Blacks In Wax

From 2nd to 8th grade I went to a private Seventh-Day Adventist school in Joppa, MD. My twin sister and two brothers attended the school with me and the four of us made up about 1/4 of the student body. The rest of our school mates were a group of the most socially awkward and ridiculous creatures ever invented. As for the staff, we had a principal, who was also the only teacher, and a teacher's aid whose only job was to grade paper's.
The school was inside of our church and consisted of one classroom filled with about 20 desks, a second class room with two big tables for doing arts and crafts, and a big creepy basement with brown linoleum floors and flickering fluorescent lights where we'd eat our lunch and play keep away when it was raining.
Now I want to get into the holiday spirit with a story celebrating black history month. Our principal was a big black woman from Atlanta, GA. She was loud, rude, offensive, and very proud of her African roots. When she found out that there was a "Blacks in Wax" museum in downtown Baltimore she jumped at the opportunity to share her culture with the school. So, on a beautiful February day my family, minus my dad, and the rest of the school got into our van's and drove down for a little field-trip.
The trip was pretty normal. Everyone was bored, except of course our principal, as we walked through the various rooms. We acted like all elementary/middle school students act...like asses. We were touching things, laughing, making fun of the statues, and being super obnoxious. I particularly remember a very funny looking black Imhotep.
After about 3 hours of looking at these blacks in wax we were more than ready to go home. My mom had already left the museum to get our car when my principal cried out "Wait ev'rybody! Here's a room we didn't see. Let's look real quick and then we can get outta here." My classmates and I simultaneously sighed and followed her over to a big closed door with a blacked out window pane.
Everything about this screamed "DON'T GO IN HERE!". Next to the door is a warning sign, that no one seems to notice but me. "Very sensitive and disturbing scenes" are the only words I'm able to read as our teacher quickly ushers us through the door and down a dark staircase into the basement.
As we were walking down the stairs I remember turning to my teacher and asking "What's down here, miss?" But before she had a chance to answer me I saw a wax woman hanging by the neck from a tree with her stomach slashed opened and her wax fetus being ripped out by a wax Klan member. It was a lynching exhibit. My principal has just taken a group of children, none of which were over the age of 13, into a basement dripping with gore. I remember her jaw dropping as she glanced around the room. "Surely she's going to take us back upstairs.", I thought to myself. Then her jaw started to move "You see class," she said "this is exactly what I was hoping we'd see today." My heart stopped beating as I listened to her speak to us."It's good to be reminded of the downplayed struggle our people went through." she continued "Let's all take a look around and learn more about our neglected past."
I quickly grabbed as many of the younger students as I could and let them push their little faces into the fabric of my uniform skirt. Once their eyes were protected from the absolute horror of the exhibit I slowly walked with them towards the other side of the room where there was an exit door. I tried to stare straight ahead and block out all of my surroundings. While I was walking I saw my brother's and some of the older boys touching the exposed wax breast of one of the sculptures and then giggling as if they had just gotten to second base. Classy.
I finally made it over to the door and told all the kid's to run out. When we exited the room I saw my mom sitting in the lobby "Why is everybody crying?" she asked me.
"Mrs. B took us into a lynching room." I answered.
"What!?" she screamed, "Where are your brother's and sister? Why did you let them go in there? I am so disappointed in you, Megan!"
Just as she finished yelling at me the rest of our class and teacher came walking out. Some of them were laughing, some of them were crying, some of them looked sick, and Mrs. B looked accomplished. "Well class," she started "I think this has been an excellent field-trip. Tomorrow we can write a report on what we learned, but for now let's get some lunch in our tummy's, you all must be starving."