I am Rosa Parks

I am Rosa Parks BRAD MELTZER illustrated by Christopher Eliopoulos

I am Rosa Parks.

Growing up, I was small for my age. I was sick a lot too, since we didn't have money for a doctor. But that didn't mean I was weak. I'M NOT THAT SHORT. LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE. When I was eleven, as I was walking home from school, a boy on roller skates came zipping by and shoved me. He thought I'd be an easy target. To his surprise, I turned around and pushed him back. I knew fighting was wrong. But I didn't want him picking on me again. His mother saw what happened. She was mad that I'd pushed him. DID YOU JUST PUSH MY SON? UH-OH. THIS IS GONNA BE BAD.

But y'know what made her even madder? I was black and her son was white. She immediately started yelling. I'LL HAVE YOU PUT IN JAIL! YOU'LL NEVER GET OUT AGAIN! No question, it was scary. But my mother and grandfather taught me to respect myself, and to expect respect from others. So instead of backing down... I stood my ground. And calmly, but firmly, I explained... YOUR SON WAS THE ONE WHO PUSHED ME. I DIDN'T BOTHER HIM AT ALL. I wasn't just standing up to that mom. Or even to the boy on roller skates. I was standing up for myself. After that, the boy and his mom never bothered me again. Still, it's hard to change things. Sometimes it can take a long time.

Back then, if you were black, you were treated unfairly just because of the color of your skin. You weren't allowed to live in the same neighborhood as a white person, eat in the same restaurant, ride the same elevator, or use the same bathroom. You couldn't even drink from the same water fountain. One was marked for "Whites"; the other for "Colored." When I was little, I used to wonder if "white" water tasted different from "colored" water. I even wondered if "colored" water came in lots of colors. But it didn't. The only difference was I had to walk outside, or even down the block, to get mine. Of course, it wasn't just about water fountains.

This was my school, a small, old wooden building with one room and one teacher... for all of us. Everyone from the five-year-olds to the sixth graders were stuffed in that one room. There were no windows, desks, and barely any books, SINCE MOST KIDS HAD TO WORK ON A FARM TO EARN MONEY, WE ONLY WENT TO SCHOOL FIVE MONTHS DURING THE YEAR. LESS SCHOOL! HOORAY! DON'T SAY "HOORAY." THAT'S BAD. We also brought our books home every night. Why? Because we were worried that folks who hated the color of our skin would burn down our school. Now, here's the school for the kids who were white. Notice the difference? It was a new brick building with beautiful windows, new desks, and plenty of books. Plus a playground. THEY WENT TO SCHOOL NINE MONTHS OUT OF THE YEAR, SINCE THEY WEREN'T WORKING IN THE FIELDS LIKE WE WERE. NOW CAN WE SAY "HOORAY"? NO. THERE'S NO HOORAY ABOUT THIS.