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Cole Blue, Full of Valor Written by Mia Keeys

Illustrated by Brittney Washington

He kicked for a livin’, da young man did. Cole Blue come into da world dat

way, too. And, I suppose dat’s how he’ll go. No time soon though, on account of

da fresh fruits an’ vegetables he always be eatin’ for snack an’ supper. I grow

‘em myself—Grandmas always want ta make sure they babies is fed. I feed da

whole house on my leafy spinach greens an’ plump ripe tomatoes. Cole Blue,

his sister Zuri, their Mama and Papa too. We even got us a pear tree back there

in my garden, planted wide and deep in soil dat’s rich as da night. Planted da

night Cole Blue was born. More than anyone, Cole Blue loves dat pear tree with

his full self.

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So, in no time, da boy grew. A ganglin’ cub of a boy, Cole Blue was alllllll

legs and brown. Had da kinda elegant length in his lower extremities dat hid

under tables when he sat and straightened out his spine. In his states of reverie,

he rested peacefully, like a young warrior under da cool midst of dat pear

canopy in da early mornin’. But his mind was always dancin’ overtime,

dreamin’ of what he’d be when he became a big man, what problems he’d solve,

which people he’d help. When he thought and thought and thought ‘bout it, his

shoulders sagged with da weight of ten men whenever he opened his eyes ta da

world. Like he sensed somethin’ beyond what he be seein’.

One day, house appraisers came, and descended on da land worse than locust

on seed grain. They told us dat my house and land—dat used ta be my Daddy’s,

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Daddy’s land, where his soul be from—was being bought out by some big

corporation, and it was best we move. What choice did we have?

We didn’t have da choice.

I’ll never forget Cole Blue’s fallen face as he said goodbye ta his pear tree. Da

witherin’ leaves sighed sadness in reply.

We made for da inner city—me, Cole Blue, Zuri, they Mama and Papa too.

Cole Blue spent da first part of his boyhood time in his new neighborhood

lookin’ at his shoes, or just a bit further ahead at da next jagged pebble, castin’

furtive glances here and there. Eventually, Cole Blue set up in his mind dat he’d

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make some kinda peace ‘bout his new situation. Bein’ a kicker an’ all, he

figured he had a fair ta middlin’ shot. Maybe better than most. Where others

would trip, tread, skip, or sidestep, Cole Blue took his time, fixed his aim, and

kicked any impediment in his path a mighty height, high away. Where others

saw cracks, concrete and general despair, Cole Blue saw opportunity ta see da

overlooked, da trampled upon. He focused on da misplaced, dat which came a-

loose, and focused on gettin’ rid of dat which plain ol’ didn’t bring any good. Da

sidewalks in this sprawlin’ city of streets had a plenty.

Empty plastic bags of potato chips clogged da sewers and dead-end alleys

along where so many people would line up for da bus or train ta school or work

or just somewhere else. Cole Blue would pick these bags up, and throw them

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out.

Gusts of winds dusted da streets with da particles of da factory across da way.

Cole Blue would write letters ta his teachers, his friends, and even ta da Mayor

and city council ‘bout clearin’ up da dust, explainin’ dat it made me, his

Grandma, cough somethin’ terrible. Only some would write back. But nobody

would change nothin’.

Summertime found crooked soda bottle caps strewn carelessly ‘round da way

(Cole Blue noticed there were quite a number of them too), forlorn and forgotten

by out-of-school boys and girls runnin’ toward da fire hydrant on da hottest of

days. Cole Blue would run and play, too, but not befo’ askin’ his friends ta help

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him kick da bottle caps into makeshift waste receptacles. Turns out, they were

happy ta help. For some of da children, it was the first time they felt useful.

Cole Blue even saw better ways ta praise da neighborhood’s dirt. From time

ta time, a small pink flower would peak between da cracks, whirl and sway with

undulatin’ grace on a breezy spring mornin’. He never kicked at those, of

course. Instead, Cole Blue would smile da widest of grins deep inside his lion-

hearted chest, kickin’ gingerly at nearby debris. Cole Blue took care of da small

things.

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“Look at that boy.” his Papa would say ta his Mama.

“Aw, go kick rocks, Cole Blue!” Zuri, his older sister, would exclaim when he

came ta bother wit’ her. But then she’d smile and help him anyway.

And I, bein’ da sweet Grandma I am, would kiss him, my smile like a horizon

of sunset red across his brow. He never was one ta wipe ‘way my kisses.

After a while, it got so all dat kickin’ made Cole Blue’s legs, once lanky and

brown, now filled ta sinew and sun-kisses. He kept on kickin’. He kept on

growin’. Cole Blue grew stronger and wiser. His aim became sharper and he

began ta look deeper and wider into da soul of his neighborhood, which was rich

as da night, but also poor as a gilded penny.

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He looked more closely at his neighborhood, wonderin’ if all da fast food

restaurants were lonely from lack of proper grocery stores.

He peered more pointedly into da parks, ponderin’ why did all da grass grow

alongside jagged glass bottles like daisy weeds?

