100 People in 100 Days:iii. Benjamin Racklesford

At five years old, Benjamin Racklesford, learned he was immune to the demands of justice. He had been attending kindergarten for the past three months. He did as he was told and never talked out of turn.

In fact, the only instance of any kind of defiance was when he would doodle additions to the pictures on the worksheets that were supposed to be teaching them the alphabet. When the class was learning about the sound of CH, they were given a worksheet with a picture of a chicken. Benjamin decided to draw poo coming out of the chicken’s butt. While he was sure he would get in trouble for the additions, after forgetting to erase the feces, he did not. The teacher thought he was just making eggs coming out of whatever a chicken laid eggs from. Benjamin’s father, perhaps even knowing it was feces, was proud of his son’s creativity—no matter how crude.

Benjamin understood his surroundings but was often quiet about his observations and fascinations. When he learned about Jessica Cohen being Jewish and celebrating Hanukah, Benjamin was fascinated by the fact that other people rather light candles for a week than open presents on Christmas. But he was never able to stir up the courage to ask Jessica about anything else about her peculiar practices. Most days at recess, he spent in a corner of the playground by himself recounting tales of Star Wars.

On particular recess, Benjamin found himself playing with another young boy. The boy was the kind that would find himself often ridiculed and at the bottom of the social ladder. Already he wore thick glasses. Benjamin and the boy with the thick glasses, sitting in a sandbox had found themselves sticks. And like two healthy young boys, they began to sword fight. Benjamin, being strong with the force, thrust at the face of the other boy. Managing to jab the stick underneath the glasses, it found itself square in the boy’s eye.

He cried.

Benjamin quickly dropped his stick. “Stop crying. Please stop crying. It wasn’t on purpose.” The boy continued to cry. “It was an accident. I did it on accident. Don’t cry.” Desperate, Benjamin picked one of the discarded sticks back up and tried placing it into the hands of the other boy. “Poke me in the eye. Poke me. Then it will be fair. Stop crying. Poke me in the eye. It’ll be even then.”

The boy refused to take the stick and only cried more. He paused for a brief moment to inform Benjamin, “I’m telling teacher.” Benjamin gulped. He almost began to cry himself. He did not know when the bell would ring to call the children back to class, to bring the teacher back to their presences, but he knew that time would come. He gulped again and then found a quiet spot under a tree to sit and wait for the bell to ring.

He tried to figure out what would happen to him. He had never had been in trouble before. He had never had to take home a yellow note. Or have his name written on the board. Or be sent to that other teacher, which is what happened to the really bad kids.

And then the bell rang.

Benjamin stood from his quiet spot and walked over to the line that his other classmates had begun to form. The boy which he had poked in the eye was three in back of Benjamin. His eyes was red and swollen. He held his hand over it and Benjamin though that the other boy even wore a grin because he knew what was in store. The teacher walked up and began to lead the queue of children back to the classroom.

“Mrs. Paulson. Mrs. Paulson,” cried the other boy. Benjamin gulped. Mrs. Paulson walked back to the boy to ask him what the matter was. Benjamin was almost in tears. He covered his ears and hummed so he could not hear what the boy was telling Mrs. Paulson, nor could he hear whatever punishment Mrs. Paulson promised to the boy.

Then Benjamin saw the teacher walk past him, to the front of the line, and open the door to the classroom. He walked to his seat, to afraid to look up at her as he walked past. He sat almost motionless the rest of the day.

And then the final bell rang. Benjamin put on his jacket. Put his E.T. folder into his Superman backpack. He walked to the door to pick up his Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox. And then he left the classroom and walked home. Mrs. Paulson never said a word that day or any other.

After that day Benjamin Racklesford learned what it was like to be Superman and Luke Skywalker. What the Duke boys felt like when the slid across the hood of the General Lee. One had to be cunning. Sit still for hours, days, months. But if one sat still long enough. If one did what they were told long enough. At some point they would have the trust of others to do anything. Benjamin Racklesford was five years old.