The Magic Pencil Does Halloween (or does it?)

EXCERPTS FROM THE NOVEL!

Chapter 20

Poetry an Monsters

[Malcolm's mother doesn't like Halloween basically because of the NEED to HAVE candy inspected before consumption. She feels that ruins all of the innocent fun for children and, therefore, isn't worth celebrating. Having to show the goodies to police before eating is criminal! She has been allowing Malcolm to attend parties instead of going from door-to-door. She welcomes his discovering Ancestors' Night because she feels it is a better way to have fun and educational too! Nia doesn't like Halloween, period!

Also following are excerpts regarding the chapters from The Magic Pencil Curriculum Guide.]

For homeroom today, we all sposed to have a poem bout Halloween. I brought two poems that Martin wrote wit my mother — before she really started to hate Halloween — bout five years ago. Ms. Winston calls on me to begin. “These two poems have been in our family for years.

‘A Pumpkin Can Look Mean

I don’t care much for pumpkin meat

But I do love the seeds.

I like to squish the stuff inside

It feels like old wet weeds.

I like the way a pumpkin feels

All smoothy roughy clean.

But most of all

I like the way

A Pumpkin

Can

Look

Mean!

A Di?erent Story

Black cat crossed my path today,

I didn’t even care.

Gonna take much more’n that,

To give ME a scare!

Rattling bones, creaks and groans,

May make your flesh quiver,

Just look at me — I guarantee,

You won’t even see a shiver.

But October 31st, on October 31st,

Now that’s a different story!

When ghosts and bats, witches and cats,

Are all in their glory!

Jack-o-lanterns, vampires,

These things are seldom seen,

Except on October 31st,

When things are HALLOWEEN!’”

Everyone claps for both poems. My mother says she’s gonna make a poetry book for all the holiday seasons one day. I wonder if Martin would be mad if he knew I’d read the poems. It turns out that a lotta kids brought the poem, “Skeleton Parade,” by Jack Pre-lut-sky. It’s one a my favorites too. The teacher chooses Juan Lee to read it. When he finishes, we all clap for Juan Lee. He’d really put a lotta expression into his readin. Reminds me a playin Monster in the Haystack! Maybe I can get some kids to play it durin lunchtime!

More kids read diffrent poems an we all listen an applaud. Ms. Winston had allowed Nia to recite one bout fall. Then she asks for volunteers to read poems to the pre-school kids on up to the second graders right before lunch. I raise my hand while watchin Nia. She don’t even turn around when I’m picked.

“Now,” Ms. Winston announces, “It’s everyone’s turn to create a poem of their own.” She draws a big pumpkin on the board an puts some words we suggest inside it. After we write our poems, we copy them over — as neat as we can — an attach them to the paper pumpkins hangin outside the room. I always keep the first draft a my poems cuz I got a notebook to put them in. You never know.

Later, on the playground, I get Kenyo, Juan Lee an Lakita to play Monster in the Haystack. At first Nia don’t wanna play but after watchin for a while she joins in. Some other kids come over an we really have a good time! Most kids get so good at the game they get to be the monster more’n once! I never thought’ve it as a Halloween type thing before.

Just imagine the monster wearin a real mask!

Chapter 22

Ancestors’ Night

Later we meet Nia at the [Nubian] club. She’d been waitin in the car wit her mother. Jam an me introduce ourselves to Ms. Stellar an I try to be charmin. Jam tells Ms. Stellar we can take Nia home after the party. They exchange cell phone numbers an Ms. Stellar drives off . Jam grins at us an says: “I like your costumes, watotos! I’m sure you two will enjoy yourselves. As for me, I’ll be entertainin you with my African drums tonight!” After introducin us to a few a the folks in charge, he goes to talk to the other performers.

Nia an me had done our best to look like famous ancestors. I’m Frederick Douglass wit an ole suit a Martin’s an my hair parted mostly to one side an slicked down. I'd made a beard out a painted cotton balls. Nia’s Harriet Tubman. She's got on a long dress an ole boots an a scarf on her head. She says: “Who had a greater purpose than she?” I agree.

I notice a girl in a big tee shirt wit a large, capital N, in the middle of a tombstone on it. Must have somethin to do wit the ole “N Word.” When it’s time to eat, we try mango, smoked fish, fresh coconut, jollof rice, spicy chicken wit some kinda greens, goat meat stew, peanut soup, boiled peanuts, injera bread, an fried plantain (I always wondered what those big, green bananas was for!). After eatin, we play cultural type games like mancala an dominoes. Then it’s time for us to give lil speeches. When it’s my turn, I say: “Slavery was a horrible thing for our people to exist under. We were treated worse than mules. I was determined to be free. I secured my own freedom by escaping to the North and taught myself to read so I could speak honestly and clearly to my people about this peculiar institution which allowed persons to have ownership over other human beings.” Nia’s turn is nex. She makes her voice go deep an tells bout how hard life was for the enslaved people:

