REAL THUGS DON'T GO TO COLLEGE

***more from my upcoming book, "Real Thugs Don't Go To College".........enjoy!!***


Chapter 12


My senior year was like a movie. So much stuff happened, I need to see it again just to remember it all. Let’s see, where do I start? At Northern, I was returning to school with a 3.4 gpa and I had received a 24 on my ACT’s. Once again all my classes were at Northern, but I didn’t play sports due to working and Kudos occupying most if not all my free time. Kudos was my air; it was my focus in life and I looked forward to going to Gundry (Mr. Rhymes had left his previous school to take the same position here) every Monday to work on being great. Mr. Rhymes became my best friend, even if he didn’t know it. For some reason, this was the one person that knew everything about me. I didn’t lie to him, probably because I didn’t need to- he never once judged me. I was a main attraction at all of the parties (or at least that was my impression) and had become one of the top dancers in the city. Since I lacked shyness, when I stepped in the club, everybody knew they were in for a show. Any and every club in Flint got a piece of Black Soul and the cool part was that I knew when there were eyes on me. That would make me perform harder. Being high didn’t help matters either. Yeah, I still smoked but it was usually when I kicked it with Zip. We would plan our weekends around the car wash and would get burnt up all day. Even if we didn’t have cash (because neither one of us was selling at the time), we knew how to get it. One summer when I was playing AAU basketball, I learned a new hustle. When we had a tournament to go to, we would go around to certain businesses (Meijer’s, K-Mart, Target, etc.) and solicit funds from patrons. It was legit when I played hoop, but now I had made up some fake donation sheets and used my gift of gab to get people to donate to us.
Excuse me. If I could have a moment of your time. My name is Chris Tucker and I am here on behalf of the Intelligent Men’s Basketball Club. During the (your holiday of choice here) break, we will be going to (your city of choice here) to participate in an all-around hoop it up basketball tournament. If you could spare a small donation, it would be greatly appreciated.
And that was my hustle. Most Saturdays, we would end our day with anything from fifty to five hundred dollars. We split the cash and got fucked up for the rest of the day. Ended up at the club, dancing and sweating my ass off. I didn’t know it was so easy to fall asleep in the club!!
My mom tried to have a relationship. Actually, I moved out of my granddad’s house and my only option was to live with my mother. I was reluctant seeing how great our relationship had been, but I knew that she was working third shift and I remembered how much fun I had at Zip’s house when his mother was at work. There were a couple of reasons why I decided to leave. One was that my mom stayed closer to my job and to Kudos practice. It was tough trying to get back and forth especially when the bus line would close down for the evening. I wouldn’t have to rush to make sure I wasn’t late for work or even a meeting for that matter. Mr. Rhymes taught us that being on time meant being early. It became a pet peeve for me not to be the first person somewhere. I thought the best came first and the rest came second, so I had to be where I supposed to be early. The other reason I moved with my mom was because my granddad made me.
“Clayton, that’s your mother. You have to learn to love unconditionally. If you can’t love your mother, how will you ever love another woman..”
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? ALL BECAUSE MY MOM AIN’T SHIT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I AIN’T GONNA KNOW HOW TO TREAT ANOTHER WOMAN. I HAVE GREAT RELATIONSHIPS WITH WOMAN. AND AIN’T NO OTHER WOMAN GONNA DO WHAT SHE HAS DONE.
“Yes sir.”
It wasn’t as bad as I thought moving with my mother. Sometimes she would try to start arguments, but if you ignored her long enough, she would get the point and shut up. But somehow, we had each other’s back. Even at times when we seemed to be at odds, moms had my back and I had hers. When I first did the Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech at the library, she was there. She recommended a place for us to have our step show and she set it up for us. She never made me feel like I didn’t have a family member that loved me-even if she didn’t say it. And if anyone bothered her, that was their ass. That’s why when she paged me 911 during 4th hour, I didn’t think twice about finding out what was wrong.
“Ms. Rumph, can I go use the phone. My mother just paged me 911.”
Ms. Rumph was my English teacher. She was also the basileus of Phi Delta Kappa, the group that sponsored the Kudos. She knew of my past and understood the severity of my request. She agreed and gave me a pass to the counselor’s office to use the phone.
“Momma, what’s wrong?”
“I came home this morning and we’ve been robbed! They didn’t take much but my jewelry and--”
“Click!”
A substitute teacher that I had problems with in the past had came into the office and hung up the phone without asking any questions. 2 seconds was all it took for me to look at her and decide to choke the shit out of her. I was so angry, I had the strength to raise her in the air and declare:
“If you ever hang up on my momma again, I will kill you!!”
Once reality set back in, I went back to my class and told Ms. Rumph what happened with my momma. She gave me a pass to go home and check on things. The next day when I returned to school, I received another message while I was in Ms. Rumph class. This one was from the principal’s office. I knew what it was about and was prepared for my suspension. I wasn’t trippin’ because I had already told my mother what had went down and she said, if need be, she would come and get things situated, because she had previously had an altercation with this particular sub when she came up there before.
I walked into Mr. Johnson’s office and the auto shop teacher, Mr. Ewing was in there. He took over principal duties when Mr. Johnson was out taking care of some type of business. Ewing was an old, playboy type man that smoked cigarettes and cursed the students. Everybody was pretty cool with him and when he did pitch a threat, it was usually idle. I saw him sitting there, paying more attention to paperwork that probably didn’t concern him than the person walking in. I sat down, he looked up, realized who I was and asked:
