A TON OF BRICKS

In the 1800s my mother’s father was Aaron Mossell, Sr. (Google). He was an exceptional man who moved his family out of Baltimore, Maryland to Canada to avoid slavery. There he established a successful brick-making business, which he later moved to New York. A great story -- but later –- this story is of a later date but involves bricks, a ton of them.

In Cincinnati living at 1311 Myrtle Avenue, which extended from Montgomery Road through our area, it seemed to be at least three or four city blocks. We had a large lot (playground) on that north side. Living in the next house were the Wautters, an elderly white couple, very nice people. From their house on to Montgomery Road were all white families. The whole neighborhood was probably middle class blacks and whites.

As mentioned earlier, I had lots of friends to socialize with, however, age 6 or 7, I was playing with a kite or ball, and found myself, well into the white area. The street was a little uphill and not the best area for playing. There was a boy about my age standing in the middle of the street. We met, we played together, we talked, we rested and played again. We seemed to have a lot in common. When we parted, we agreed to meet the next day.

On the way home, I thought about my other friends. They were fun and I liked the games we played, but my new friend, well, he spoke about things other than sports and I was interested in those things, too. He also said that he would ask his parents if he could have me over for dinner.

The next few days I would look up the street to see if he was outside playing, he wasn’t there. I had already decided that if I saw my new friend, I would just tell my playmates that I will be right back and invite my new friend down to play.

A few days passed until I saw him in front of his house. I was really excited and as I recall, my usual friends were not with me.

I immediately ran up to greet him. He was standing almost as a soldier might stand, reciting his code of allegiance to a superior officer. It started like, “My father said your people are…” then he recited a whole litany of words like “dirty,” “ignorant,” “lazy,” etc. so he could not play with me and he could not invite me to dinner.

Today I would say it hit me like a “ton of bricks” all 2,240 pounds, but as an 8 year old child, it would be more like hit me with a 25 pound bag of marbles. ha

It was hurtful and it made me very sad, but even as a 3rd grader, I learned at home that this truth abounds in every race or group of people. The good, the bad, and us INBETWEENERS. ha