One day, early in spring, I was walking home from school down Washington Street. It was a fair afternoon with some overcast creeping in. I had switched to the late session in kindergarten and was about half way home when I came across some change on the sidewalk in front of a house. It was nothing much: a quarter and a few dimes, maybe a nickel or two.

How exciting it was to find all this money! Even though I was well past the market I turned around and went right back to spend what I had found. It was an anxious minute or two as I ran all the way back toward Bristol Street to the little market next to the butcher shop.

I hadn’t been in there too many times before but I knew what I wanted and it was right there behind the clerk. I spilt my change out on the counter and pointed at various boxes of candy bars, bubble gum and other sweets until all of my money was gone. The clerk was a tall man with light hair and a nice smile. He was very helpful, explaining what I could buy with the last few cents, then he put all the candy in a small brown bag and I went on my way.

Walking home to my aunt’s house, I took my time and enjoyed the candy I had purchased. Normally, it would have taken about twelve minutes for me to get home from the point where the market was but this day I’m sure it took longer. I wasn’t in a hurry and I was eating one treat after another.

When I finally did get home I found myself in major trouble, not realizing how it must have looked to my aunt: a kid with all that candy and no resources with which to purchase it. She immediately concluded that I had stolen it. She asked where I had gotten the candy and, when I tried to explain, she started slapping me around and calling me a liar and a thief. I tried to convince her that I truly did find the money as I said but she continued to beat me anyway.

What she did next was astounding and truly became a defining moment of my childhood. She dragged me by the hair and threw me into the car. Then she drove me to the market, all the while holding a cigarette in her mouth. I can remember the exact route she went and how scared I was. When she pulled into the parking lot, I felt a sense of relief because I knew I had done nothing wrong and she would soon find out that I had been honest with her.

Taking a hold of me just under the shoulder, her fingers dug into my armpit as she lifted and pulled me along. She marched me into the store demanding to speak to the manager and drawing the attention of everyone. Then, still in her grasp, she shoved me forward. Presenting me to an audience of customers she proceeded to inform the clerk that he had been victimized by "this little thief."

The clerk was amazed and immediately interrupted saying that this little boy had paid for the candy. Elaine insisted back, assuring him that I was a thief and that he need not defend me, she knew better. She went on to inform him that my father was a thief so; surely, I was a thief. Intent on making her point, she went as far as to suggest to him that, while his back was turned, I reached behind him and took the candy from behind the counter.

The clerk was adamant about remembering me and went on to explain to Elaine why he kept the candy behind the counter as well as to give her a complete inventory of the items purchased and the exact amount of money I had spent. He pointed out to her the obvious, as he referenced the bag that held the remaining candy, "Perhaps he stol’ the bag also."

They were actually arguing and this man was defending me. I can’t begin to explain the feeling I had. To know that someone was standing up for me and telling Elaine I was not the terrible little person she made me out to be nearly brought tears to my eyes.

The argument subsided, both sides maintaining their position as Elaine grabbed hold of my arm again and stormed out. She opened the car door and threw me in, proceeding to drive down Washington Street, not the least convinced that I had been telling the truth. As she drove past the house that I had found the money in front of I was afraid she was going to stop and tell them, but she didn’t. She kept driving, even though I pointed out where I had found the money.

When we arrived back at the house, Elaine stormed out of the car and caught me in just a few steps. I was headed for the house and I knew what was coming, but I didn’t know everything. She dragged me into the house and slapped me across the back of the head several times and then threw me into the bathroom and told me not to move. As I stood in the bathroom scared and not knowing, she returned with a metal pan and informed me,

"In Old England, when somebody was caught stealing, they would be marked so all would know they were a thief. That way, they would be publicly recognized.

As I stood at the sink with my hands over the basin, she poured the liquid from the pan she had returned with. Slowly, I felt the warm green liquid drenching my hands and forearms.

She orders me to turn my palms over and continues to pour the liquid substance over the other side of my hands and forearms. My fingernails are staining like the rest of my skin and I cry out inside to my inner soul, asking why she’s doing this.

