SOLOMON- WHY ARE WE FIGHTING

SOLOMON- WHY ARE WE FIGHTING IS A STORY ABOUT A BOY NAMED SOLOMON WHO RETURNS TO SCHOOL IN THE FALL TO ENCOUNTER A GLOBALLY BURDENING EXPERIENCE...SEGREGATION.

SOLOMON: WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?

 

  

It was the beginning of autumn; harvest time.Grass growing, mowers mowing,

leaves falling from the trees.

The alarm clock sounded off at seven a.m..I reached over and hit the snooze

button and laid back down for ten more minutes of rest.After only about two and a

half, my mom was knocking on my door.When I didn't respond, she trespassed into

my room, shook me, and said,“Solomon, you had better get on up. Wouldn't want to be

late for the first day of school.”She then walked off and finished preparing breakfast.

I rose with a stretch and a yawn; my nose in the air catching wind of the intoxic-

ating aroma of mom's renowned merry cherry blueberry muffins.

I greeted my best friend, Obey, with a “good morning boy” and a pet, on my way

to the shower.

I heard giggling from inside the shower.I pulled back the curtain, nothing there.

My comical and jocular little sister, Harmony, tippy- toed into the bathroom and

flushed the toilet almost literally burning the flesh from my body.

“Mom!” I screamed.“Harmony's, trying to burn me up, again.”

Harmony ran from the bathroom laughing and said to herself, “Brother.”

When I came down stairs for breakfast, it was exceedingly arduous for Harmony

to keep a straight face.To keep from laughing at me, she would look away from me.

“That's not funny, Harmony,” I shouted, “You know you kill about a million

brain cells everytime you do that.”

“Well, that explains your lack of intelligence,” she joked.

Sometimes Harmony really irks me.One day, I'm going to get her back for all the

sinister things she's done to me.

“Y-”

“Muffins anyone?”Mom asked, interrupting, to break up the dispute. The delici-

ousness of moms blueberry muffins was too tempting to deny.I ate six.

After breakfast, I gave mom a hug and a kiss on the cheek and headed out the

door for the bus.

Stepping onto a bus full of new students was probably the most excitable of all d-

ays.Gazing orbs all around, searching for an empty seat.Many on the left side, but

didn't care to share.There was one; kindhearted and seemingly lonely student on the

right side who didn't mind sharing.

“You can sit here if you want,”she said, moving her backpack, “I'm Allene.”

“Solomon,” I extended my hand for the shake.“Why is everyone so segregated?”

I asked, “There's one nature of students on the right side, and another nature on the left

side.”

“Do you mean, why are all the cats on the left, and all the dogs on the right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said,“Things weren't like this last year.Why now?”

“It was like this last year,”she explained, “You just didn't pay much attention to

it.”

“How could I've missed this?” I asked, then noticed two students on the left star-

ing at us.

“Tell me something,” she said.“Did you have a lineal encounter over the summ-

er?”

“A lineal encounter?”

“Yeah,” she said, “You know, where someone treats you different because you

look different.”

“As a matter of fact, I have,”I said, “it was during a game of soccer when the

captains told me “No animals allowed”.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Disappointed,” I said, “It made me wish, I wasn't who I am.”

“You see,” she said, as the bus pulled to the curb of the junior high school. “You'-

ve been scarred.”

“How do we put an end to this problem?” I asked.

We continued to sit and talk as the other students walked pass us down the aisle of

the bus.

“By confronting the source of the problem,” Allene said, as she stepped down the

steps of the bus meeting up with her friends.

She said, “Well, I'll see you around, Solomon.And again, nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you, too, Allene,” I said.

Walking the campus was strain.Every now and then, I would see like- kinds of

different familes flocking together, essentially, segregation.An old friend of mine call-

ed out from a far,“Solomon!Solomon!”

I turned to see who it was, an old friend from way back.Kindergarten to be

exact.He was also from a different sort-- the cat family.

“Wendell,” I said, excited to see him.“I thought that you were moving with your

dad, to Pennsylvania?”

“I did,” Wendell said, “Just for the summer.”

“Glad to have you back, buddy,”I said.“Now I won't feel so out of place.”

“You? Out of place?” he said,“but you're a natural blackbelt.”

“Being a blackbelt only transforms your physical and mental attributes,” I explai-

ned.“Not your emotions.”

“Yeah, I can see why you would feel out of place,” he said, “everyone's isolated.”

The first bell rang signaling that there was five minutes left before class began.

With this procedure; no student should ever be late.

“Well, that's the bell,”Wendell said, “Who's your teacher?”

“Mr. Quickwitter,” I answered.“Who's yours?”

“I have Mr. Quickwitter too.”he shouted, excitedly.“This is going to be great.”

