Two of the stories in The Black Ball—“The Black Ball” and “Boy on a Train”—feature children who begin to learn about the ugly truth of American racism while their parents struggle to decide whether and how to reveal it to them. In “Boy on a Train,” young James’s Daddy has died, and James’s mother (Mama) has to move him and his baby brother Lewis to a rural town, which is the only place she can find work. James wonders why his family has to sit at the back of the train with the luggage, why the white boy who passes wears nice clothes, and “why […] white folks stare at you that way” when the train pulls through a station. He can tell that his world is divided by color, but he does not understand why or what it will mean for him. Later, Mama tells him that life is hard for Black people, and he will have to become his family’s protector. He realizes that the color line has something to do with his Mama’s distress, but he doesn’t fully understand why—he still thinks that he can “kill this mean thing that made Mama feel so bad.” Even though he is barely old enough to be in school, he doesn’t have the luxury of a carefree childhood because he already has to confront adult problems that racism has created for his family.
“The Black Ball” also shows how racism deprives Black people of a privilege that most white people take for granted: childhood innocence. Early in the story, the protagonist, John’s, four-year-old son starts asking difficult questions about race, beginning with, “Daddy, am I black?” When the boy wants to play with his ball, his father tells him to play in the back alley, not in the front lawn with the white boys. But surely enough, John’s son ends up in the front yard, and then a white boy steals his ball and throws it through the building manager, Mr. Berry’s, window. Berry blames John’s son, and John has no option but to accept the blame on his son’s behalf. Telling the truth would be far too dangerous, as the white boy’s family could easily get him fired, and Berry likely wouldn’t believe him anyways. Like James’s mother, John struggles to balance his desire to let his son play innocently, like any child should, with the practical need to teach his son about the grim reality of racism (which means that others will never see him as innocent). Racism, Ellison suggests, forces young Black people to accept injustice at an early age. It also creates a tragic dilemma for all Black parents. Namely, they must give their children the freedom to be children while also trying to prepare them children for the harsh realities of Black life in the U.S.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Childhood and Innocence ThemeTracker
Childhood and Innocence Quotes in The Black Ball
“See, Lewis, Jack Frost made the pretty leaves. Jack Frost paints the leaves all the pretty colors. See, Lewis: brown, and purple, and orange, and yellow.”
The countryside was bright gold with Indian summer. Way across a field, a boy was leading a cow by a rope and a dog was barking at the cow’s feet. It was a nice dog, the boy on the train thought, a collie.
He closed his eyes tight, trying to see the picture of Daddy. He must never forget how Daddy looked. He would look like that himself when he grew up: tall and kind and always joking and reading books. … Well, just wait; when he got big and carried Mama and Lewis back to Oklahoma City everybody would see how well he took care of Mama, and she would say, “See, these are my two boys,” and would be very proud. And everybody would say, “See, aren’t Mrs. Weaver’s boys two fine men?” That was the way it would be.
“You understand, son. I want you to remember. You must, you’ve got to understand.”
“Go with us and keep us, Lord. Then it was me and him, Lord; now it’s me and his children. And I’m thankful, Lord. You saw fit to take him, Lord, and it’s well with my soul in Thy name. I was happy, Lord; life was like a mockingbird a-singing. And all I ask now is to stay with these children, to raise them and protect them, Lord, till they’re old enough to go their way. Make them strong and unafraid, Lord. Give them strength to meet this world. Make them brave to go where things is better for our people, Lord.…”
James wanted to cry, but, vaguely, he felt something should be punished for making Mama cry. Something cruel had made her cry. He felt the tightness in his throat becoming anger. If he only knew what it was, he would fix it; he would kill this mean thing that made Mama feel so bad. It must have been awful because Mama was strong and brave and even killed mice when the white woman she used to work for only raised her dress and squealed like a girl, afraid of them. If he only knew what it was … Was it God?
Yes, I’ll kill it. I’ll make it cry. Even if it’s God, I’ll make God cry, he thought. I’ll kill Him; I’ll kill God and not be sorry!
There were many advertising signs in the fields they were rolling past. All the signs told about the same things for sale. One sign showed a big red bull and read BULL DURHAM.
“Moo-oo,” the baby said.
I stood there on top listening, bent slightly forward to keep my balance like a guy skiing, and thought of my mother, I had left her two months before, not even knowing that I would ever hop freights. Poor Mama, she had tried hard to keep my brother and me at home, but she fed us too long alone, and we were getting much too grown-up to let her do it any longer, so we left home looking for jobs.
“What’s the matter son?”
“Daddy, am I black?”
“Of course not, you’re brown. You know you’re not black.”
[…]
“Brown’s much nicer than white, isn’t it, Daddy?”
[…]
“Some people think so. But American is better than both, son.”
“Daddy,” the boy called softly; it’s softly when I’m busy.
“Yes, son.”
“When I grow up I think I’ll drive a truck.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and then I can wear a lot of buttons on my cap like the men that bring the meat to the grocery. I saw a colored man with some today, Daddy. I looked out the window, and a colored man drove the truck today, and, Daddy, he had two buttons on his cap. I could see ‘em plain.”
“All right now,” I told him. “You stay in the back out of everybody’s way, and you mustn’t ask anyone a lot of questions.”
“Well, if I ever see him around here again, you’re going to find yourself behind the black ball. Now get him on round to the back and then come up here and clean up this mess he’s made.”
“Will I play with the black ball, Daddy?”
“In time son,” I said. “In time.”
He had already played with the ball; that he would discover later. He was learning the rules of the game already, but he didn’t know it. Yes, he would play with the ball. Indeed, poor little rascal, he would play until he grew sick of playing. My, yes, the old ball game. But I’d begin telling him the rules later.
