Chinaman Knockout by Lauren M. Ming (books for 8th graders txt) 📕

Chinaman Knockout

One
The sound of the alarm pierced my ears like the shrill of the steamboats that I hear in the distance, drifting slowly down the Mississippi. The clock said 4 A.M., but by the looks of it outside, it may just as well have been night. Boy, how I wish it were still night. My achy muscles and swollen eyes—a few more hours could do miracles.

“Hurry up, you’re gonna be late! See you after school.”

Startled by my brother’s voice I jumped up and climbed over my two younger brothers to prepare for my morning paper route job at the New Orleans Times-Picayune. Robert, who was three years older than me, had gotten me the job two months ago. I had a hard time waking up so early, especially after staying up so late bussing tables at Chinese Tea Garden, my father’s failing restaurant. This would be my second time being late this week. If it were up to me I would have stayed in bed, but the family needed every penny.

In the dark that enveloped the room I searched for my clothes. After five minutes of unsuccessful rummaging, I shook my younger brothers awake.

“Egbert, Elbert, have you see my clothes?”

“The rats got in again, Norbert,” Egbert grumpily responded, “So I put them on the chair.” Elbert, the ten-year old, was still fast asleep.

Damnit. Rats meant more holes in my already Swiss cheese clothing. I had done my best to patch up all the tears, but they nevertheless appeared ragged. Although I only got a few snickers from the bullies around school, most of the kids stared and kept their mouths shut. At least their parents had taught them not to be insincere. I quickly put on the same clothes I had been wearing the past four days and rushed out of the house to start my morning job.

Two
My family is like many other Chinese immigrant families. My ma and pop came to the States to find freedom and more importantly, capitalism. They moved to New Orleans and got a place on skid row, near the corner of Camp and Julia. It was all they could afford. The laundry failed. The restaurant was on its way down too.

Robert, the eldest son, was seventeen and in eleventh grade. His favorite pastimes were wooing the local ladies and flexing his muscles in front of the mirror. After overachieving at our neighborhood school, Marshall High, Robert was transferred to Benjamin Franklin, a good school located in a good part of town. Once a troublemaker, Robert had to straighten up once Ma got sick, and he was now responsible for us four siblings.

Janis, the only girl in the family, went to Marshall. At sixteen she was ordinary; there was nothing remarkable about her physical features. A bit on the heavy side, Janis would let the taunts of the girls upset her. With every stare, Janis’ already low self-esteem plunged even lower. It didn’t help that we were Chinese and couldn’t afford better clothing. However, her lack of looks was compensated by her reserved and polite manners. Teachers loved her, and parents could often be overheard telling their children to note her perfect conduct.

Egbert was the problem child. He went to school with me at S.J. Peters Junior High and was in the seventh grade. He was short and chubby. I guess you could say he had the Napoleon complex and was always getting into fights. It didn't help that the white boys wouldn’t stop making fun of him. At eleven, Egbert still had no control over his appetite.

There’s not much to say about little ten-year old Elbert. He was petite and quiet for his age: very sensitive, always getting sick from allergies.

As for me, I was just an average fourteen-year old kid. Average height, average weight, average looks. Heck, I was even born in June, the half-way month in a year. I was in the ninth grade, in my final year of junior high at S.J. Peters.

Three
After finishing the route and returning the bike I had borrowed from the newspaper company, I ran off to school. For me, the social scene at school sucked, but the classroom was my sanctuary. It was a place where I could, at least for a little while, escape from the troubles of reality and dive into the world of learning. Other kids thought learning was dumb and a waste of time, but not me. I couldn’t afford to goof off in class because I wanted a better future for myself. I didn’t want to end up like the drunk, homeless bums that lived on Camp and Julia. School was the only way to escape that outcome.

When I snuck into English 2A, Mr. LeBlanc was already writing on the blackboard.

“Mister Wang, what poor excuse do you have this time?” He didn’t even turn his head to face me, but I could still spot the enormous mole that exploded from the surface of his skin. What I couldn’t see at that moment was the single hair that was embedded in it. But I knew it was there. Rumor had it that the hair was alive. I didn't doubt it.

Second period World History was my favorite class by far. I loved to place myself in the lessons, I became a native meeting Columbus for the first time, Genghis Khan’s soldier, a pilgrim anticipating the day I’d walk on free soil. Today I was Pharaoh Norbert, Ruler of All That is Great.

