On November 14, 1960, at the William Frantz Elementary School in New Orleans, a black girl came to class: Ruby Bridges.
She was escorted by a group of federal agents. She was only 6 years old and in front of the school there was an angry crowd, which rebelled against her presence in that school, throwing objects and insults at her.
Until that time, there were no mixed classes and whites were rigidly separated from African Americans, who could not attend the same institutions as their white peers. No sweet eyes were given to Ruby, no words of welcome, like all children who come to school.
Waiting for her, therefore, there was an army of people who insulted her and in the classroom, no one. Neither a companion nor a teacher. The parents of the pupils in that class had withdrawn their children and the teachers had refused to teach a black girl a lesson.
And it wasn't over there. From that moment on, the life of little Ruby Bridges and her family was studded with threats and retaliation.
They were forced to live permanently under escort, their father was fired and their mother was forbidden to shop in certain food stores. The land they cultivated as sharecroppers was also taken away from the grandparents.
Ruby Bridges was given the opportunity to study and learn from a teacher, the only one who did not shy away, and volunteered to accompany the child. Ruby was even forced to bring food from home, due to the danger of being poisoned.
But the Bridges will resist and little Ruby will win her battle.
When she becomes an adult she will say "do not follow the path, go where there is no road and create it yourself."
Because you were more than a grandmother. You were so much more. Not only did I feel safe with you. Not only with you was me. And the dances in the morning with our favorite record: the “hits of 2005”, the breakfasts with milk and cereals. Not just laughter. Not just scolding them when I wanted to sharpen the markers. Or when I refused to help you. Not just beautiful things. Not just the imitations of grandfather, which made everyone laugh. Not just the jokes around the house, not just the stories. Your stories. I remember them all. When you talked about them in the evening, when I was tired of playing and had finished dinner. Your stories. I remember them all. They were so far-fetched, yet I miss them too much. And the fantasies. Our fantasies that others will never understand. And when I was little I found in you the support, the comfort. Then when I got older and you a little older I became your support. Your comfort. Every day I curse myself for all the time we could have spent together and we didn’t. A lot of things awaited us. Because you were more than a grandmother. You were so much more. Not only did I feel safe with you. Not only with you was me. And the dances in the morning with our favorite record: the “hits of 2005”, the breakfasts with milk and cereals. Not just laughter. Not just scolding them when I wanted to sharpen the markers. Or when I refused to help you. Not just beautiful things. Not just the imitations of grandfather, which made everyone laugh. Not just the jokes around the house, not just the stories. Your stories. I remember them all. When you talked about them in the evening, when I was tired of playing and had finished dinner. Your stories. I remember them all. They were so far-fetched, yet I miss them too much. And the fantasies. Our fantasies that others will never understand. And when I was little I found in you the support, the comfort. Then when I got older and you a little older I became your support. Your comfort. Every day I curse myself for all the time we could have spent together and we didn’t. A lot of things awaited us. I wanted you to be there again for my birthday. You would have showered me with compliments the entire month and beyond. And when every time I have to pose in a photograph with the remaining grandparents, it hurts to see everyone go away like this. I know you’re there. But not being able to touch, hold, hear your voice anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much. And miss you. You would have showered me with compliments the entire month and beyond. And when every time I have to pose in a photograph with the remaining grandparents, seeing grandfather alone next to me, it hurts. I know you’re there. But not being able to touch, hold, hear your voice anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much. And miss you.
Still old friends on the horizon, where I left them. One day I will not see them again - and the bitter satisfaction of the increasing distance will be replaced by the euphoria of a world of my own that extends as far as the eye can see, where only I will be able to find warmth and shelter.
Someday I'll get to where the ghosts of those I've known would be terrified of being - that will be my home.
my grandparents' town was so small that, when the ambulance went by, my grandfather ran after her in the car to see what had happened and my grandmother waited anxiously for gossip.
I am happy, happy to see that the people I know grow up and wear ties, evening dresses. They settle their heads, get serious, give firm handshakes.
Training completed - congratulations gear!
I am happy to see that I have not yet become what the TV suggests, that I still have the instinct to escape. What I have always summarily labeled "inadequacy" of myself begins to take on more defined contours, sharp edges, timid fangs and claws to be sharpened.
Choke on your ties, I want to run, roar, live.
Educating men. The problem is that women who bring up their children are often anaffective, natcisist, ambivalent and selfish. In recent times in many families the woman is an example of unbridled materialism, hunger for success and extreme narcissism. Many children are literally abandoned to their grandparents or uncles because the young parents are busy in their hectic life on social media. Mothers who are divided between videos on instagram and tik tok, sitting in beauty centers and running for shopping. Fathers glued to chats where they sneak up on half-naked girls, looking for the most daring encounters. So what can children receive from these individuals taken only by themselves and their selfish desires? They do not receive any affection and therefore as soon as they find someone to attach themselves to they become possessive and obsessive. Because for them that woman becomes the center of their world that has been empty. And when the woman becomes aware of such oppressive feelings, it is too late. And if by chance he tries to leave the man, he will take revenge in a negative way. So these men who grew up with absent mothers become too present and pressing. Mothers themselves create these insensitive monsters. Mothers themselves no longer know how to educate their children because they are busy advertising themselves. And the cases of femicides increase because there are so many children who grow up mistreated and rejected by narcissistic mothers. What have women become? Materialistic and obsessed with success. Unfortunately, the cause of a bad education of males is the women themselves. 😟
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 