Doing Something

The first time I got called the n-word, a kid pried my hands from the monkey bars and I landed on my ribs- bruising the right side of my body. As I rose from the concrete, another kid pulled the corners of his eyes and called me “slanty-eyed- you slanty-eyed n — — r”. I was mad and retorted something rude, but not racist. The boy stuck his tongue out and he ran away. I spent the rest of the afternoon dreaming of his demise.