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Reflections on Two Worlds

Growing up in Oakland during the sixties seemed to be a normal way of life. We would fall asleep to gunshots and to the steady screams of the ambulances, like a confederate war cry. There was the familiar roar of Navy helicopters transporting wounded soldiers from hospital ships or Travis AFB to Oak Knoll hospital, so that people would not know how many mangled bodies were coming out of Viet Nam. I never realized the horrors of our neighborhood until my family moved. My parents finally removed us from the concrete jungle we once lived to the beautiful Alameda waterfront that became my home until I entered the service to avoid being drafted. After moving from Oakland to a one family home in Alameda, the differences were quite apparent. They truly were two different neighborhoods in two different worlds.

Once settled into our new house, my brother and I began exploring. Our first stop was the tennis court down the street where I was to meet my future soul mate. Trees providing a natural windbreak surrounded the court. On the backside of the court was a small park with more trees and a basketball court. We had a boat berthed in our backyard, which my brother and I would sail on the bay when we were not o


n the tennis court. Even though our ecological niche had changed we were reminded daily of our old world with the violent noise of Navy jet engines being tested.

Our old school was so overcrowded; sometimes we had to attend class in the cafeteria so that everyone would have a seat. Our textbooks were old and had a damp musty smell. Our chalkboards were dirty, covered with racial slurs and spitballs. The window blinds were all deformed and discolored from being set on fire multiple times. I vividly remember the principal herding students down the hall as though they were cattle. Teachers spent most of the time maintaining order in class or escaping to the safety of the office. When a semblance of order was obtained the teacher would read verbatim from the textbook and then assign homework from the questions at the end of each chapter. My English teacher was a middle-aged woman who told us she had terminal brain cancer and had no intention of doing anything but read. She instructed the class that we could read, study or leave. I had a history teacher who would go up and down each row asking questions, and would hit you on the head with her teachers' edition textbook if you answered incorrectly. Getting from class to class was like going through a known mine field by keeping clear of those whose mission it was to get even with the white boy. Instead of laboratory sessions, our hands on experiences were holding a pencil and taking notes on a nature movie.

Living in Alameda was an experience that I never would change. It made me the person I am today. I never take for granted what I have or look down on those less fortunate. Moving to Alameda was a great change for my family as well as me. The tennis courts in Alameda were where all my friends would meet to play the game of the sixties. It was a place of relaxation and freedom. In Oakland it was a place of horror. Our school in Alameda was a place of education. The Oakland school

Some common words found in the essay are:
Viet Nam, Pepsi Coca-Cola, Paulo Freire, Moving Alameda, Paulo Freire's, Growing Oakland, Living Alameda, Oak Knoll, teacher's role, racial unrest, school alameda, tennis court,
Approximate Word count = 1310
Approximate Pages = 5 (250 words per page double spaced)


  

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