Prison Narratives: ‘I Am Special’ by Vincent Young

VOX Press‘ book, Prison Narratives, features personal stories written by prisoners at Parchman Farm. Here a couple stories from the book by Vincent Young. The book can be bought here.

Vincent Young was raised on a farm in New Albany, Mississippi. His father was an airplane mechanic and sometimes bare knuckles fighter. He is serving a life sentence for armed robbery and aggravated assault.

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VIII: I Am Special

The next few days were the same, until Thursday when I was moved to another class. This class was truly different from the other classes. The kids in this room looked like they were sick. There were more white kids, about 21 to only seven black. Some looked sleepy. Others had big heads, and three of them never stopped shaking and jerking.

The teacher talked to me as if I couldn’t understand the words that were coming out of her mouth. She gave me a small book, and told me, “Anytime you have something to say you write it down in this book.” All the pages were blank.

Recess finally came, and I went outside to find Judy. I found her and Linda together. I told Judy what class I was in by giving her the number. She and Linda told me that I was in a Special-Ed class. I can tell you that I didn’t feel special at all.

Once I was back in the classroom, the teacher gave me some work to do. I looked at it, and it was easier than what mommy gave me. I was supposed to be in the fourth grade, but if this is fourth grade work I figured I’d be okay, because I could already add, subtract, and read the “Dick and Jane and Spot” books.

I hit a white kid today for calling me a nigger. Why he called me that I don’t know, but all I could think about was what daddy told me, “Never let anyone call you a nigger,” so I popped him a good one, because he’d just walked up to me in the kitchen and said, “Nigger, what’s your name?” I noticed how quiet it got in the kitchen, and everyone was looking at us. The white kid hollered so loudly that you would’ve thought that a turtle had his big toe. Someone grabbed me from behind, and I looked around to see it was our bus driver. He also worked in the kitchen as a dishwasher.

I was taken to the office, and the teacher told this man that I’d started the fight. I tried to tell them what happened, but I started stuttering. They didn’t bring the other kid to the office. Why, I don’t know.

I was taken to my classroom after I ate lunch, back to the same old class, “Special-Ed” in room 19. I stayed there all day, not really doing anything, and I hated this room after my first day. I didn’t know anyone in this class, and the only time I got to see my girlfriend and friends was at recess.

School was finally over, and the ride on old bus #8 was long and quiet. Once off the bus, the only one waiting for me was Legs. All the other kids spoke to Legs as they walked by.

A lot of things were going through my mind, all of them about what happened at school, especially about the class I was in. Once I was inside the house, I got my sister to translate my thoughts for me. She told our mother what I was talking about, and Mommy then said, “I’ll take you to school tomorrow. I didn’t think Mommy would ride the school bus with me, but the next morning she did. Mommy and my sister both got on the bus with me. I was sort of happy, because my sister was going to school with me, but I wondered how they both would get home, because Daddy was at work. I heard Mommy tell Daddy, “You’re not going to miss work!”

I still sat on the seat with Judy, and we held hands. Mommy knew that Judy was my girlfriend. Everyone on the bus respected my mother, saying, “Yes, ma’am,” or calling her Mrs. Young. This was because every mother in our area had permission to whip each other’s kids, so no matter whose house you were at, you had to be on your best behavior.

Once we made it to school, mommy, my sister, and I went to the office. The lady behind the desk asked my Mommy if she was there to register us for school. “No,” said Mommy, “I’m here to find out who put my son in the Special-Ed class!” A man came out and showed us into his office, where he explained to my mother why I was in that class. It was because I couldn’t talk. My Mommy told him that I could talk. I just had a stuttering problem. She also told him that I could do seventh grade work because she’d home-schooled me from the age of two. Mommy demanded that I be taken out of that class. The man said he would, and then asked her about my sister. Mommy told him that my sister was only eight, and would start school next year. That sparked another argument, which led to mommy telling him that no one will tell her how to raise her kids.

Mommy led us both to the door by our hands. While we were leaving, the man asked about me going to class, and she told him that I wasn’t going to school that day.

Mommy took us to her friend’s house, which wasn’t far from the school. Once there, my sister and I stayed outside and watched the cars go by. We also saw a lot of squirrels, and I wished I had my .22 pump. I didn’t, so I played at shooting them while my sister kept count and made sure I didn’t shoot the same squirrels twice. I was up to seven in no time.

Mommy came outside and sat on the porch with her friend, Mary. Mommy said Daddy was coming to pick us up. I hoped in his airplane. I sat and wondered how he was coming to get us. I looked around, but the only place to land was in the street. Plus we had Mommy with us, and I’d never heard her talk about flying in a plane with Daddy, so I knew right then that we’d be riding in the car.

Daddy picked us up, and on the drive home, Mommy told him what had happened that day. We made a stop and Daddy bought ice cream for all of us. Mommy even told him about the fight I had. All he did was look in the rear view mirror and smiled, giving me a wink.

Finally at home, I changed out of my school clothes, and then headed to the barn to play with my pet pig, Legs.