Nick Delquadro

Dr. Haslam

English 2010

05/12/2022

The Moment of a 3rd Grader’s Real World Realization

(Flash Memoir)

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us. I hum while bouncing my knee

and steadily bop my head at my desk. At my desk, I read the questions off my textbook while

writing the answers on the paper to my right.

Michael Jackson’s catchy song rings in my ear. The same song from that morning before

school and the day before that on my way to my dad’s house.

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us.

Beat me

Hate me

You can never break me

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

My knee continues to bounce to the beat in my head while my head bops again. To my

right, my friend, Garrett, has already finished his homework, taking rubber bands and making

colorful bracelets out of them. Let’s hurry and finish the homework, and then I can switch seats

and take out my rubber bands too. That song won’t stop playing in my head though. Next
question. What is the square root of 125? I write down the answer and quickly move on. Then

the rhythm in my head and knee come back.

I have a wife and two children who love me.

I'm a victim of police brutality oh

I began mumbling again as I finish my last couple of questions in a rush and move over

two seats to my friend. I looked around and just about the rest of my friends had already been

checked out, and the clock read 4:30. “Hey Garret. 30 more minutes till our after school recess

starts. Where did Hansen go?” I asked.

“Oh I think his mom picked him up when school ended today,” he said while focusing on

his Rainbow Loom rubber bands.

“Oooh ok,” I said back just before pulling out my rubber bands to finish what I had been

working on yesterday which was my braided red and yellow bracelet for my favorite super hero,

The Flash. I have always loved the Flash.

I began humming to myself again 5 minutes into my Flash bracelet “All I wanna say is

that they don’t really care about us,”

“What?” Garrett turned and asked.

“All I wanna say is that they don’t really care about us,” I more clearly said to him along

with the melody. “You don’t know that song? It then goes something like “I'm a victim of police

brutality. Set me free,”” I continued to chant.

“You know what police brutality is right?” he said back.

“Uhhh no. Do you?”

“It’s when a cop is mean to someone because they aren’t white like us,”

“What?” I quickly said back with a squeak in my voice, “Why?”

 “I dunno,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and going back to his bracelet. “Fun fact, like

only one or two people out of 100 are African-Americans in Utah according to the Utah census.”

I looked back at my Flash bracelet, but the question stuck with me, “Why?”
Nick Delquadro

Dr. Haslam

English 2010

02/07/2022

The Moment of a 3rd Grader’s Real World Realization

ORIGINAL

(Flash Memoir)

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us. I hum while bouncing my knee

and steadily bop my head at my desk. At my desk, I read the questions off my textbook while

writing the answers on the paper to my right.

Michael Jackson’s catchy song rings in my ear. The same song from that morning before

school and the day before that on my way to my dad’s house.

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us.

Beat me

Hate me

You can never break me

All I want to say is that they don’t really care about us

My knee continues to bounce to the beat in my head while my head bops again. To my

right, my friend, Garrett, has already finished his homework, taking rubber bands and making

colorful bracelets out of them. Let’s hurry and finish the homework, and then I can switch seats
and take out my rubber bands too. That song won’t stop playing in my head though. Next

question. What is the square root of 125? I write down the answer and quickly move on. Then

the rhythm in my head and knee come back.

I have a wife and two children who love me.

I'm a victim of police brutality oh

I began mumbling again. I finish my last couple of questions in a rush and move over two

seats to my friend, Garrett. I look around and just about the rest of my friends had already been

checked out, and the clock read 3:30. “30 more minutes till our after school recess starts. Where

did Hansen go?” I asked Garrett.

“Oh I think his mom picked him up when school ended today,” he said while focusing on

his rubber bands.

“Oh” I said back just before pulling out my rubber bands to finish what I had been

working on yesterday, my braided Flash bracelet. I have always loved the Flash.

“All I wanna say is that they don’t really care about us,” I hummed to myself.

“What?” Garrett quickly turned and asked.

“All I wanna say is that they don’t really care about us,” I more clearly sang to him. “You

know that song? “I'm a victim of police brutality.””

“You know what police brutality is right?”

“Uhhh no. Do you?”

“It’s when a cop is mean to someone because their skin is black.”

“What?” I quickly said back with a squeak in my voice, “Why?”

“I dunno,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and going back to his bracelet, “fun fact, like

only one or two people out of 100 are African-Americans in Utah.”

I looked back at my Flash bracelet but the question stuck with me, “Why?”