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My Mother the Cheerleader (eBook)

A Novel
eBook Download: EPUB
2024 | 1. Auflage
320 Seiten
Harpercollins (Verlag)
978-0-06-185130-8 (ISBN)
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Acts of courage come in all shapes and sizes.

In the tumultuous New Orleans of 1960, thirteen-year-old Louise Collins finds her world turned upside down when a stranger from the North arrives at her mother's boarding-house. Louise's mother spends her mornings at the local elementary school with a group of women known as the Cheerleaders, who harass the school's first black student, six-year-old Ruby Bridges, as she enters the building. One day a Chevy Bel Air with a New York license plate pulls up, and out steps Morgan Miller, a man whose mysterious past is eclipsed by his intellect and open-manner--qualities that enchant mother and daughter alike. For the first time, Louise feels as if someone cares what she thinks, even if she doesn't know what she believes. But when the reason for Morgan's visit is called into question, everything Louise thinks she knows about her mother, her world, and herself will change.


Share this "e;harrowing and painfully honest historical novel"e;* at home or in the classroom. Through this "e;extraordinary"e; debut effort from the Sydney Taylor Award winner Robert Sharenow, readers will explore how "e;ingrained prejudices-whether acted upon or not-help destroy lives and shatter a community."e;**In 1960 New Orleans, thirteen-year-old Louise is pulled out of class by her mother to protest court-ordered integration of her school. Louise's mother is one of the jeering "e;Cheerleaders."e; Each morning the Cheerleaders gather at the school to harass the school's first black student, six-year-old Ruby Bridges, as she enters the building. After a mysterious man from New York named Morgan arrives in town and takes up residence in the family's crumbling boarding house, Louise's acceptance of "e;the way things are"e; begins to crumble. Through conversations with Morgan and firsthand observations, Louise begins to wonder about the morality of the Cheerleaders' activities and everything Louise thinks she knows about her mother, her world, and herself will change. In a starred review, Booklist commented: "e;Readers will be held fast by the history told from the inside as adult Louise remembers the vicious role of ordinary people."e;*School Library Journal (starred review) ; **Chicago Tribune

'It's so easy to look back at another time and place and say to each other, 'what on earth were those people thinking?'But what if someone told us what those people were thinking, and showed us the personal earthquakes that had to occur before they could think something else?Maybe we would realize that we are all human beings. That's one of the things that happens when you read this important book.'

- Lynne Rae Perkins, author of the Newbery Award winning Criss Cross

In the winter of 1960 I had just turned thirteen years old. Not many photographs of me exist from that period . . . thank the Lord. My mother tended to reserve use of the family Brownie for important occasions - like when she bought herself a new hat. It's a miracle I didn't become a fashion photographer, considering all the pictures I snapped of her accessories. Some of my best works include 'Faux Alligator Handbag on Couch,' 'Green Leather Belt Reclining on Chaise,' and her personal favorite, 'Red Pumps with Black Straps in Open Box.'

To be fair, I was not the most attractive kid on the block. I had dirty blond hair, pale gray-blue eyes, and glasses. I was unusually tall, flat-chested, and had yet to sprout one single hair between my legs or under my arms. I barely spoke above a whisper. And my lower front teeth were each of a slightly different height, which made the bottom rung of my mouth look like a small white saw. Still, it simply had to be damaging to my ego to know that my mother cherished photographs of her shoes more than photographs of me, her only child.

Like many young girls, I hated my own name. Louise. Louise Lorraine Collins. As you may have guessed from my physical description, I was not the most popular child. Most of the boys referred to me as 'the Wheeze' or just 'Wheezy.'

I attended William J. Frantz Elementary, or I did until November of 1960, when my mother pulled me out to protest the integration of one first-grade Negro girl named Ruby Bridges. I must confess that I didn't mind one bit when my education was put on indefinite hold. I had only one real friend at school, Jez Robidoux. Like me, Jez was one of the smartest kids in our grade. But I didn't see too much of her after the school boycott took hold, because her parents made her go to an alternative school in the back room of a sad little church near the industrial canal while I became a full-time employee at my mother's rooming house.

The Ninth Ward never boasted the finest of anything, and the schools were no exception. Being one of the poorest wards meant we lacked many things other neighborhoods took for granted, like sidewalks or a proper sewage system. We barely had decent water to drink, never mind a decent school. Most of the streets were a series of potholes, and the air usually carried the faint odor of leftover fish bones and the sting of sulfur from the waste that traveled along the industrial canal.

I thought the teachers at Frantz were mostly time-card-punching half-wits who were just waiting to collect a state pension. On the eve of the court-ordered integration, my sixth-grade teacher, Miss Jollet, told the class, 'This may be our last class together for quite a stretch, because the state wants to see if we can train monkeys in school.' My first reaction to the news that William Frantz was to be integrated was to wonder why the Negro kids wanted to go to such a crummy school.

My mother ran a rooming house on the corner of Desire and North Galvez streets. Well, to say she ran it would be fairly generous. It pretty much ran itself with the help of an old Negro lady named Charlotte Dupree and me, as soon as I was old enough to make a bed.

I'm not sure our house had an...

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