Sadly, there’s a comfort in hurt called familiarity.
Nobody wants new pain.
An old, achy broken heart is better than a new one.
LEONARD G. ROBINSON JR.
Notice of Expulsion
In the days following Junior’s suspension from Franklin High, the Robinsons received a notice in the mail from the school’s principal, Dr. Stanley, certifying that Junior would be expelled. In bright, bold letters, the words “Notice of Expulsion” were printed near the top of the page and solidified in his signature. Attached was a summons for Junior’s expulsion hearing scheduled for later that week. In the document was Junior’s full name along with a synopsis of the incident. Warren Grant (a.k.a. Big Warren,) was also summoned to appear. The letter was co-signed by the chair of the Philadelphia City School Board.
Junior could feel Senior’s voice vibrating through the floor when Sandy told him he had to miss a day of work to attend the hearing. He had just booked a job for a transmission repair on the west side for $800. It was his biggest job all month. Fuming, Senior slammed the backdoor so hard that the handle broke off. Junior waited for his daddy to come upstairs raising hell for costing him money. Thankfully, Senior never came.
On the morning of Junior’s hearing, he wore the same suit and tie he had worn to Lawrence’s funeral the summer before. Sandy got him a haircut down at the mall, convinced that a professional trim would make a difference. She wore a pretty, summer-green flowery dress with a matching hat, and Senior wore a dark brown suit and tie with polished dressed shoes.
The hearing was scheduled for 8:30 a.m. in downtown Philadelphia at the John F. Kennedy Center for Wellness and Education. Junior entered next to Sandy with Senior following behind, sucking on a Jolly Rancher candy to kill off his cigarette breath. The panel deciding Junior’s fate at Franklin High was a mixture of six members including members of the city’s school board along with the chair. Four of the persons hearing Junior’s case that morning were white and the other two were black. The moment Senior walked in, he surveyed the panel, shook his head at Junior, and nudged Sandy’s arm as he took a seat.
“This ain’t gonna go well,” Senior whispered to her. “I think they’re gonna fuck Junior.”
Sandy, ever the optimist, had a different idea.
“Oh, stop!” she whispered back. “We ain’t been here but five minutes and you already checked out. Why don’t you have a little faith sometime?”
“Faith don’t mean nothin’ with four crackers sittin’ up there,” he said. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s a setup! They’re gonna kick Junior out of school. Mark my words!”
“Shhhh!” Junior intervened, quieting his folks. “It’s about to begin!”
The board treated Junior’s expulsion hearing like a criminal trial. A copy of the bus driver’s written statement was the most damning evidence throughout the hearing. Witnesses present during the fight were called in to testify against Junior. When asked whether they believed Junior had a propensity for violence, eight out of nine answered “yes”. With each board’s witness, Junior drooped further into the bench, believing his future at Franklin High was over. At one point, Sandy leaned across Senior to scorn him for his slouchy etiquette. “Sit up!” she barked quietly, careful not to draw attention to him. When Big Warren entered last to testify against Junior regarding their fight, Junior pointed him out to Sandy. Throughout Warren’s testimony, she rolled her eyes and whispered into Senior’s ear.
There was nothing “big” about Big Warren, Junior discovered at the hearing. To save his promising football scholarship, he painted Junior as a homicidal maniac with a dark spirit. Twice, he showed the panel the marks from his scuffle with Junior. Reaching for a row of tissues at the center of the table, he began to cry as he recounted his nightmare.
“Forgive me y’all,” he choked. “It’s just difficult for me to talk about what Junior – I’m sorry – what Leonard did to me ten days ago.”
The more Big Warren talked, the more Junior hated him. He sat, listening to Warren’s filtered testimony as the panel tuned in. Big Warren said that he and Junior had a “disagreement” earlier in the day before the massacre had taken place. With his face in his hands, he fake-cried again. By then, Senior had had all he could take as he leaned over to whisper into Junior’s ear.
“What a shithead,” said Senior. “I ain’t ever seen such a tall, strong punk in my life.”
