BRITTANI BIRCH // 44
BRITTANI BIRCH
DEFEATED BY JENELLE TAYLER “Y
o, where you from bee?” This was North York Toronto slang. It can be translated into English as, “Where in Toronto are you from exactly?” From kid to kid, this was a formal “gangsta” check to see if you were a threat at my middle school. Apparently, my answer was never good enough in terms of Pierre Laporte Middle School’s language and lingo. Like a naïve, unsprouted nerd, in my first year at the school, I would typically reply, preppy and bug-eyed, with, “My parents have a house at Jane and Sheppard, not far from here!” Over the summer, I had gone to camp because my mom and dad did not want me home. Like the hero he was, my dad found the grungiest camp you could ever send your child to. It looked like a deserted warehouse on a street about fifteen minutes away from the main
From kid to kid, this was a formal “gangsta” check to see if you were a threat at my middle school.
road. All I was thinking was that this would be the perfect place to get away with murdering a twelve-year-old child. My dad blatantly let me know that he was not going to drive me to camp and that I needed to find my own way there every day, or else there would be major consequences. My dad was this scary, husky black dude with a Jamaican accent, who regularly listened to Cher and Shania Twain. I will give you a minute to picture this horrifying image. He could “Dad stare” anyone
into an early grave. I loved him, but he was a low-key brute. I mean, who sends their child to a camp that has no children? I was one of three kids at this creepy camp. And second, what type of dad gives their child no money to get to camp and threatens them with punishment if they don’t show up? Oh, and third, I could have died! That place was so far away from any type of life forms. Well, I did see a rat once. Anyways, I had to be resourceful, so I hopped on my old pink-and-white bike to get to camp. With each peddle, my knees hit the bars. I remember riding on Oakdale right where the 84 turns and hitting those two steep hills over Highway 400 every day. I also remember the day I got to the top of the hill without stopping. My point is that this was how I lost most of my weight going into middle school. I was a new person. No more “fat Brettani, you could roll down the street,” as my Uncle Noel used to say. Nope, no way! I was now slightly chubby Brettani with the little belly. This black girl had curves, muscle, and tone in places she had never seen before. I mean, I was still a little chunky, but there was progress. No more Mom combing my thick, nappy black hair into these ridiculous ponytails ending in plastic bowtie clips, resembling Loonette the Clown or Pippi Longstocking. I was growing up. This little black girl watched some YouTube videos. Yes, honey child! This black girl got a perm and a weave. Slicked back with Eco styling gel and tied down with a stocking, dried, and loosened to reveal a perfectly laid ponytail and baby hairs. I was going to be a new person at a new school. It was 2003. Justin Timberlake had just come out with “Cry Me a River,” and my parents had been arguing for weeks about the money they did not have to pay bills. So, me being a noble, bumbling idiot, I told my parents I wanted out of private school. Well, they