As Pharaoh Norbert, I wouldn’t have to work a single day in my life. Ma and Pop would be happy and the doctor would cure Ma of her illness with his mysterious gestures and chants. Janis would get the finest dyes and perfumes to make the taunting stop, and my brothers would be able to play without the worries of responsibility or getting beat up. Little Elbert would play with my cats Bojangles and Popeye without getting a rash or wheezing. Life would be great. Nice clothes, great food. “Servant, more chicken and Mac N' Cheese with cherry Jell-O on the si--”

“Ouch!” I was swept back to reality as a palm hit the back of my head.

“Number 6, Norbert.” Mrs. Higgins glared at me with a stern eye.

“Jell-O on the side?” was the first thing that came out of my mouth. The class erupted with laughter.

“The correct answer is sphinx, Mr. Wang, sphinx,” she slyly chuckled. She straightened up fast. “See me after class.”

When the bell rang for recess, I strode up to Mrs. Higgins’ desk. Most people were terrified of her, but I wasn’t scared at all. Under the hard glare that came from under the thick black rims, there was a kind woman who was genuinely concerned about her students’ education.

“So Norbert, Jell-O?”

“I’m sorry ma’am. I just got carried away in your talk about King Tut.”

We talked for a while about the Great Pyramids and the Great Sphinx of Giza until the bell rang and I froze.

“Shit, I forgot to give Egbert his lunch money!”

Mrs. Higgins looked at me, surprised. I was embarrassed.

“Sorry ma’am!”

Out in the yard I pushed against the crowd to find my brother. I knew exactly where to find him. Egbert was always by the cafeteria, waiting for a kind soul to give up an unwanted pudding or chocolate milk. If I didn’t get his lunch money to him before lunch I would be in a heap of trouble with Robert after school.

As I got closer to Egbert I was surprised to see him with a clean face.

“No snacks today, eh?” I joked, still a few steps away. I didn’t get a response. Instead, I heard sniffles.

“Goddamnit, Eg, stop being a baby just ‘cause you didn’t get a Jell-O.”

He lashed out of me, “Shut up, alright!” He turned and revealed a big black eye.

“Who did this to you?” I demanded an answer.

As he lifted his shirt exposing a long welt along the right side of his body he said, “That kid Tony and his friends from your grade.”

“Oh, that twerp is gonna get it!”

For as long as I can remember, basically for as long as I’ve been alive, my friends, my siblings, and I have been the victims of bigotry. In my neighborhood on skid row we were the minorities in a black community. At school, we were minorities in a European community. Unfortunately for us, integration was nowhere in sight at school, so we were the odd ones on campus. We were the funny looking, slanty eyed Chinamen.

I sent Egbert to class and rushed off to third period. Right outside of Ms. Johnson’s class I spotted Tony.

“Hey you! What’s wrong with you? Why’re you picking on my brother?”

Tony snickered and spat on the floor. “Why shouldn’t I, damn Ching-Chong?” he said with a bad Oriental accent.

That was it. Though Tony was a good five inches shorter than I was he didn’t seem scared. That made me even madder. I picked him up by his fancy blue and white striped shirt collar. It was Banlom brand. I pushed him against the wall hard, not so hard that he got hurt, but hard enough so that he got the message.

I gnarled at him like a Rottweiler, “Leave him alone.” I even showed my teeth.

Tony winced a bit. He stammered, “You better watch your back, small eyes.”

The bell rang and I put Tony down. We walked into Ms. Johnson’s third period arithmetic class together, as if nothing had happened. Ten minutes later Tony excused himself to the restroom, and when he returned he flashed a devious smile my way.

Lunchtime came and my friend, Jim, and I were approached by some unexpected visitors-- Tony, his big brother Johnny, and a few other Italians with slicked back hair. Johnny was in the same grade as me and Tony, but he was a lot taller and bulkier. No, he wasn’t an early developer. Johnny was sixteen, a third year flunkie, and he took pride in that “accomplishment.” In fact, he was already bragging about becoming the first seventeen-year old ninth grader at S.J. Peters Junior High.

“Johnny, the Chinaman threatened me,” whined Tony.

“Is this true, you ugly little douche bag?” His face was inches from mine and I was struck with the awful stenches of beer, smoke, and garlic.

Before I got a chance to respond he said, “I’m going to clobber you, make you hurt so bad you’ll squeal for your mama. Or should I say, Mrs. Ching-Chong-Chinky?” He snorted and his friends did the same. “After school, 3:30, locker room. Be there, or