By VICKI BROWN
I am like a good dog…loyal to a fault. I hate injustice and always root for the underdog, and sometimes that leads to trouble.
And I certainly found myself in trouble one day at school.
I was in the ninth grade in Mrs. “boring Borry’s” class, the English class from Satan. Bathroom passes were like gold to me; I loved them and used them as frequently as allowed to get out of the classroom for a breath of fresh air.
One particular day as I was leisurely strolling down the hallway during class, I saw a gang of boys run up to a friend of mine and begin punching him and beating him.
Shocked I quickly ran to a teacher and told. However, when the teacher ran to the scene, the gang was gone and my friend David was a mess.
The principal came on the loudspeaker and asked if anyone who had seen anything to please come to his office. I knew the right thing to do, I had been raised right, so I went and named the boys in the gang, then promptly forgot about it.
During first period the next morning, the principal called me in his office and warned me that one of the boys had seen me go by, so they were threatening me, and even though they had been suspended, they had friends. So he called my mom and sent me home.
At this time, my mom had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and had been bedridden for several months. Dad scraped money together to pay for a lady named Mrs. Ford to come stay with mom and help her while my sisters and I were in school. She turned out to be a life saver for me.
Evidently, my mom and Mrs. Ford had discussed my situation at school, and knowing that I had to eventually go back to class in spite of the threat, that dear lady had suggested that mom put a hex on the gang.
Now, we were pasty white people who knew next to nothing about hexes or voodoo or really anything. We were Baptists (and not the snake handling kind). But Mrs. Ford was African American and adamant that a hex would fix the problem.
My mother decided to take action. Not knowing the first thing about hexes, she dug into her closet of craft supplies, and using yarn, she fashioned a doll that could hang around my neck. Then she stuck two pins in it.
The next day, she sent me to school. I thought she was nuts.
In fear and trepidation, I slowly walked into the building wearing that ridiculous yarn doll around my neck. But the most amazing thing happened.
People cleared the halls as I approached them, literally banging up against lockers set into the walls of the hallways. I was astounded. Seriously?
More amazement was to follow.
I went into my algebra class, the one I was failing miserably, and when my African American teacher took one look at my doll, she looked like she was in the throes of a heart attack. She got behind her desk and wouldn’t come near me. I ended up with a “C” in her class.
My mom rarely was able to drive in those days, but she managed to come to pick me up from school that day. She got out of the car and stood there with sunglasses on just looking over the crowd of kids waiting for the buses at the end of the day. With her frosted hair blowing everywhere, wearing black and sporting sunglasses, she scared the kids to death.
Okay. I confess. I was having some kind of fun now! No one came near me for three days. Even my best friend was creeped out, and she knew all about the trick. Another friend asked me if my mom wore sunglasses to hide her evil eye, and if so, what color was it.
I loved it. I felt like the godfather of Bates Middle School.
I was growing more arrogant by the day, and my mom decided she had had enough, so on the third day, she chopped up the doll and threw it in the trash, telling me I had nothing to worry about anymore and to shut up and go to school.
She was right; I had no repercussions, but I never forgot the entire incident, and neither did anyone else. The story has lived on in the annals of Sumter County.
But I have always wondered….are people really so superstitious? Are they so susceptible to the power of suggestion? Instead of investigating, do people really believe everything they are told?
After experiencing the pandemic, I have come to the conclusion that yes, they do.
