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The stall, with the smoke from the grilled barbeque wafting through the air, attracted both students and teachers alike (mainly from UP Rural High School) to buy the products displayed – barbeque, isaw, dugo, hotdog, and many more. Some come to buy the pineapple juice offered rather than the food, but I think it all ends the same way – another mouth fed, another hungry stomach satiated, and a family earning their keep.

When the time was reaching 8:25 PM, the stall slowly started to lose customers and that was when the opportunity to interview the owner of the stall appeared - an opportunity that will not be lost, and so the interview was conducted.

 Meal Ticket

Felix, the owner of the stall, shared that he was the breadwinner of a family of three. He and his wife were blessed with their daughter Maureen who helps manage the stall by being in-charge of receiving the payments and giving out change. In a rather hushed voice, Felix had also shared that their daughter, for the briefest moment, became an older sister. It was short-lived since upon birth, the younger sibling had died.

Prior to creating his food stall, Felix was gardener-slash-handyman in Jubileeville: “cutting weeds and such,” as he had described. He, however, had an abusive and rude amo – spouting curse words directed at Felix, and even berating and belittling him. As a father and a family man looking for a way to provide for his family, he did his best to prevent the weeds – bad thoughts and negative emotions - from growing in himself. He needed to feed his family. After a while, Felix had come to realize that one must pull out the weeds to be able to grow a beautiful and healthy garden, so he decided to save enough money to buy a bicycle.

 Souped Up

After being able to purchase a bicycle, Felix fully quit his job. He turned his bicycle into a portable food stall through modifying the bike by installing a motor he bought from a friend and added a grill and counter for the food. The family divided the workload so that Felix’s daughter would be able to help him run the food stall on weekends such as this. Thus, he started his food stall business and from then on, that was what supported his family.

 Sell Like Hot Cakes

Felix’s food stall had gained popularity after he had started selling in areas near their house, so he had bought and made another food stall. This, on the other hand, sold items such as fish ball, kikiam, squid balls, kwek-kwek, and other snacks. Having two food stalls, Felix had decided to hire a dark-skinned woman to help his wife to operate the new food stall, while Felix stationed at the older one. Maureen, their daughter, goes to school during weekdays and she is now in her sixth year of elementary.

Due to the increasing demand for his food stall as a snack after classes had ended and for people heading home, Felix had decided to get all the necessary documents for his food stalls such as a DTI-BNRS Permit. He had also decided to station his food stalls near UP Rural High School for two reasons – the first being that it was near their home, making it a short drive, and the second is that a lot of his customers are from the high school if not the people living nearby.

 Bringing Home the Bacon

Felix, when asked what he felt about his current job, stated that he was happy. He stated that if he had not decided to save up for a bicycle then turned it into a food stall; he would experience abuse from his amo for weeks on end just to be able to feed his family. However, Felix admitted that standing in front of and exposing himself to too much heat and smoke was tiring, but having their daughter as their motivation to work, he tries not to think of the fatigue. He pushes through. By being able to stay motivated despite the struggles he had and has to endure, Felix is able to provide for his family and support their daughter in her studies.

Scene: Mrs. Rosenberg's 4th grade class. A lofty 40x20 room of beige painted cinderblock and the stifling smell of musk masked mainly by old scented candles from past holidays. Along the walls posters hung with sayings “Character is who you are when no one’s looking” and about 7 different forms of “Success Starts Today!”. Everywhere the eye rested a frilly nonsense decorated what seemed to be a small prison system with one warden and 25 some odd cells strikingly similar to desks.  

Exposition: My family pulled a Jefferson’s and moved on up to the east side of Memphis, outside the inner city and into suburbia. This meant leaving the magnet school Shelby Oaks Elementary and transferring to its’ lesser cousin Oak Elementary. From the dry-wall to the cinderblock, the place of looking towards the future to looking at the past, I transitioned.

This was my first big book report project of the year. The novel of choice, forced into my hand by a 5 foot flat, red headed ball of wrinkles, read Where the Red Fern Grows. The smell of antiquity, what Mrs. Rosenberg called the stench of half dried paper coupled with the thick layer of dust, mushroomed up in a cloud of confusion hitting my mouth then my nose and lastly my eyes. She assigned us each a different story which would serve as the subject of our movie posters. Lucky enough for me, if I didn’t pick up on any facts I need not worry because this was the only book we would read as a class later that year. After weeks of procrastination, the last night snuck upon me like a thief, and in dire straits I set off the bat signal which sounded something like "MOM!"

 We slaved well past my bed time in order to complete the poster to the best of her ability to use the Internet and piece together old construction paper, nevertheless it was finished. The due date started in the best of spirits. Mrs. Rosenberg called us all to turn in our end result row by row. Due to my excessive "diarrhea of the mouth", also known as my quick Witt and key input on class discussions, I procured a seat in the back of the class, on the very last row, in the last possible seat. My disposition of seating always left me last to turn in my work. Bringing up the caboose as usual, I walked under the careful and judgmental eye of Mrs. Rosenberg. Just before I could place the poster in the pile, the ginger erupted, “Why is your poster only a half poster? Why are you always trying to be different? Did you even read the rubric? I shouldn't accept this. Next time I won’t!” Crushed and crying, I hurried back to my seat in order to hide from any more embarrassment as the crocodile tears clawed down my face.

I was labeled the crier. At least for the week, but that’s an eternity in 4th grade years. In my defense, a half poster looked more like the actual movie posters and less like one turned on its’ side.

From that day forward her class resembled a battlefield. If I read the chapter the night before, that opened the opportunity to shut her down in front of my peers. I quickly enlisted many of my fellow students into the rebellion. We read ahead in our textbooks and waited. We punished our opponent, a short, wide, Irish teacher for every mistake she made.