When it was Junior’s turn to approach the podium, the tide of the board was against him. Junior said that his thrashing of Big Warren was precipitated when Big Warren attempted to haze him during the break by destroying his journal. He did just as he and Sandy had rehearsed the night before, using the exact language Big Warren had said to him during their first fight.
“And then he called me a ‘bitch’ and said ‘welcome to Franklin’ and walked off – after he’d already torn up my journal,” Junior explained to the panel. “I don’t know Warren – he’s not a friend of mine. I was upset, but I accept responsibility for what happened. Please give me a second chance at Franklin High.”
The chair of the panel then began to cross-examine Junior.
“Soooo,” the woman began. “You’re saying that Mr. Grant physically provoked you first? Is that correct?”
Junior looked over at his parents before answering.
“Yes, that’s correct,” he nodded.
“Well, if that’s the case, how come you didn’t report it to a staff member?”
“Because…” Junior glanced over at Sandy. “Look, I was wrong for hitting Warren with that glass bottle, but I was only trying to defend myself. I didn’t report it because I didn’t think anybody would care. I’m sorry. Please, just give me another chance.”
“Chance?” the woman asked. “Why should anyone give you a chance, Mr. Robinson? Surely, it would be another thing if what you said happened first was documented. But there’s no documentation nor evidence that Mr. Grant attacked you. Meanwhile, I’ve got a bus driver and eight other students claiming you were the aggressor in this confrontation. Catch my drift?”
The panel did more than just fuck Junior; they crucified him.
There to testify on Junior’s behalf was none other than his mother, Sandy Robinson. Like any good mother, she went to bat for her son, presenting copies of Junior’s transcripts from previous years. It shocked Junior to learn that his mother had saved his report cards from as far back as the second grade. He sat in his chair like a swollen lump as Sandy read aloud a signed letter dated from 1991 from the City Coordinator with Boys Scouts of America.
“’Thank you, Mrs. Robinson, for gifting us with your son, Leonard Robinson Jr. He’s been a true pleasure to work with throughout the summer and will go on to do great things for his community in years to come.’” Sandy carefully folded the letter and placed it back into her bag. Acting on her son’s behalf as his lawyer, Sandy questioned Big Warren, calling bluff to his fake tears and cross-examining his holey story. She was good and better than Junior anticipated. In her closing arguments, Sandy told the panel about the family’s tragic loss the summer before, losing Lawrence, and how difficult it had been for Junior since the move.
“It’s been hard on us as a family, especially Junior. His brother was his best friend.”
Sandy then called on to Junior to speak, encouraging him to read a short selection from his journal. His masterful writing was well-received by the panel. Junior then went on to say that it was his goal to be the first man in his family to graduate from high school. Before long, the panel called for a short recess to deliberate on a decision on whether to expel Junior.
Out in the hallway, the Robinsons came together at the end of the hall.
“Geez, Ma, you sounded like a lawyer!” said Junior. “You sure you never practiced?”
Feeling herself, Sandy glowed.
“I thought about it once – but who knows. The most important thing is that we get you back into that school. Don’t worry; your father and I g
ot your back. Everything will be alright.”
Senior was less enthused about the awaiting decision.
“Hmph,” he grumbled. “If I know one thing, I know white folks,” said Senior. “There ain’t but two blacks on that panel and they’re just as white if not whiter than the white folks already up there. Can’t trust ‘em. Nope! I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Junior’s daddy was always skeptical. He was suspicious of everyone but particularly when it came to white people. As Senior stepped away to use the bathroom, Sandy told Junior that his grandfather, Senior’s daddy, had been chased down and beaten to death by racist cops in North Carolina for failing to use a turn signal at a stop sign. Before she could finish the story, Senior exited the men’s bathroom.
“C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Senior urged his family back to the courtroom.
The Decision
When Junior and his family returned to the hearing, they were surprised to be greeted by a representative from the Department of Human Health. The woman, named Eliza Simmons, had been summoned by the panel much earlier but arrived late to the hearing. She came in befuddled, dropping a stack of manila folders on the floor with her glasses tilted to the side like Damon Wayans in Blankman. She was sloppy, unprepared, and unorganized. Junior looked over at his mother and could tell she was not impressed by the woman. Senior looked at Eliza Simmons and leaned across Junior to get at Sandy.