We accompanied each other to class.Even in the classroom was segregation, but

a little more civil.I mean, you had to be, otherwise, you'd be sent to the office for absu-

rdity and failing to cooperate; in this case, communicate.

Both Wendell and I sat side-by- side, as we had in elementary school, despite the

contradiction.

History lesson of the day: The cause of segregation.It started many generations

ago; with our ancestors.It's the past, and has absolutely nothing to do with the present

or the future.To let that effect us, we wouldn't be peddling forward toward the future,

but backpeddling to the past.

Over dinner, steak and potatoes and asaparagas, I described my day and asked

mom and dad if they had any advice for me.Mom said, “Maybe if you address the pro-

blem up front with everyone's undivided attention and help from a little research, you'd

find a solution to your problem.”

Lying in bed, contemplating a solution to segregation when an idea hit me. The

first thing I did was called Wendell.

“Wendell, I have an idea,” I said.“Meet me by the flag post tomorrow morning.”

The following morning, Wendell, was already waiting by the flag post when I arr-

ived.

“What's the big idea?” Wendell asked.

“Follow me,” I said, “This will end segregation once and for all.”

When we made it to our destination, it wasn't at all what Wendell had in mind.

“The principal's office?” he asked.

“That's right,” I said, “we're going to address this issue here and now..”

“How?”

“By that,” I pointed to the intercom.“I just need you to look out for me.”

“Whatever you want, Solomon,”Wendell said. “You're my best friend.”

I flipped the switch to the intercom and said, “Attention students, I want you all to

think about what it is you dislike about the others.When and if you can come up with

excuseable reasons, I want you to address it with care.At least ninety- five percent of

you will find this a hard task to complete since the real problem isn't the other sort.The

real problem is you.”

Students stopped in their tracks and thought long and hard about what it was that

isolated them from the others, but couldn't come up with an explanation. They began

looking at their rivals, and slowly began communicating.

I said, “This is not your fault, it stemmed from your youth.This new generation

and the future generations should not have to pay for our ancestors mistakes.If we sha-

ll continue to let segregation stand strong amongst us, it will destroy us, and eventually,

the world.”

Soon, students began to look pass all of their differences and began looking at their

Similarities.They had more in common than they had ever imagined.

“Quick,” Wendell said, “I think someone's coming!”

I said a few more words that may have changed the remainder of their lives, “for

every student who isolates themselves from the other pedigree, ask yourselves one

simple question, 'WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?!'I shut off the intercom, but we were

too late to escape.Principal Perkins entered the office.

“What are you boys doing on that intercom,” he shouted, “That is for staff only.”

I tried to explain, “I'm sorry!It was the only thing left to do.”

“By getting on the intercom, and making a mochary of this school?” he shouted.“I

will see to it that your parents be notified,” he finished, “both of you.”

He then sent us back to class.On our way back, we noticed a dramatic change.

Being a witness to something the world is deprived of:Irenic.Not just for ourselves,

solely for all of mankind to promote peace.

“We did it,” I said, and slapped my buddy a high- five.

I was nervous on my way home not knowing what to expect. I trembled walking

through the door.I was unsure if I was going to get in trouble for the charade I pulled

at school.

Instead it was the complete opposite.

“Your father and I heard about what you and Wendell did at school today,” Mom

said startling me.

“But mom, I can explain.”

“No need to,” she said, “Your father and I think that was a pretty courageous thing

that you and your friend did today.And so did Principal Perkins.”

I was speechless.

Dad said, “Your teacher Mr. Quickwitter thought you two were pretty heroic. He

even discussed making you the class President and Wendell your V.P.. how does that

Sound?”

“We're proud of you, Solomon,”Mom said.“Now go and freshen up.Dinner's

almost ready.”As I turned to walk off, mom said, “Remember, Solomon, never be too

afraid to do the right thing.If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything.”

Halfway through dinner, grilled chicken, steamed veggies and macaroni and cheese,

I was parched as a cactus plant, so I took a sip of lemonade.More bitter that sweet, I

thought.Bitter to the savor of sour.

Then it hit me, while I was in the bathroom Harmony must've sneaked and squeezed

more lemons into my cup.I realized that again I had been duped by my mischief, but

shrewd little sister, I screamed, “MOM!”

THE END 

Author's Note

WHAT DID YOU TAKE FROM THIS STORY? dOES THIS STORY IN ANY WAY TOUCH HOME FOR YOU? IF SO, HOW DID YOU DEAL WITH THE SITUATION? WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY SENTENCE STRUCTURE AND DIALOGUE? WHAT WOULD YOU IMPROVE WITH THIS STORY? WOULD YOU PAY FOR SOLOMON- WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?