Page 1 of Jethro

CHAPTER ONE

“You sit right there, young man!” fussed the school secretary. “Your folks will be here in a minute.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently. He didn’t argue, he didn’t try to defend himself, he didn’t say a word. The truth was the truth. Yes, he’d busted Caleb Marks nose and he didn’t regret it. Yes, he’d been hit first and was only defending himself. Yes, Caleb was a bully of the highest order. And, yes, he’d tried to walk away. But none of that would matter.

At least it seemed it never did.

Jethro Lyons was the kid on the other side of the tracks. His parents and grandparents lived in one big house on a massive farm. He worked from sun-up to sundown helping his father and grandfather. School came first, but then there was work. Always work.

The door to the office opened and Jethro stood looking at his parents. Ashley and Coleman Lyons were good, solid people respected by their neighbors. It surprised Jethro when his grandparents came in behind them. Rosanne and Collier Lyons smiled at him, their wrinkled faces kind and gentle.

“You didn’t all have to come,” said the secretary in a short clip glaring at the couple. Jethro knew that glare. He’d seen it many times before.

“You said my boy was in a fight,” said Coleman. “I’d like to know why.”

“Why? Because he’s a bully!” said the secretary.

“Ma’am, no disrespect but let’s talk about what that means because no one has ever complained about my son being a bully.” She tried to open her mouth and his mother stepped forward.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, what does that matter?” she asked.

“Because the boy my son hit is your son and you seem to have a problem with him, not because of the fight.” The woman’s face turned pink and the Lyons family stared at the principal who was watching from his office door.

“Like I said. Your son is a bully,” she said through clenched teeth.

“My son is in sixth grade. Yours is in eighth. Two years older. You see, you didn’t think we’d know but he’s been telling us about the issues with your boy all week.” Her face paled and she swallowed, staring at her son who was seated beside her. “Yes, ma’am, we know. Jethro? What was it this boy said?”

“He called me a yellow negro,” frowned Jethro.

The principal stood a little straighter, listening more intently. The secretary still had no idea he was standing behind her. Jethro’s mixed heritage was evident. His grandmother was black, his grandfather white. His mother was white, his father mixed. His skin tone was the most beautiful latte anyone had ever seen.

“A yellow negro,” repeated Jethro, not yelling, not screaming, not throwing a tantrum. “Then he said negroes and whites shouldn’t be allowed to marry.”

“And what did you say to him?” asked Roseanne.

“I told him he should mind his own business and back up. He didn’t use the word ‘negro’. He used the other word.” The adults glared at the secretary and then at her son who looked smug, like no one could touch him.

“Then what happened?” asked Collier.

“He kept on. Said my face was a white man’s but my color was negro. Then he said some things about Mama and Grandma.”

“That’s enough,” said the principal stepping forward.

“No!” yelled the secretary. “My boy hasn’t told his side of the story.”

“Ain’t no side to tell,” smirked the boy. “He’s a nigga through and through.”

“You are expelled,” said the principal. The boy’s head snapped around and he stared at the older man.

“You can’t do that! My mama is in charge,” he said with a cocky grin.

“In charge? Son, I’m the principal here. I’m in charge.” The boy stared at the older man then at his mother who finally was showing some regret. Her face was white and beads of sweater gathered at her hairline.

“Jethro? Is that why you punched him? Because he said those things?”

“No, sir,” said Jethro standing tall. He was easily a head taller than the older boy. Wider as well. “I punched him in the nose because he said, well, he said something awful to Melissa Sheron.”