Little Brother of War (2 page)

That's the reality I faced as I dressed for my first day at Choctaw Central High School. The school where my brother had been named Most Valuable Player on the football team.

It was also the school where my father had played baseball when he was a teenager. He'd been their star pitcher in those days.

The only award I'd won so far was third place in the ninth grade spelling bee. Whoop-de-do.

I was nervous as I sat down at the breakfast table. Dad was sure to say something about what a big deal it was. Going off to high school. Carrying on the family sports tradition. Following in my brother's footsteps.

Mom was cooking at the kitchen stove. During the school year, she made breakfast every morning for Dad and me. Then she'd drive up the road to her job at the Red Water Elementary School.

As usual, Dad was reading the newspaper.

“Ready for the big day?” he asked. “Ready for high school?” He didn't look up from the paper.

“I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Did you get all your school supplies?” This time he looked at me.

“No,” I replied. “Mom didn't have time to take me.” I braced myself to get yelled at. That's what usually happened.

Instead, he looked at Mom for a moment with disapproval. Then Dad picked up a sack that sat on the floor beside his chair.

“Here,” he said as he handed me the sack and looked back at his newspaper.

It was a sack from the Fall-Mart store. That's where Dad had worked since he had gotten laid off from the tribal casino.

Inside the sack was a collection of the school supplies I needed.

“Wow, Dad,” I exclaimed. “This is a surprise.”

“They promoted me to stock manager,” he said. “I get a great employee discount now.”

Mom put down a plate of food in front of me that looked delicious. It was her special scrambled eggs and grits. I practically inhaled it.

As I finished eating, Dad left the room to get ready for work. When we could hear him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, Mom sat down beside me.

“Randy, your father couldn't go to college because of his grades,” she said. “He doesn't have a big, important job. And he's always wanted more for you boys.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That's why he always pushed for you and Jack to do well,” she continued. “So you'd have a better life than he's been able to provide.”

“Well, that's not what I hear,” I said. Suddenly I felt angry. “All I hear is how I'm not good enough. How I don't measure up to Jack!”

I left the kitchen carrying the sack of school supplies. I went into my room to find my backpack. Mom followed me.

“That's what I'm trying to explain,” she said. “Since your dad didn't do well in the classroom, sports became the only way for him to excel. Sports are important to him.”

“Yeah, that message has come through loud and strong,” I said with an edge in my voice. “Both of you have made that clear.”

I threw the new school supplies in my backpack and headed for the front door. Again my mother followed.

“Randy, please listen!”

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. Turning back to Mom, I waited to hear what she had to say.

“Your father and I just want you to do your best. That's all. That's all anyone can do, really.”

“Well, you'd better get used to third place, then, because that seems to be the best I can do!”

I ran out the door before Mom could say anything else. I'd had enough of that conversation. What a way to begin my first day of high school.

I walked down our street to wait for my ride to school. We lived in a neighborhood of little brick Indian houses in the Red Water community. Some government agency
had built them for Choctaw families before I was born.

To get one of these homes, Mom and Dad had to help with the construction. That was part of the deal that made it easier for Indian families to buy their own homes and make lower house payments.

My ride showed up just as I reached the corner. Oddly enough, my so-called girlfriend and her mother would be taking me to school this year.

“Hello, Randy,” Mrs. Jimmie said from the driver's seat.

“Hi, Randy,” Jennifer said in a sweet voice from the front passenger seat.

I jumped in the back, and we sped off down the road. Jennifer had sort of become my girlfriend last summer, by accident.

Her family lived on the next street over from our family. One day, while we were exploring the woods behind my house, she suddenly kissed me. Boy, was I surprised.

Ever since then she said I was her boyfriend. I didn't mind. She was pretty. I didn't know
exactly what a boyfriend was supposed to do, but I figured I'd find out.

Anyway, Mrs. Jimmie had offered to give me a ride to school this year since she worked at the Choctaw tribal office near the school. Riding the bus would take an hour. It would take Mrs. Jimmie less than half an hour to go the twenty miles to Pearl River.

Jennifer and I walked into school together. A big sign with Choctaw designs around the edge greeted us in the hallway. “Welcome New Students,” it read. Everyone who went to this school was Choctaw.

“I hope we have lunch at the same time,” Jennifer said and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Good luck finding your homeroom,” she added as she walked down the hall.

I took the paper out of my backpack that listed all my classes. As I read the room number for the first one, a man's voice startled me.

“You're Randy Cheska, right?” the man said. I looked up to see a tall African American man wearing a suit. He held his hand out to me, so I shook it.

Next to him stood a stocky Indian man wearing sweats. The words “Central Choctaw Warriors” were printed on his shirt. A strap hung from around his neck with a whistle on the end of it.

“I'm principal Bill Gilroy,” the man in the suit said. “And this is Coach Boles. He's in charge of our football program.” Principal Gilroy kept shaking my hand. Finally he stopped.

