Brogans
By Betty Collins Brown
The snow fell in huge flakes, floating down gently past the window where Bonnie Sue stood looking upward. Already her world was becoming a winter wonderland, transformed from dirty gray to a blanket of white. It was rare to see pure white over the landscape normally covered with black coal dust. She was eight years old and smarting from an incident on her walk home from school that day.
Her siblings had walked ahead eager to get home to supper because they had not had any lunch that day. Bonnie Sue had taken a biscuit left over from breakfast. At lunch time, she hid behind the door to eat it. She hid because she had heard the comments of her classmates before: “Look what Bonnie Sue brought for lunch today” they would whisper, then laugh. She knew her family was poor because several weeks before she had asked her mother for a nickel to buy a pack of crackers for lunch. She didn’t understand why a nickel was so hard to come by, but she had understood the look of pain in her mother’s eyes as she said, “Bonnie, I don’t have a nickel to give you. I wish I did; I know it hurts you. It hurts me, too.”
The snow started falling early in the afternoon and had started to accumulate when school dismissed. Bonnie Sue dreaded the walk home because her hand-me-down shoes were not adequate to keep out the snow. Her mother called them “brogans.” Each shoe had a hole in the bottom where the foot first touches the ground; each hole had been patched with brown cardboard. They were wet and soggy. She walked ahead of several classmates not knowing that, with each step she took, they could see the brown cardboard poking through the holes in her shoes. She heard them whisper; then she heard the laughter and she knew she was the object of their ridicule—again. She was proud, maybe too proud; her mother always said pride is a sin. She picked up the pace of walking until gradually she was running—running home and refusing to listen to their remarks and their laughter.
At home, supper was already on the table and each chair was taken. She could smell the fried potatoes, pinto beans, sauerkraut, corn bread and onions. She was breathing heavily from running and proudly told her mother how she had just handled the classmates who were making fun of her. Her mother said, “Well, what in the world did you do? You didn’t get into a fight did you, Bonnie Sue?”
“No,” said Bonnie Sue. “I didn’t get into a fight, but I didn’t take nothing off of ’em either!”
Her mother repeated, “What did you do?”
“Well, I ran off and left ’em,” said Bonnie Sue. To her surprise, there was laughter all around the table from her daddy and siblings. She didn’t understand their reaction; she thought running away from a fight was the only thing to do and she wanted to be recognized for keeping the peace. Being made fun of again—this time by her own family—was more than she could bear. She went to the window to pout.
By now the snow was accumulating fast. And she saw magic in the snow as she stood at the window, magic that gave her the sensation of floating upward, leaving behind all those who were laughing at her. She imagined it would take her to the place where Jesus lived, beside a beautiful river with green grass on each side where white sheep were always grazing. He would take her in his arms and comfort her as he did the little children she had seen in pictures at Sunday School. If she could just open the window and step out and float upward, everything would be all right.
Bonnie Sue’s mother came to her side, still smiling, and explained that they weren’t making fun of her. It was just that, from the tone of her voice, they expected something very different. She told her she did do the right thing; God blesses those who try to keep the peace and the classmates who made fun of her probably had holes in their shoes, too. She assured her that God loves all people, especially poor people. She promised that, after supper and after the dishes were washed, she, along with her brothers and sisters, could put on their brogans and old wool socks for gloves and play in the snow with cousins who lived up in the next hollow—cousins who, she knew for sure, had brown cardboard covering the holes in their brogans.
It was enough to take away the sting of ridicule; it was enough to make a cold day feel warm; it was enough to know how love feels. It was enough.
By Betty Collins Brown
The snow fell in huge flakes, floating down gently past the window where Bonnie Sue stood looking upward. Already her world was becoming a winter wonderland, transformed from dirty gray to a blanket of white. It was rare to see pure white over the landscape normally covered with black coal dust. She was eight years old and smarting from an incident on her walk home from school that day.
Her siblings had walked ahead eager to get home to supper because they had not had any lunch that day. Bonnie Sue had taken a biscuit left over from breakfast. At lunch time, she hid behind the door to eat it. She hid because she had heard the comments of her classmates before: “Look what Bonnie Sue brought for lunch today” they would whisper, then laugh. She knew her family was poor because several weeks before she had asked her mother for a nickel to buy a pack of crackers for lunch. She didn’t understand why a nickel was so hard to come by, but she had understood the look of pain in her mother’s eyes as she said, “Bonnie, I don’t have a nickel to give you. I wish I did; I know it hurts you. It hurts me, too.”
The snow started falling early in the afternoon and had started to accumulate when school dismissed. Bonnie Sue dreaded the walk home because her hand-me-down shoes were not adequate to keep out the snow. Her mother called them “brogans.” Each shoe had a hole in the bottom where the foot first touches the ground; each hole had been patched with brown cardboard. They were wet and soggy. She walked ahead of several classmates not knowing that, with each step she took, they could see the brown cardboard poking through the holes in her shoes. She heard them whisper; then she heard the laughter and she knew she was the object of their ridicule—again. She was proud, maybe too proud; her mother always said pride is a sin. She picked up the pace of walking until gradually she was running—running home and refusing to listen to their remarks and their laughter.
At home, supper was already on the table and each chair was taken. She could smell the fried potatoes, pinto beans, sauerkraut, corn bread and onions. She was breathing heavily from running and proudly told her mother how she had just handled the classmates who were making fun of her. Her mother said, “Well, what in the world did you do? You didn’t get into a fight did you, Bonnie Sue?”
“No,” said Bonnie Sue. “I didn’t get into a fight, but I didn’t take nothing off of ’em either!”
Her mother repeated, “What did you do?”
“Well, I ran off and left ’em,” said Bonnie Sue. To her surprise, there was laughter all around the table from her daddy and siblings. She didn’t understand their reaction; she thought running away from a fight was the only thing to do and she wanted to be recognized for keeping the peace. Being made fun of again—this time by her own family—was more than she could bear. She went to the window to pout.
By now the snow was accumulating fast. And she saw magic in the snow as she stood at the window, magic that gave her the sensation of floating upward, leaving behind all those who were laughing at her. She imagined it would take her to the place where Jesus lived, beside a beautiful river with green grass on each side where white sheep were always grazing. He would take her in his arms and comfort her as he did the little children she had seen in pictures at Sunday School. If she could just open the window and step out and float upward, everything would be all right.
Bonnie Sue’s mother came to her side, still smiling, and explained that they weren’t making fun of her. It was just that, from the tone of her voice, they expected something very different. She told her she did do the right thing; God blesses those who try to keep the peace and the classmates who made fun of her probably had holes in their shoes, too. She assured her that God loves all people, especially poor people. She promised that, after supper and after the dishes were washed, she, along with her brothers and sisters, could put on their brogans and old wool socks for gloves and play in the snow with cousins who lived up in the next hollow—cousins who, she knew for sure, had brown cardboard covering the holes in their brogans.
It was enough to take away the sting of ridicule; it was enough to make a cold day feel warm; it was enough to know how love feels. It was enough.