And why did all da Black and Brown girls and boys he once played wit’

gradually disappear into da cracks and concrete of da streets? How’d these once

delightfully hued mates turn into sallow, smileless statues on street corners, with

hands deep in da recesses of their pockets? Maybe they needed more

vegetables? Not just dat. Did they need safer spaces ta run and play? Not just dat

either. There was somethin’ else for which Cole Blue did not quite have da

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name. But, it hung like a peculiar cloud between da rows of boarded up homes

and vacant lots dat occupied their streets. He smelled it, a desperate stench, fetid

and heavy like da too few, yet overly ripe and expensive pears at da

neighborhood’s countless corner stores.

“What’s the matter with this place and our people, Grandma?” Cole Blue

asked me one afternoon.

“Where are all the stores that sell good, affordable food?”

“Where’s the clean land to run and play?”

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“Why is my school so crowded and without all the resources I need?”

“Where are the after-school jobs for my friends to make a decent penny?”

“It’s like the whole neighborhood is growing sick!”

I don’t have all da fancy words to tell ‘em ‘bout da history of our people and

how laws and practices put us an’ keep a lot of us here in a hard place. I clear

my throat an’ tell ‘em what he’s finally ready to hear.

“Choicelessness, Cole Blue. Dat’s what ails us.” I watch da young man

quietly take in da reality of his world, of our world. “How do you choose and

who do you become in da face of choicelessness, Cole Blue?” I ask ‘em. Cole

Blue don’t immediately answer, but I saw he was gonna come ta somethin’.

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Conviction was kickin’ his butt, and he was kickin’ at it right on back. By da

time it came for him ta graduate from high school, I knew that he knew what to

do.

“Grandma,” he say, “I’m going to find the cure to choicelessness.”

“Look at that boy!” his Papa proudly proclaimed ta his Mama.

“Go Cole Blue! You rock!” shouted Zuri, as she watched her brother stride

across the graduation stage.

On ma toes now, I kissed him, ma smile a sweet smack of persimmon upon

his left cheek. He left dat one on there good, too.

Da day befo’ he left for college, he tol’ me he wanted ta be a doctor, I jus’

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‘bout smiled a stretch of mile. Cole Blue went on an’ on ‘bout somethin’ called

health disparities and how these health disparities was killin’ Black folk more

than White folk. Now, anythin’ dat prematurely take da life of boys da likes of

my Cole Blue have got ta be gone. And he da one for da job. I figure da young

man felt like he done got so strong in his legs, it was ‘bout time he do summin’

wit’ his hands. ‘Course his heart couldn’t get no bigger, it was so full.

“Ya always had healin’ ways ‘bout cha, Cole Blue.” I says ta ‘em. “Ya gentle

and strong, and ya carry da power of change just there in between ya hands.

There’s a miraculous happenin’ awaitin’ within ya meticulous nature. Just you

remember, most of all, keep ya heart filled ta burst. Ain’t nothin’ you can’t do

wit’ a heart full of valor.”

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Some years later, Cole Blue got into medical school. I couldn’t stand so well

at his white coat ceremony, da celebration of medical students gettin’ halfway

through wit’ medical school trainin’. But if a smile sat upright, mine woulda

been as tall as dat pear tree dat shaded Cole Blue when he were jus’ a boy.

Addressin’ da audience at da ceremony, he stood tall, his kicker legs glidin’

upward ta his healin’ hands. Cole Blue spoke from his full heart:

“A healthy, equitable neighborhood,” he say, “is one planted wide and deep in

culture. It grows strong and sovereign, gives the same sustenance to everyone,

and provides peaceful shelter like a wizened pear tree. From it, all can eat. In it,

a system of accessible opportunity flows. Around it, a community thrives

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irrespective of race, religion, age, gender, language, and so forth. Choicelessness

is the diseased weed that chokes the life out of its roots. Without healthy choices

to make, there is no healthy eating, or shelter, or growth. Only disease, disparity,

and death. Health equity—having good, healthy choices to make for a long, full

life—is the cure for choicelessness. As a doctor-in-training, I promise to lend

my full self toward the achievement of health equity.”

And, for one last time, I heard his Papa ta his Mama say, “would you just look

at that man?”

Zuri, in her proud, but quiet way affirmed, “You are the rock of this family,

Cole Blue.”

Off da stage now, Cole Blue strides on his kicker legs toward me. He bends

over to let me kiss his cheek.

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“Thank you, Grandma.” Cole Blue say. My lipstick on da lapel of his new

white coat gave da impression of a lone poinsettia leaf in a field of snow at

Christmastime. Cole Blue didn’t wipe it away. I reckon it’s still there.

“I thank you, Cole Blue.” I say back ta ‘em.

~~~~!I done crossed over, done gone ‘way now, far beyond da high height were

Cole Blue’d kick, and way above da top of his beloved pear tree. Da doctors

said I had too much particle dust in my lungs from dat factory I told ya ‘bout

befo’. But don’t cry fa me, reader. This tale is jus’ gettin’ started for Doctor

Cole Blue. Herein is a story ‘bout a kicker boy who became a fightin’ doctor

man for health equity. And he needs da help of all those with a heart full of

valor.

~~~~!To learn more about the author ia eeys, please visit https://about.me/mkeeys.