“Yup. Here comes the horse shit,” he whispered to Sandy.
Miss Simmons, summoned on behalf of the panel, alleged she had reviewed Junior’s incident and concluded (without interviewing him) that Junior needed psychological counseling. In front of the panel, she questioned Sandy about Junior’s upbringing, accusing her of not providing a stable home for her child. Sandy took offense, to say the least, but was on her best behavior for Junior. She answered every erratic question posed by Miss Simmons, still hopeful that Junior would be given the green light.
“Yes, we lived in North Philly for a time,” Sandy begrudgingly answered. “Yes, I am aware that a child’s home environment can dictate how they function at school.”
Question after question, Sandy answered everything Miss Simmons had for her. In the end, the panel returned with a unanimous vote to expel Junior for the remainder of the 1995-96 school year. Once officiated, Junior would not be eligible to attend any regular public school across Philadelphia. As soon as the decision was called, Junior bolted from the room and out into the hallway as Senior went after him. From the hall, Junior could hear Sandy giving the panel a piece of her mind.
“Y’all got this wrong!” she said. “Y’all expelled the wrong kid! My son is not a criminal and that’s how exactly how y’all treated him today, like a damn criminal!”
Out in the car, Junior listened as his parents debated over what had happened.
“I can’t believe it!” said Sandy. “I can’t believe they did that to Junior!”
“I can,” said Senior. “I told y’all it was some bullshit afoot. Always is.”
As Senior fired up the engine, Junior rode in the backseat of his mother’s Buick Skylark speechless, staring back at his reflection in the window. Upfront, Sandy carried on in her diatribe that the school system had failed her son. She called the two blacks on the panel “alternate negroes” for voting unanimously to expel Junior and declared there was a bias against him due to Big Warren being a football star. Junior’s expulsion was another loss inside the Robinson household. Lately, it seemed all his family was good for was accepting losses.
At a gas station near the house, Senior stopped in to buy cigarettes and play his favorite lottery numbers. As soon as Senior exited the car and walked inside and Junior began to whimper, Sandy turned around to rebuke him.
“Sit up straight! Wipe those eyes! Pick your damn head up,” she ordered. “Now, Junior! Do you want your daddy to come back and see you acting like this? Fix your face.”
Using his suit sleeve, Junior wiped his nose and took a deep breath as he tried to stomach the idea of repeating the ninth grade next school year.
“Can’t keep cryin’ every time something bad happens,” she explained. “Now, I know you’re upset about what they did to you back there. I know you’re pissed off, and I am too – and so is your daddy. But you have to hold your head up!”
“What for?” he asked. “It’s over. I’m finished. I’ll be a freshman again next year. You heard what they said. I’m expelled,” he complained. “That means I’m out for the year.”
“You’re not out of anything, Junior,” she corrected him. “There’s other options. We’ll just have to find you an alternative school in the meantime, that’s all. I told you before, I’m in your corner. I’m not gonna let you fall behind – not on my watch. And for God’s sake, hold your head up! If people keep seeing you with your head down, they’re gonna keep it down! Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sandy then turned back around in her seat.
“Good. ‘Cause, everything ain’t worth losing your cool over, you know. You have to learn to move forward, that’s all. There’s always a way.”
Seconds later, Senior ripped open the car door, threw his stuff in the back next to Junior, and slammed the door so hard that Sandy’s car rattled from side-to-side.
“Shit!” he banged on the wheel. “Shit-shit-shit!”
“Th’hell is wrong with you, slamming my door like a damn gorilla?” asked Sandy.
“I missed the number by one point,” Senior complained. “I wrote 3-7-2. The motherfucka hit for 3-7-9. We could’ve won five hundred dollars! Ain’t this a bitch?”
Junior always found Senior’s lottery challenges comical. He broke into a small grin as Senior carried on up the road, cursing and pounding on the wheel. Sure, five hundred dollars wasn’t life-changing money, but for Junior and his family, it was a start. Sandy couldn’t believe Senior, especially not after the conversation she’d had with Junior about controlling his emotions. Junior’s expulsion worries had subsided in exchange for a crumbled lottery ticket and Senior raising hell on the way back to Brooke’s Rowe.