“Hi,” is all I said. The school principal had found me as soon as I set foot in the new school. What was going on? Was I already in trouble?

“We wanted to personally welcome you to Choctaw Central High School,” Coach Boles said. “And there's something we want you to see.”

They led me down the hall to a big glass case. Inside the case was a large, shiny trophy with a little football player on top. A few smaller trophies stood near it.

“Do you know what that is?” the principal asked.

“A football trophy?” I guessed.

“Not just
any
football trophy,” the coach replied. “That's the trophy your brother won for us his senior year. We won the all-state championship thanks to him.”

He pointed to a picture that was stuck on the wall with big tacks. It was a shot of Jack in his football uniform. Next to it was a newspaper article about the team's win that year.

Uh-oh, I thought. I didn't know if I liked where this was going.

“And take a look over here,” Coach Boles said. He led the way to the next glass case. There was another trophy. It looked older and less shiny. This one had a little baseball player on it. There were some faded old newspaper pages tacked up beside it.

“Can you guess whose trophy this is?” Principal Gilroy asked.

“My dad's?” I guessed. Now I knew for sure I didn't like where this was going.

“That's right!” both men said at the same time.

“Son, you come from strong sports blood,” the coach said. “And we want to do everything we can to help you step into the big shoes your father and brother wore.”

What were they talking about? They still had my dad's shoes? And they wanted me to wear them?

“I don't understand,” I said.

Coach Boles put his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward him.

“What we're saying, Randy, is that we're excited about you being here,” he said. “And we want to help you get started in whatever team sport you want to play. We know you want to make your brother and your father proud.”

“Oh, I see,” I said. “You're after another state championship.”

“Now you've got the picture,” the principal said. “Get settled in here at school for a few days. Then we'll get together and talk sports. Fair enough?”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. Then I thought of my class. I was probably late for it. I held up the paper in my hand.

“Here, let me show you where that classroom is,” Principal Gilroy said. “I'll let the teacher know you're not late.”

He walked me down a couple of long halls and introduced me to my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sanford.

“This is the Cheska boy,” the principal told the teacher. “We've got big plans for him this year.” Then he whispered, “I want you to take special care of him.”

“Will do, Mr. Gilroy,” the teacher said as the principal left.

Mrs. Sanford led me to an empty seat at the front of the class.

“You can sit right here,” she said. “That way I can keep an eye on you for Mr. Gilroy.”

That's just great, I thought. I didn't want special attention. I just wanted to blend in with everyone else.

I looked at the students around me as I sat down in my chair. I didn't like what I saw in
their faces. Attitude. I could tell they already saw me as the teacher's pet.

This definitely wasn't a good start to my high school career. How was I going to break the news to all of them that I wasn't any good at sports? That the athletic blood didn't flow in my veins.

When I got home that afternoon, Mom asked me how my first day of high school had gone.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said as I made a beeline for my room. Mom didn't follow me in. Thankfully, she left me alone in my misery.

I turned on music and started playing my Temple Raider computer game as I lay on the bed. But it wasn't long before Mom knocked on my door.

“I have afternoon snacks,” she said in a cheery voice.

I was pretty sure there would be a price for accepting those snacks. Not in money, but in parental advice I didn't really want. But I knew Mom meant well.

“Bring 'em on in,” I replied with a sigh.

Mom came in carrying a tray of mini pizza rolls and a soda. She set them down on a corner of my desk. I got up, popped a pizza roll in my mouth, and followed it with a gulp of soda.

“So did anything interesting happen at school today?” she asked. So that's what this was about.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I was ambushed by the principal and the football coach first thing. It's bad enough to get this pressure at home. Now I'm going to face it every day at school!” I grabbed another pizza roll and started pacing.

“That's what I want to talk to you about.” Mom popped a pizza roll in her mouth. I continued to pace as I waited for her speech to begin.

“I get that football and baseball are not your thing,” she said. That stopped me in my tracks.

“You do?” I said with surprise in my voice. “When did that happen?'

“I was trying to tell you that this morning, but it came out all wrong.”

“What about Dad?” I asked. “What's he say about this?”

“I haven't talked to him about it yet,” Mom admitted. I started pacing again. Having Mom on my side is one thing. Convincing Dad is something else entirely.

“But I'm going to start working on him, little by little,” she added as she stood to leave. “Meanwhile, it would be good if you figured out something you really want to try instead. Something new you could learn how to do and practice at. You know, something you care about.”

I'd have to give that some thought. I knew I'd mostly be busy just trying to get by with schoolwork. Taking on something more could be too much to handle.

“Okay,” I said finally. “I'll think about it.”

“Good,” Mom said as she headed for the door with a smile.

There was hope that I wouldn't have to try to wear my dad's and brother's big shoes after all.