Keino Hayle

Dr Meaghan Rand
Writing and Inquiry Academic Context
02/03/2015

Little Ones
Life is amusing in that it only allows you to remember certain events when
growing up. Its fascinating how I have very little recollection of my biological
parents, but I'm grateful for my adoptive parents. Memories of my childhood
neighborhood are blurry. Even individuals outside of my immediate family are faint,
it seems unique situations are all I can recall. Most of all I remember the quality
time spent with my family. My parents, two brothers and one sisters together in a
beautiful home walking distance to Howard University. I grew up in the LeDroit Park
neighborhood in Washington Dc. Beautiful Victorian style homes of multiple color
with very little room for a back yard. This was the place I was to call home. The
place I would grow up in. The only rule was to not venture past the driveway; not
that I would. I was still afraid of the dark. This was my home during the realization I
have a family I can rely on.
I experienced my first bee sting on a beautiful spring day, my hand wrapped
in my mothers. We were minding our business nonchalantly walking to the park. I
begged her to let me cross through an open field full of daises. I remember the
vibrant yellow flowers glistening in the sun-light. Unfortunately I disturbed a bee.
Because the next thing I recall is myself crying, grasping near my ankle, and being
told if I hold the ice on the bee sting it will feel better. Every experience was new to
me. Even learning my family accepted me without even having to try. My mother

could have easily told me to toughen up or yell at me to stop crying. Instead I was
shown compassion and love.
I recall persistently wanting to fit in with my older brothers. I even remember
wrestling with my bothers wanting to prove myself. Although Im the youngest and
by far the smallest, I still wanted to prove I could compete with the best of them.
Sometimes considered traumatic events when experienced by many children,
wrestling was normal growing up in my home. I remember the first time being
excluded from my older brothers. I only remember because at three, my older
brothers teased me for crying to my mother and getting them in trouble for what I
considered being too rough.
I remember as it were yesterday. Walking downstairs to find my older
brothers wrestling each other in the den. Typically the TV was blaring on ABCs One
Saturday morning. An escapade of cartoon shows jammed packed into a few hours.
The coffee table was normally moved to side. My moms vase with this weeks
bouquet of flowers, along with my dads statues always delicately removed from
their mantel and gently placed on the hardwood floor away from destruction. I could
easily see my brothers from the staircase and was extremely excited to see that
they were already awake. This Saturday I was woke up to what I thought would be a
beautiful exciting morning.
I distinctly remember the awakening I would receive in the morning. The rays
of sunlight from the huge skylight and floor to ceiling windows was intense. I
remember being able to feel the radiant golden sun coming down the stairs. It was
the perfect way to welcome a morning. The way this Saturday started, there was no
reason to believe this would be a typical weekend. I imagined a day full of cartoons,

cereal, and hours of playing with my older brothers. Karl was winning the wrestling
match like usual. Hes still the strongest till this day. I ran into the den full of energy
and excitement. Racing down the remaining stairs as quickly as my little three year
old legs could take me. Through the foyer into the open den I meet brothers with
what should have been a pretty gentle knee to the stomach. Instead, just as I raised
my knee and tried to replicate a move I saw on TV, Karl moved his face into an
unavoidable collision with my knee. My brother received his first black eye and I
received my first bruised knee. Acting out of instinct my brother jumped up shoving
me to the floor. I hit the floor with force banging my head and began to cry. Both of
my brothers rushed to me. Karl unaware of the already apparent swelling under his
eye pleaded with me stop crying. If I continue my parent would surely hear and all
of the fun would be over. I used my hands to try and suffocate the loud sobbing.
Eventually the whimpering began to subside, but it was too late. I noticed my
mother standing over head of us boys. I received the lightest punishment which was
typical because Im the youngest. My older siblings and I were conscious of this
early. If any statue was broken or there was a loud banging I would typically take
the fall for it when my parents required an explanation. I never brought it to
anyones attention, but I always wondered whether being adopted played a role in
the way my parents treated me. I would leave subtle hints, but my older siblings
never showed they were conscious of this when we would play. I assumed this was
the primary reason I was occasionally left out of certain activities. This was contrary
to what I wanted. Like most children my age with siblings, I wanted to be accepted.
At the time it was the most important thing in my life.
At three or four I was growing into a typical fearless little boy intent on
investigating everything. My life consisted of home and school. The only television I

