River Blue (3 page)

For the next few
years, I continued to endure emotional abuse from people in my foster homes and
schools. Although I tried to hide the hurt, my anger grew more difficult for me
to control, and I gradually changed into a boy who was not willing to be a
passive victim of bigotry and bullying.

***

When there was
an opening with a foster family, Mr. Bonner and Mrs. Glover selected one of the
boys they thought might fit well with that family and moved him on a trial
basis. If it was a good match, it freed up needed space in the boys home for
those boys with severe behavioral problems that no foster family wanted. I
wasn't one of the wacko boys, and Mrs. Glover was successful in finding a few
families willing to take me, but none of the placements ended well.

I was almost
eight years old when Mrs. Glover took me to live with the Abernathy family. On
the long ride to their small farm in the country, my caseworker casually
mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy and their two teenage children were
African-Americans. She hoped that I was okay with that because she had no other
options for me at the time. I told her it was fine with me, if it was fine with
them, and she informed me that they already knew all about me and really wanted
me. I gave her the biggest grin I could, and she visibly relaxed her pale, chubby
face. I was so excited that I began giggling and soon, Mrs. Glover was giggling
right along with me.

The Abernathy
farm was so far out in the country that I had to change schools and I still had
a long bus ride back and forth to an old elementary school building that the
county condemned two years after I left it. I'm not sure how close the nearest
neighbor was, but I remember that I could not see another house in any
direction, and we had to ride several miles towards town before I saw anything
but woods or farmland.

Mr. Abernathy owned
a small general repair business in the Grovetown community. On his farm, he grew
vegetables, most of which he sold to regular customers and to people driving by
his roadside stand next to the entrance to his long driveway. There were plenty
of vegetables left over to feed his family, and I learned the difference
between eating fresh vegetables and the crap I had eaten at the boys home. Mrs.
Abernathy was a great cook and homemaker in addition to helping with the garden
and the vegetable stand.

The Abernathy
children were Marcus, who was eighteen, and Tasha, who was fifteen. Marcus was
a senior in high school and a huge, standout football player who would be
attending college on an athletic scholarship. Tasha was a freshman whose
favorite activity was talking to boys. Both of them had daily chores to do, and
when I moved in with them, Mr. Abernathy assigned light chores to me that he
thought I was old enough to handle.

After only a week,
I wanted to stay with the Abernathy family and make the farm my permanent home.
I felt that I belonged there, and not only because everyone was kind to me, but
because I enjoyed the country. Living on the Abernathy farm was the beginning
of my love for the outdoors where every day was an adventure for a little boy. As
much as I explored the farm and the surrounding woods, I was lucky that I never
lost my way.

Usually a foster
kid would have his own room, but the Abernathy home was an exception. Since
they only had three bedrooms in the house, I shared Marcus's bedroom and slept
on a single bed across from his double. He also had his own bathroom that he
allowed me to use. Sharing was easy because we couldn't have gotten along any
better than we did, and I quickly developed a case of hero worship for the big
football player.

Mr. Abernathy
gave Marcus the opportunity to learn more responsibility when he told his son
that he was in charge of me. My new big brother supervised my homework and
chores. He made sure that I took a bath every day, got to bed on time, and was
up early enough in the mornings to dress, eat breakfast, and make it to the school
bus on time. Marcus took the job of caring for me seriously, and I think he liked
having a little brother.

Marcus made me feel
wanted and worthy, and he always had time to answer questions and teach me. Had
I been older, I would have understood that he knew a thing or two about
prejudice and that it was important to him to help me build my self-esteem.

The Abernathy house
was old, and although Mr. Abernathy had modernized some parts of it, Marcus's
bathroom still had a huge, claw foot tub with no showerhead. I was used to taking
showers with Sean in the big communal bathroom at the boys home, but I thought
using the tub could be fun.

The first night
that I took a bath, I stood in the bathroom watching Marcus run the water for
me until it was deep enough and warm enough. Since the tub was the
old-fashioned, deep kind, Marcus had to lift me over the side, but he promised
to find a stool so that I could get in the tub without anyone's help. I told
him that Sean washed my hair, so I didn't get shampoo in my eyes, and he agreed
to help me. The difference was that he showed me how to do it and expected me
to learn to be independent. That's how Marcus did things. He helped me when I
needed it, but he taught me to do as much as I could on my own. Mr. Abernathy
made a stool for me, and I was proud that I never needed Marcus's help with my
bath again.

"River,
don't you ever forget that knowledge is power. Learn everything you can, so you
can always be your own man." I'm sure that Marcus was passing on the
wisdom that his father shared with him when he was a young boy. It sounded very
much like Mr. Abernathy.

The best I can
remember, Marcus was the first person who told me that the birthmark on my
chest resembled the state of Florida. Sadie explained that I had a birthmark,
but she never mentioned Florida. Marcus had to show me a map of Florida before
I understood what he meant. He was certainly not the last person to make the
comparison.

After my bath
that first night, Marcus helped dry me with the biggest, softest towel I had
ever used, and he tied it around me before he watched me brush my teeth. When
he was satisfied that I did a good job, we left the bathroom and met Mrs.
Abernathy, who gave me a new pair of cartoon pajamas. I remember how proud I
was to have something new, and how important I felt when she told me I looked good
in them. When she took me to the family room to show me off to Mr. Abernathy,
he tried to convince me that he liked my pajamas so much that he was going to buy
the same kind for him. I knew he was joking, but he enjoyed teasing me until he
had me laughing as hard as I could.

While Marcus was
using the bathroom, Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy tucked me into bed and each of them gave
me a kiss on my cheek before saying goodnight and leaving the room.