In the backseat, Junior was thinking to himself that attending an alternative institution in Philly wasn’t the same as attending public school, but it was better than no school at all.
Pain is in all things. Can you see it?
There is a misfortune to being fortunate.
Sickness to being lovesick
and misery to wealth
No road is perfect. Not even close.
—LEONARD G. ROBINSON JR.
Three
After his hearing, Junior sat dejected inside his bedroom at home, sulking over the panel’s decision to oust him for the remainder of the school year. To keep him sharp in case an alternative school came along sooner than expected, Sandy loaned Junior two books for him to read. At the top of the pile was Miseducation of the Negro by Carter G. Woodson, one of Sandy’s old books. When Junior finished, Sandy gave him one of Lawrence’s old books, Sounder, written by William Armstrong. After each chapter, Junior’s mother would ask him questions, testing his understanding of both books. If anything, books offered Junior a temporary escape from the disappointment resulting in the outcome of the hearing.
Despite his support at home, anger burned inside his young heart. The kids in or around Brooke’s Rowe still rejected him, eventually turning Junior into a hermit. They nicknamed him “bum” and “scrub” whenever he came around. They questioned his heart and his testicular fortitude, and they accused him of being homosexual.
“So, what book did you bring with you today, bum?” a kid asked him.
“Tony Browder,” said Junior.
“Who the fuck is that?” another boy laughed. “Man, don’t you do anything besides read?”
“Word to my mother,” a third kid chimed in, laughing. “That’s some faggot-shit right there. Like, who the fuck comes down to the park to read?”
Enraged, Junior grabbed his drink and b
ook and headed back to Kennedy Street as his hecklers mocked him. Despite what had happened with Big Warren, Junior wasn’t the fighting type. The few skirmishes he’d encountered back in North Philly were when someone had picked on Lawrence or pushed Junior into a corner. Before his fight with Big Warren, the last fight he got in was on the way home from school when a junkie tried to accost him and his brother for five dollars to buy crack rock. Junior leveled the man with a brick to the face before running off with Lawrence.
When Junior returned home after being ousted from the park again, he’d had it with trying to get along with the boys around Brooke’s Rowe, life’s injustices, and the recent chain of traumatic events over the past year. Fed up with being the fall guy, he swiped at his journal atop his dresser, knocking it down to the floor, and punched a dent into his nightstand. Later, when Junior’s mother opened his room door to find that he had torpedoed his bedroom, she knew exactly what went wrong.
“So…what’d they say this time?” she asked.
“Man, what didn’t they say?” Junior scowled at the TV screen as he watched an old re-run of Good Times.
Sandy entered and took a seat next to him.
“You know, Junior,” she said. “I don’t think these boys around here hate you. I think they’re just jealous of you.”
Junior looked at Sandy as if she was a fool.
“Jealous?” he laughed. “Of me? What for? I get ten dollars a week for my allowance. I still own a Nintendo when all the other kids around here have Sega Genesis, Super Nintendo, or the new PlayStation. My father cuts my hair. I don’t even have a girlfriend!”
“At least your daddy cuts your hair. At least you get that ten dollars. Most of these kids around here in Brooke’s Rowe don’t know what it’s like to have a father or a family.”
Still, Junior continued to complain about the torment he received. Before long, Sandy left him alone to cool off. Instead, he drowned in his misery, feeling sorry for himself. On the TV, a documentary of the ex-boxer, Philly’s own “Smokin” Joe Frazier, appeared on the set. Junior studied the entire one-hour feature presentation, admiring the ex-champion’s tenacity and menacing glower, and decided he’d adopt Frazier’s mean look. Whether at school, down at the store, or elsewhere in Philly, he’d sport a sinister scowl on his innocent mug to scare off would-be troublemakers from picking on him. Later at dinner, Junior showed up to his mother’s table looking like a pitiful mixture of Joe Frazier and Carlton Banks from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. The fakery was spotted immediately by Senior.
Beyond Poetry Page 5