S1 EP1 - Mr. Rivers

Black BOY
White SCHOOL

So the other day, I had the glorious pleasure of working with a year four child who has a range of emotional and attachment issues (some of which I believe are slightly exaggerated) nevertheless, the intervention continued.

I walked into the room and, between her and a buddy, she’d set up a community of plasticine figurines, including a baby in a pram, and a voluptuous woman with an exaggerated chest area - apparently created with the assistance of another member of staff in yesterday’s session - we’ll leave that for another post!
Joining the table, I positioned my chair between the two young girls and remarked on their creation - something along the lines of how interesting it was, and further, on what they’d had for lunch.
The conversation turned towards who was to blame for a lost wheel on the pram (which apparently required a re-vamp).
Willing to take some responsibility for the missing wheel, the witty friend responded to questioning by singing the line from the popular Rag and Bone Man hit: “I’m only human after all.”
This was met with laughter and giggling, which could’ve been described as 'cute.'
Never one to miss an opportunity to join in a sing song, or, more accurately, never one to miss an opportunity to sing, full stop, I decided to repeat the sung line to my juvenile audience.
Who. Told. Me. To. Do. That!? The look of shock that descended upon their faces is a picture that’ll be forever etched into my mind. Silence engulfed the room. Mouths open, hearts stopped, plasticine clinging with eternal hope to nervously open sweaty palms.

Laughter! But not a laughter of dislike, more of discomfort. I could live with that. I’m a black boy in a white school - I’m already strange.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the following discourse.
“Mr. Rivers?”
“Yes.”
“I want to say something but it might be rude.”
(intrigued) “Rude? Like a rude word?”
“No.”
(Suspiciously), “What then?”
“Well - it’s not a rude word.”
(Curiously), “What is it then?”
“It’s about your singing.”
“My singing?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
At this point I am genuinely eagerly anticipating the sentence about to proceed from her mouth, I’m on the edge of my plasticine speckled standard plastic grey school chair, too small for my 6’1” frame, willing words to come out of her mouth.

“Your voice…suits your skin…”


Jude Rivers