Oh June(Cam Rascoe) The Ocoee Publix Supermarket was filled with busy suburban shoppers, full carts, smiling faces. Southern hospitality offered from everyone to everyone in this melting pot of diversity nestled in the center of good living. Pardon me, yes ma’am and thank you sir is how everyone addressed one another. It is one of those things I just love about our town. Being born and raised in the cold and darkness of Philadelphia in the 70’s and 80’s; I embrace being a southern gentleman as an adult. Unfortunately, not all of us are as accommodating and tolerant as our community would suggest we be.

My wife and I were in a joyous mood, fresh out of church and looking forward to a fun kid-free afternoon. Our six children are the apples of our eyes but after weeks of sporting events and kids' activities we were happy to enjoy a little mommy and daddy time. As we walked down isle three, we ran into June. June and her husband helped to run a soccer organization that four of our children played in years earlier. After five years in the league most of our children had aged out and others played their primary sport year-round. My wife spotted June first.

“Hey June, how ya doing?”

June responded in her steady British accent.

“Oh, hello dear and how are you?”

“We’re enjoying our day with no children.”

My wife squeezed my hand and then smiled up at me as June continued on.

“I know what you mean; sometimes we can use a break from Wesley. You know he has been very difficult as of late. He hasn’t been doing well in school; last year they passed him along, but he didn’t exactly make the grade. This year he has this Miss Coffee for math, and he is failing again. He’s not unintelligent he just doesn’t apply himself. I know that you can relate, having so many children and also being a teacher.”

My wife responded reassuringly, we both knew Shirley Coffee; she was a former co-worker of my wife’s and a social media friend. We also knew her son to have been a brat when he was younger, talking back and disrespecting his parents. Now apparently, he was a teenager and his negative behavior had escalated.

“Yes, I know Ms. Coffee. We worked together for years; she’s a good teacher.”

Without weighing my wife’s comments, June offered less than flattering words about the teacher.

“I don’t know what her problem is; she doesn’t communicate with me and Wesley is struggling. Sometimes I just think all of them are incompetent.”

She looked to me to gauge my reaction wondering if I understood exactly what she said, my face remained blank. My wife wisely changed the subject.

“So you know that league had some struggles when they changed over.”

June smirked.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Well, you know we are involved in the organizing of a new league with some Mexican coaches for each of the teams. Of course, there will be parent volunteer coaches assisting.”

My wife chimed in.

“Oh, so they’re professional paid coaches. That’s great. My husband coach's baseball with a guy who played minor league baseball who really knows the game.”

“Really, is he Mexican?”

“Yes.”

“How can you understand him to coach with him? They call me, talking that gibberish and I tell them no hablo. If you’re going to be here learn to speak the language. It’s English we speak, En-gl-ish.”

Again, June looked over to me and I gave her nothing. I wanted the woman to be transparent with me. June asked my wife about the school she taught at and the growing Haitian population in nearby Pine Hills. June offered her opinion.

“I don’t know about those people. I’ll never understand their culture and I certainly can’t understand what they are saying most of the time.”

Again, my wife changed the subject to hopefully help Julie to ease the foot from her mouth.

“So outside of soccer June. How are things going with you?”

“Well, you know I am trying to get my citizenship now.”

We were both surprised.

“You’re not a United States Citizen June?”

“No, I’ve been here thirty years but never went through the process. I have so much to learn.”

I found it a bit ironic. I needed to inquire to offer her some insight.

“So how far along are you in the process?”

She seemed to not understand what I said so I repeated myself. My curiosity had been peaked.

“Oh, I have just started studying on my own. Oh, and what do you do again?”

I smiled at her. She knew what I did but she had also seen me working part time jobs through the years to help pay for our kids many activities.

“I’m a writer.”

“Oh yeah, you’re the writer.”

Her eyes showed distrust. my eyes smiled back at her. I thought it hilarious that she felt the right to judge or doubt me. June had no idea that she had just given this writer something to write about. Oh June.

Eventually we said our goodbyes and my wife turned to me.

“June sounded a little racist back there. I had no idea she thought like that. I couldn’t image what she might say in private if she talks like that in public.”

I just smiled, shook my head and shrugged at the same time. I took my beautiful wife’s hand and pushed the cart with the other still smiling. She smiled back at me.

“You’re going to write this aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh June.”

My wife sighed and shook her head.

“Thank you for the title.”

“Guess we make one heck of a team.”

“Yes we do Mrs. Rascoe.”

I brushed her blonde hair back off of her shoulder as I leaned in and gave her three quick pecks on the lips, our thing.

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