I feel a rush within my chest. My spiritual visitor has once again returned to hold me strong.

Elaine had poured food coloring over my hands and up my wrists about three inches. She said that now everyone would know I was a thief and would know to beware of me.

I was devastated. No longer scared of Elaine, I was scared that everyone who saw me would think I was a thief and that I was a bad person. Starting that day I washed my hands for several minutes at a time. I used Lava soap that my uncle had kept in the bathroom to clean the grease off his hands after working on cars – fifteen or sometimes twenty times. All day long I would wash my hands, sometimes even using Comet, remembering how it turned my knees white, just hoping to fade the green a little more with each wash. It was useless.

The kids at school wanted to know why my hands were green but I gave no explanation. I was shy, so it wasn’t a big deal that I didn’t answer. Day after day went by as the green slowly faded.

Then, after about ten days, my aunt told me to go into the bathroom again. Once there, she began scolding me, not yelling but methodically explaining to me that I was wrong trying to wash my hands so much; that I was trying to be sneaky and that my punishment was not complete. She then colored my hands green again and told me I was not to try and wash them clean. This time it took several weeks for the green to fade. I again faced ridicule and kids thought I was weird.

Strange, not one person ever asked if I was a thief. I was confused. Elaine had painted my hands green to show the world that I was a thief. The world didn’t seem to associate green hands with anything; it only provoked puzzled looks from adults and teachers.

Hank and Elaine seemed to have a distinct view of how children played a role in society. Elaine used to say "Do as I say, not as I do," "Speak only when spoken to," "Children are to be seen, not heard," or, "When I was a child I got one pair of shoes that had to last me till I outgrew them."

This always hits home when I think about the day I was walking from school and the streets were getting new blacktop. They were cement with large cracks in them and the cracks had been filled with black rubber. This particular day, workmen had coated the entire street, end to end, with this rubberized asphalt. There was absolutely no way across, so I thought I would run as quickly as I could, and I did. By the time I crossed three streets full of this stuff I had filled the entire treads of my tennis shoes and had about a quarter inch of black stuff caked onto the bottoms.

I was in big trouble when I got home and, of course, there was no use explaining. Elaine gave me the belt and sent me outside where I left my shoes and told me to clean them. I was out there for hours rubbing them on the grass and dirt trying to break free the fresh asphalt. That afternoon, Hank came home and gave me his pocket knife so I could scrape off what I could. He gave me some paint thinner and a rag and I cleaned them some more. They never came clean but at least I was able to get the mass of asphalt off.

I was glad when I finally was rid of those shoes because they felt awkward wearing them with the little lumps on the bottoms.

It’s amazing how things happened in my life. After about a month those shoes would prematurely be destroyed while trying to mow the lawn. Looking back, I was a bit young to be mowing the yard with a power lawn mower. It took every bit of muscle I had just to pull the rope.

On this sunny weekend morning, while pulling the rope, I slipped. My right foot went under the edge of the mower as it started. I froze stiff as I felt the whirl of the blade breeze above my toes. Slowly reaching, I was able to pull the wire off the spark plug and kill the engine. Once the blade had slowed, I pulled my foot out from under the mower. My heart continued to race as my eyes deceived me. The top of my tennis shoe was sliced away from the rest of the shoe. As I walked into the house, it flapped with each step. The look on Elaine’s face was that of amazement as she told me to be more careful next time. A few days later, I got a new pair of sneakers.

Sometimes I wondered if Elaine had a clue as to her impact on us. I wouldn’t make a move without permission because I didn’t want to get in trouble. One day, I was really hungry so I asked her while she was in the kitchen if I could have a banana. She seemed shocked that I would ask and told me I didn’t have to ask for something to eat, I could just help myself. I got a chair and went over and got a banana from atop the refrigerator. I really thought that was nice of her. I knew I could make myself a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk without asking, but I never dared get anything other than that.