was exposed to was Sesame Street. I dont even recall visiting the grocery store.
Luckily my mother was and educator at the elementary school I attended. At the
time I was in the second grade and she taught kindergarten. My life was pretty
predictable. Every day after school I would walk a couple of yards to my mothers
classroom and stay there with her for a few of hrs. I never looked forward to doing
my homework in my mothers classroom. It always felt like detention or an
additional class. When there wasnt any homework my mom never gave me the
opportunity to explore for fear I would be disruptive. My memory is blurry but Im
confident I was oblivious to the significance of a particular situation. One of older
brothers bursts into my mothers classroom. Im sitting in a students chair doing
my homework while my mother is sitting at her desk across from me preparing
tomorrows activities. Baby what happened? My mother cries to my brother. Just
as quickly as she cries out she realizes that hes okay. Hes only out of breath. My
brother Kaleb screams out, He fell. Karl fell. I cant tell you exactly what I
thought at that moment. One of my brothers has fallen. Truly, I dont believe I could
comprehend exactly what that meant. What I could comprehend was the clear panic
and despair in my mothers eyes. Something I hope to never see again on anyones
face. My mother hastily grabs me in her arms in one swift motion, while motioning
my brother out of the classroom she orders him to lead her to Karl. My memory
fades to an ambulance outside where we realize he suffered a fractured fibula as a
result of playing a simple game of tag on a jungle gym built on concrete in the inner
city park. My bother couldnt walk for months. We all chipped in as a cohesive
family to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. I contributed the best way I
knew how. I was his designated leg scratcher as well as his personal waiter. Later I
would convince myself my mother would have reacted the same way if I were hurt.

There was no reason to believe she wouldnt. I was always shown unconditional
love, but even at such a young age I was apprehensive a flaw would be found in my
character.

The last of my earliest memories consisted of our family meeting, where on

this occasion my parents decided the family should move down south. To my
surprise my siblings and I were given the opportunity to input our thoughts.
Although my brothers accident was one of the reasons my parents decided against
continuing to raise a family in the city, but as an adult I found it had to do more with
our financial situation. As children we couldnt understand the need to leave. We
were all born in Washington DC. Its all we knew. The idea of dirt roads, trees, and
neighbors for miles seemed unnatural. My brothers and sisters had far more to lose
as they were older already attending middle school. Our entire world was in DC. Not
only our friends but childhood memories. Imagine the culture shock growing up in
the inner city and told your moving to the south. My brothers, sister and I all cried.
Complaining for days to my parents but to no avail. Eventually it lead to use
avoiding our parents at all cost. Of course we would listen when called upon. But we
would only speak when spoken to, and refused to show any other emotion aside
from depression.
I was terrified of the idea of moving. I knew my world was coming to an
abrupt end. I had developed an unusual type of attachment to Washington DC. It
was all that I knew. I associated DC with home. I never cared to explore the rest of
America. It was important that I side with my siblings so that we would show a
united front against our parents decision to move the family down south. So I

announced my displeasure for moving the only way I knew how. I threw a severe
tantrum which inevitably resulted in a spanking and a long talk I still remember to
this day. Although its the latter, the intimate conversation I had with my parents on
acceptance that has had the most lasting effect. As an adult I can reflect on the
relationship between my parents and me, now seeing things from their perspective.
They only wanted to provide a more secure stable environment. They could easily
see the displeasure in their childrens faces. The clear anxiety that accompanies the
realization of having to start over. They both held me close reminding me of how
helpless an injury such as a bee sting or fractured wrist can be difficult to deal with
on your own. Occasionally you may find yourself in a situation where all you can do
is call out for help. Just as I did when I was stung. Or just as my brother Kaleb did for
Karl when he fractured his wrist. Family was around to pick us up when we needed
to be rescued from danger. I was convinced at that moment in my loving parents
arms, that despite my need to cling to my childhood home or even insecurities of
not being accepted, they would easily create a new home for all of us. My parents
carried me into the den where my siblings were playing Nintendo. We were serious
about avoiding our parents at all cost. My mother acted as mediator. She talked
about the importance of fellowship. The bond between families must be strong as
we experience the joy and hardship of everyday life. In every new unique situation
that arises we all must be willing to provide comfort and support. With each of us
having our own different strengths and weaknesses, unified it would be next to
impossible to bring us down. As a way to try and smooth things over as well as
provide a little hope in what my siblings and I considered a challenging situation.
My parents made promises to each one of us in return for changing our minds about

the move. Karl was guaranteed a new puppy, Kaleb was given a BMX bicycle, and
my sisters and I were promised a pool at the new house.
Truly there was never a need to interrupt my parents decision to move as a
negative one. But at such a young age I couldnt help but feel compelled to try and
change the minds of adults. There was such a desire in my siblings and I to remain
up north that in the few days we were emotionally on strike there was an unspoken
discomfort that left me feeling vulnerable. This is what ultimately led me into my
parents arms initiating the beginning of the end of my first conflict. Ive learned
from the beginning family will always love you and accept you regardless.