“Ah was hit in the head as a chile by the massa an Ah still suffers spells. But Ah could not live as a slave! After Ah freed myself, Ah went back to the South at lease nineteen times to help othas to escape. As a conductor, Ah led ovuh 300 of our people to freedom through The Underground Railroad. An-Ah-nevuh-lost-a-passenger.” I get chills after Nia says that. Last, it was the turn a the girl wit the big N on her shirt. She begins:

“I am the tomb of the N Word. I have been taught by my ancestors and elders to never allow the word nigger to fly from my mouth. Here, I am talking about its ugliness, so I have allowed myself to speak it. As you all know, people have died physically and mentally over this word. Yet today, we hear it repeatedly from those who don’t realize that it too is dead. If you proudly parade the word and continue to breathe life into it, you cannot speak sincerely against its use and how — and by whom — it is used. You’re giving permission to do so without remorse or understanding! This word can never be just a word. Saying it over and over will not remove its sting from our deepest memories. The N Word is dead. Let us hold its funeral everyday. Let our pride be revived!” She ends by holdin up a fist an turnin slowly witin the circle so we all can see her shirt. There is loud applause from everybody! I wonder how she could remember all a that speech. That girl really gave me a lot to think bout! The audience claps again for all us children who made a speech, dressed specialy, an are just there. We also have a ceremony where we call upon our ancestors to help us in our need to remember who we are an where we come from. One a the kids begins to recite The Seven Principles by heart. Nia whispers to me: “In Kiswahili it’s called the Nguzo Saba from Kwanzaa celebration but you’re supposed to practice the principles all year.” She recites along wit the kid as some others do. The fifth principle is called nia. It means purpose, I remember. I smile at my friend. When the program is done, it’s back to playtime! We meet a lotta kids, some wit locks like Nia's. I don’t see nobody else I know cept Jam.

I introduce Nia an me to the girl wit the N Word shirt. She smiles and says: “I'm Luna. I’m the goddess of the moon! Oh, excuse me! I always tell what my name means because people usually ask.” I keep lookin at Luna. Watchin her is like seein a pot boil over! She seems ready to take off into the sky! Her almost black eyes are dancin in her dark face. She never stops wavin her arms at her sides. “Well, we just wanted to meet you.” I smile. I already knew her name had somethin to do wit the moon soon as she said it. Nia probly did too. Nia tells her: “Your speech was wonderful! And Luna is a lovely name!” Luna is a lovely girl, I’m thinkin.

The musicians begin playin African music. I watch Jam an feel proud to know him. I ain heard much “roots music” — as he calls it — before but I was bobbin my head an pattin my feet. Nia’s doin a lil back an forth rock. Luna an some other kids jump in front a the musicians an seem to be waitin for somethin. Suddenly, some dancers in African clothes appear an give us a super fast lesson in how to dance to the music! Nia an me get pulled into the center — along wit the other boys an girls — an we all dance as African as we can! It’s thrillin an deep! People makin shrieks an a sound like lululululululu, an clappin an shoutin. It feels like the drummin is my heartbeat. All the kids is lovin it. No one feels shame. I’m glad Mom got Jam to bring us. When I tell him, he says: “Anytime, young brotha!” We press our knuckles together. Jam’s golden face is smilin from ear to ear. He’s always real happy when he’s entertainin.

I ain never felt the way this night is makin me feel. The closest thing to it for me is in church when the pastor gets everybody to be free to talk out, move, an to feel the Spirit. I know somehow these things is connected. When it’s time to go, each a us gets a copy a the “Black Family Pledge” by Dr. Maya Angelou an the “Nguzo Saba” by Dr. Maulana Karenga. We also get to choose one a the games we’d played an get a bag a treats to take wit us.

Jam an me take Nia home. Maaan, she lives far from my neighborhood! No wonder her mom brings her to school everyday. Nia bounces out a the car an says: “Thank you for inviting me. Wait til it’s time for the Kwanzaa celebrations!” I’m glad I know somethin bout them already. I wonder what Nia’s family does for Thanksgiving an Christmas.

On the way home I ask Jam if he’d perform at Gillespie [School] on the last day before the holidays, when we have our Christmas Program. “Yeah, I could do that. I’d be helpin make Kwanzaa more special, right?

“Right!”

My mother is pleased wit my costume. Jam tells her how intelligent an pretty Nia is an what a good job we did on our speeches. I get a lil shy bout it an go into my bedroom. I can tell they laughin at me but I don’t care. I tape the papers on my wall, nex to Nia’s drawin, an get into bed.

Man! I still hear them drums an cowbells an stuff while I’m fallin off to sleep.

~ Karen E. Dabney copyright 2017