Volume 1, Issue 3 & 4 - Diverse Voices Quarterly

allowing me to take Gladimir, his brother and sister on an outing to Central Park.
The siblings were thrilled with Central Park: the horses, the polar bears in the
zoo, the reservoir, the carousel, the women jogging with special baby carriages, the
chili dogs and French fries at the Boathouse Café. Central Park was a sanctuary
compared to Flatbush.
“Can you adopt me?” Gladimir asked after our outing to Central Park.
“What do you think life with me will be like?” I asked.
“We’ll live in Queens or New Jersey in a big house with a backyard. We drive to
the mall in our station wagon. In the summer we go on camping trips, sleep in a tent,
and barbecue hotdogs for lunch.”
I lived in a 500-square foot studio in the West Village and hated camping.
Gladimir was crushed that I didn’t own a car or a big house like the white people on
TV.
On the last day of school, he gave me a drawing of our Central Park outing. His
sister Manouchka and brother Remelus were on the left, Gladimir and I on the
right—all of us holding hands like a happy family. In the bottom corner he had written
in his best penmanship: Ms. S. don’t forget me. I miss you. Come back! Gladimir. I felt
sad that I would not see him for more than two months. “Let’s have lunch together.
My treat,” I said. Gladimir jumped up and down, thrilled with the chance of having a
cheeseburger, fries, and possibly an ice cream sandwich for lunch. His father never
gave him lunch money; he had eaten peanut butter sandwiches the entire school year.
At the cafeteria line two boys made rude comments in Creole and another cut in
front of me. Short, skinny Gladimir came to my defense. “Ki problem ou? Don’t mess
with Ms. Steegmann. She understands kreyòl. Ms. Steegmann, she’s not white. She’s
German. ”
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 3 & 4 72