When Marcus
finished in the bathroom, he ran to my bed, pulled up my pajama top and blew
raspberries on my belly. I giggled until tears ran from my eyes, and I was a very
happy boy when he gave me a strong hug before crawling into his own bed for the
night. I will never forget how gentle and caring that big black giant was to a
little kid who badly needed to be loved.

While my
experiences that first night might have been routine for a regular kid with a good
family, those simple things brought me great joy, and I had never been so
happy. I had only just met my foster family, and I already loved them.

As the days went
by, I became comfortable with my daily routine. I woke up early each morning so
that I had time to eat a hot breakfast before I ran down the long clay driveway
to catch the school bus. I wished that I could ride with Marcus and Tasha, but
Marcus had to drive his old truck for miles in the opposite direction to take
them to the high school.

When the bus
brought me back home in the afternoons, I did my chores and homework, and then
ate dinner with the whole family. Afterwards, I was free to play until time for
me to take my bath and go to bed. I enjoyed doing all the normal family things I
heard my classmates mention, even the chores. It became so easy to pretend that
I was a regular kid with a real family.

I filled most of
my playtime with roaming around the farm and watching Mr. Abernathy and Marcus
do the farm chores. They often let me help them and took time to teach me. Sometimes,
I would volunteer to help Mrs. Abernathy, especially if she were baking a cake
or cookies, and just as the others did, she always explained what she was doing.
None of them ever made me think that I was bothering them except Tasha. I didn't
spend much time with Tasha, who always told me she was busy with homework. When
I told Marcus how much homework Tasha did, he laughed and explained that she
was really talking on the phone with her boyfriend.

On weekends,
there were still chores that had to be done but not as many. Sunday mornings,
we all went to church where I stuck out like a skunk at a virgin's wedding. I
was always the only non African-American there.

My first Sunday
at church, there were some curious people, but they were all nice to me,
especially the minister. I didn't know that Mr. Abernathy had already told
Pastor Jackson about me, so I was surprised when the pastor introduced me by
name to the congregation. I really liked the choir's singing and found myself
swaying with the congregation as we sang the hymns. On my way out of church that
day, Pastor Jackson kneeled and hugged me. He said that he hoped to see me
every Sunday because it would be a shame if I missed service at a church named
after me. I never attended another church where the people made me feel as
welcome as Pastor Jackson and the members of River Baptist did.

One of my favorite
things to do was fishing with Mr. Abernathy. Almost every Saturday, he took me
to the pond that bordered his property and patiently taught me how to bait a
hook, cast a line, hook a fish, reel him in, unhook him, and string him. At
home, he showed me how to clean the fish, and then Mrs. Abernathy taught me how
to flour and fry it. I can remember thinking that the fish I caught tasted
better than almost anything I had ever eaten, and when I seriously said the
same thing to everyone at dinner, they smiled at me and agreed that I caught
some tasty fish.

Although his
senior season of football was over, and he would graduate high school soon,
Marcus couldn't get enough of football, and he enjoyed coaching me. He taught
me how to run low with the ball tucked safely away under my arm closest to our
imaginary sideline, how to use a stiff arm on a tackler, how to take a snap
from center, how to throw a spiral, and how to look the ball into my hands for
a catch. I learned how to make a tackle, and we both laughed loudly when I wrapped
my little arms around one of his thick legs in an attempt to bring him to the
ground. If he hadn't fallen on his own, he would have dragged me for miles
while I stubbornly held on to his leg.

I told Marcus
that I wanted to be as strong as he was and run as fast as he did, so I could
be a good football player one day. He didn't just tell me something to pacify me;
he asked me how much I wanted it. I told him that I wanted to be just like him
and that's when he set up an exercise routine for me.

Marcus taught me
stretching exercises, pushups, sit ups, and gave me additional chores that
amounted to light weight training suitable for a growing little kid. Marcus
told me to increase the intensity of my workouts gradually, so that I would
avoid injury while the exercises continued to challenge me. We added jogging
together to my exercises, and I soon impressed him with how long I could hang
with him. The routine I worked out with Marcus took about an hour each day, and
I maintained a workout period every day I possibly could in all the years that
followed.

Marcus, along
with his mother, taught me how important good nutrition was to the health of a
growing boy who desired to be an athlete. Everything they said stuck with me,
and I became very particular about the food I ate. I focused on eating fresh
fruits and vegetables, and when I ate red meat, it had to be lean. I avoided
sweets and snacks, and I ate very little fast food, although I confess that for
a while as a teenager, I had a weakness for Mickey Ds.

I'm not sure if
I didn't understand or didn't
want
to understand that following his high
school graduation, Marcus would be moving out of state. He had a summer job
waiting on him in the town where he would be attending college on a football scholarship.
When he wasn't working, he would be involved in a summer fitness program with
other players from the football team. From what I understood, it was an ideal
situation for him but certainly not for me. As it grew closer to the time he
would leave, he spent as much time with me as he could. He promised that he
would come back to visit on holidays and would call me on the phone. I tried to
be tough like him, but the day he left, I cried for hours and moped for days
afterwards. I didn't think that things could get any worse.

I was wrong.

The weather was
unusually hot, even for summer in the South, when Mr. Abernathy took me fishing
on a Saturday morning in early July. We had a long walk through the woods to
the pond, and he stopped several times to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

When we reached
our fishing spot, Mr. Abernathy grabbed some ice cubes out of the little cooler
that held our cold water and rubbed it on his glistening black face and neck. I
caught a fish before he ever wet his line, and I continued to move around to
various points along that side of the pond while Mr. Abernathy stayed in his
partially shaded area.