Football season ended on a cold, windy Saturday in late October. The Phelps Park Panthers finished 6–2-not champions again, but a respectable season. They’d won some tough battles and lost a couple heartbreakers. Derrick had become a solid two-way player, and Coach Thompson and Coach Riley told him more than once that he “had the instincts.” But for all the fun they had, something always bugged the him.
They never played a home game at Phelps. Not once. They always had to go to the other team’s field. Every week. Every week they were visitors. Even when the opposing team was from a park less than ten minutes away, the Phelps Panthers still had to travel. It didn’t make sense to them… until the last game of the season.
The team was packing up their gear after the final game when Tony finally asked the question aloud.
“Coach, how come we never play at Phelps? Don’t we got a home field?”
Coach Thompson paused, tugging his cap a little lower.
“Yeah,” He said softly. “We got a field. But… the league never schedules games here.”
“Why?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah, that ain’t right,” Leon added. The coach kicked at the grass.
“The other parks… they don’t want to come here.”
“Why not?” Derrick asked, feeling something stir in his chest. Coach Thompson hesitated. Looked around. Then sighed.
“They say Phelps Park is too ‘rough.’ Too ‘wild.’ Too unpredictable.” He made air quotes with both hands. “But y’all know that’s not it.”
The boys exchanged looks. Everyone understood without Coach Thompson having to say it. Phelps was in the Black neighborhood. Most of the other parks they played weren’t. That was the real reason.
“But that’s stupid,” Tony said. “It’s just a field.”
“It’s not the field,” Coach said quietly. He didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to. The boys were ten and eleven. They knew.
Derrick felt it settle like a small stone inside him—something he didn’t fully understand yet, but knew wasn’t fair. Coach clapped his hands suddenly, forcing a smile.
“Hey. It is what it is. Y’all played your hearts out. That’s what matters.”
“Next year,” Danny said, “we win it all, home games or not.”
And that was that.
With football done, school became the center of their days again. October rolled into November—chilly mornings, piles of leaves along 40th and 41st, the smell of autumn. Recess football was replaced with touch games and foot races. Kids swapped jackets for thicker coats and rubber boots. The sky felt lower, grayer, and the school hallways seemed warmer and noisier than ever. And fifth grade? It became an adventure all its own.
A surprise early snow hit Minneapolis one Friday afternoon. By recess, Bancroft turned into a battlefield. Kids from Room 201 formed a giant army on the north side of the playground. Kids from Rooms 203, 204, and 205 united on the south. Snowballs flew everywhere. Teachers blew whistles. Kids ducked behind trees and monkey bars. “NO WHITE FLAG!” Tony shouted, charging forward like a soldier in a war movie. “RETREAT!” Marcus screamed five seconds later after getting pegged in the ear.
Leon built a wall of snow so strong it looked like he was preparing for winter warfare. Reggie snuck around the side, ambushed three boys, and ran away laughing. Derrick launched perfect, spiraling snowballs that dropped right behind enemy lines. It was glorious. It was chaotic. It was fun.
The teachers eventually made them stop, but not before Derrick’s class declared themselves unofficial champions. Later in Derrick’s class, Mrs. Andrews announced a month-long project: “Choose someone from the Civil Rights Movement. Learn their story. Present it to the class.” Kids chose: Dr. King, Rosa Parks, Ruby Bridges Medgar Evers, and John Lewis. Derrick chose Thurgood Marshall. Something about his calm strength, and his ability to fight unfairness with intelligence, patience, and persistence, appealed to him.
Lisa helped Derrick draw a picture of Marshall for his poster. TJ helped him find facts in the library. Cal challenged him on a few points—playfully, but honestly. Derrick stood in front of the class and spoke clearly for two whole minutes. His hands didn’t shake. His voice didn’t crack. He felt proud. Mrs. Andrews smiled.
“You’re growing into a leader, Derrick,” she said softly after class. “Don’t be afraid of your voice.”
He didn’t fully know what she meant yet. But he tucked the words in his pocket like a marble.
Derrick found Gordy—his quiet classmate—sitting alone on the edge of the playground, shivering and wiping his eyes.
“What happened?” Derrick asked. Gordy shrugged, embarrassed.
“Some kids from another class said I didn’t belong here.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I used to go to a different school, so I’m not part of the group.”
Derrick didn’t like that. He called the crew over. Tony cracked his knuckles dramatically. Marcus stood with his hands on his hips. Leon crossed his arms. Reggie nodded once, serious.
“You roll with us now,” Tony declared. “Anybody say different, send ’em to me.”
Gordy smiled for the first time all week. They walked him home that day. Nobody bothered him again.
Not counting the unusual snowfall in October, the first real snowfall came in late November. Big, soft flakes. Quiet streets. Cars moving slowly. Kids with scarves and wool hats. Derick and the rest of the guys walked home together, their breath clouding the air. Tony kicked the snowbanks. Marcus pretended to ice skate. Reggie tried to catch flakes on his tongue. Leon walked solidly, hands in his pockets. Derrick looked up at the gray sky, wondering how life could change so fast and still feel familiar. Their footprints trailed behind them on the sidewalk—five paths, side by side.
Leaves were gone. Snow covered the city. School was in full swing. And something subtle but powerful was shifting in Derrick. He felt older. More aware. More connected to the world around him. More sure of who his friends were—and who he wanted to become. Fifth grade was no longer scary. It wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t something to survive. It was something to grow in. And Derrick—quiet, thoughtful, steady Derrick—was growing. Right along with the rest of the fellas.