Column | Philip 'June' Smith
I was born on April 17, 1958 in Pittsylvania County, VA. My given name is Philip Junior Smith but my friends and family have always called me June, even to this day. I was born to Philip O’Donald Smith and Nancy Adams Smith who worked as sharecroppers and in that day in age were considered to be poor. Nancy, my mother had two sons from her previous marriage: William who was nine years old and Larry who was seven. They were my older brothers or step brothers as some might say. I was the oldest of Philip’s children: Steve and Stan who were twins, Carolyn and Paul. The Smith’s were mostly dark skinned, me being the darkest and my youngest brother Paul being the lightest which made my dad say in times of anger, drunkenness, and sometimes both that he wasn’t his son.
My story starts when I began first grade at Sydnor Jennings Elementary School because kindergarten hadn’t been integrated yet. I remember having to read plenty of books but one in particular was based on two white kids and a dog whose name was Spot. We were young and just learning to read so the sentences were simple like, “see spot run.” It was simple to me so I memorized the whole book and chose not to carry my books to school because of it. I helped other students when given the chance so my teachers took a liking to my memory and me as well. I went home some days proud and bragging, “Miss Jones said I was the smartest in class.” Eventually I began to think that I was the smartest at home too, an ‘A’ student, Honor Roll king, and for a while my family went along with it. Until I began to realize that not everyone is interested in education. I mean, I tried by helping my siblings with their work and trying to show them how much fun it could be but I had no such luck, however I continued striving in school. I felt love from my teachers and most importantly love from my mom.
Here is where my love for competition was beginning to develop. I was looking for any chance to compete mentally, physically, you name it. All my competitive juices were flowing like Niagara Falls. You see, when you’re poor you feel you can’t compete in many things--like fashion. Because poor boy’s clothes come around very often like week to week, and your clothes might seem familiar to others because you have to repeat outfits. You can’t afford the same things that matter to grade schoolers like new bikes, toys, etc. Some of your classmates may even begin to talk about you saying they’re noticing your clothes look the same as last week’s and other slick remarks that when you’re young pierce to the bone. And there’s no reason to get mad because in the back of your mind you know they’re telling the truth. My truth though was that I wanted them to like me not belittle me to my peers. I tried to talk like their equal but I couldn’t. I tried to walk like I belonged but I didn’t--I didn’t until we were on some type of sports field that is. In sports is where I felt I belonged, where I felt I could shine like a star. I led our sandlot teams to mostly honorable defeats.
I was much bigger and stronger than the rest of the players so when these older and bigger teams challenged us to show up and play, I could see clearly that we didn’t have much of a chance in winning but my pride wouldn’t let me back down--no matter how bad they beat us last week, no matter how high they towered over us, no matter what. I’d encourage my team and tell them not to worry about their size because we still had potential to be better, that we were the best. They were still terrified though especially in football which is where I took my most brutal beatings playing quarterback, running back, receiver, and defense--the only real defense we had. Eventually the big boys picked me to play with them against county rivals, I felt good because finally I’d won them over, they liked me.
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