“What school do you want to go to?”
HUH?! WHAT DOES HE MEAN, WHAT SCHOOL? COLLEGE? WHY DOES HE CARE WHAT COLLEGE I WANT TO GO TO? IS HE GONNA GET ME IN?
“Well, I was thinking about Morehouse or Bowie State.”
“Not college. High school. You’ve done too much here, you can’t stay. We have to find you somewhere else to go.”
STOP FUCKIN’ PLAYING!!! YOU CAN NOT KICK SOMEONE OUT OF SCHOOL HIS SENIOR YEAR. FOR THE PAST THREE PLUS YEARS, I HAVE BEEN A SYMBOL OF THIS SCHOOL. I’VE PLAYED SPORTS, I’VE BEEN THE MASCOT, CLASS OFFICER, I’M THE MOST PROMINENT KUDO YOU HAVE, AND I HAPPEN TO BE ONE OF THE SMARTEST STUDENTS IN THIS SCHOOL.
But there was nothing I could say or do. There was nothing anybody could do about it. I begin to get scared.
WHAT WILL MR. RHYMES SAY? WILL I GET KICKED OUT OF THE KUDOS? THIS IS BULLSHIT! NO ONE EVEN ASKED MY SIDE OF THE STORY. SHE HUNG UP ON MY MOMMA AND WE JUST GOT ROBBED!
It didn’t matter. WE decided that I would go to Northwestern since I lived closer to the school. The funny thing is that I was able to go to Northern for my first two classes of the day. Why let me attend some if I couldn’t go all day? I guess by changing home schools, the responsibility of my actions were on them now. For the rest of that day, I cried. I had a speech to do in my 6th hour but instead of doing what I had prepared, I talked about my experiences at Northern. I thanked all my peers for all the great memories and left leaving behind my legacy.
It seemed like no one was surprised that I got kicked out of Northern. No one scolded me, disregarded me, or chastised me. They accepted my fate- one that was a long time coming. Mr. Rhymes didn’t trip either. It seemed as though he kept a tighter hold on me figuring I was on the edge of quitting school. I didn’t want to go to N-Dub; that was the equivalent of Magic Johnson joining the Celtics to me. Everybody at Northwestern knew me through my trash talking and my days in the sports world. My first day of school, I even wore my JV football jersey to school.
It was hard to get motivated for school. Instead of actually getting kicked out, I began to lie about it just as I wouldn’t have to go. I hated everything about the school. I hated that it was only one story high, I hated that it was close to Beecher, I hated it because it wasn’t Northern. To me, Northwestern was the Section 8 of high schools. I stuck it out though, I had to. Why would I not graduate after being this close? Because my motivation was gone that’s why. Somewhere in between my promise to my grandma and me going to a new school, I had forgotten about college. I stopped talking to colleges about my future plans and considered staying at home to care for my family. Some kind of way, momma got laid off from her job so most of my paycheck went to house bills and it seemed like the more I paid, the more they were. I never complained (I guess it was because of a sense of manhood and accomplishment) and I ended working close to 60 hours a week including school and Kudos.
I graduated high school. I finished with a 3.7 grade point average and after taking the ACT test again, I got a 31. A 24 was not good enough for me because other kids, I had heard, had got higher scores. The only difference between me and them was that they had a future. By this time, I was working at Burger King and back to selling drugs when I could. I began working so much, I started to spend nights up there so I could be back at work on time. I couldn’t let us get evicted and since momma was looking for a job, I thought doing this was only temporary. College became an afterthought until one of the customers asked me a question:
“Excuse me. I see you in here everyday when I come to get some coffee. How often do you work?”
“It depends. I usually work about 60 hours a week, unless someone calls in. Then I can get about 70 or 80 a week.”
“Wow! Why do you work so much if I may ask?”
“Well, my mother got laid off from General Motors and someone has to pay the bills.”
“Really. How old are you?”
“ I’m 18.”
“ Man, must be rough. Well young man, I commend you. Your family must be proud. Take care now.”
And with that, he leaves. That wasn’t really the time I thought about college. The next day was. When the man came back, he told me he was a reporter for the Flint Journal and wanted to do an article on me concerning how the lay-offs affected families. To him, I had and amazing story. In return, the local newspaper would give me a scholarship to any college in America.
STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH ME!!! ANY COLLEGE IN AMERICA! OKAY, WHAT’S THE CATCH? IF THIS NIGGA AIN’T JOKING, I’MA BE THE SHIT!! ON THE FRONT OF THE JOURNAL AND A FULL RIDE?! SHIT, THAT’S SWEET!
“Let me think about it. Come by tomorrow and I’ll let you know.”
“No problem. You work the same time?”
“Yes sir.”
I could barely work for the rest of the day. All my co-workers knew the great news and almost all the customers I encountered. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my momma. The opportunity to get out of the house and to be on my own was right in front of me. When I got home from work, I ran into my mother’s room. She was sleep but that didn’t stop me from screaming the news to her.
“Momma, guess what?! I’m going to college!”
“Hunh? How?”
“This guy that works for the journal came in and said if they can do a story on me about how the lay-offs affected my family, they will send me to college, wherever I want to go.”
She woke up instantly. The look on her face was not of elation but of disgust.
“You bet not dare tell family business to no newspaper. How dare you think that selfish? If you tell anybody our business, I will personally make sure you burn in hell!”
I couldn’t even be upset. I mean, after all this family has been through and my mom had the audacity to say this. You know pride is a motherfucker. Even though I respected her wishes, I finally realized that I would simply have to say fuck her and find me a place on my own. There was no way I could stay with her after she just crushed mine and grandma’s dream. So I continued to work at Burger King hella hours, but instead of my check going to the bills at 5606 Susan, they went into the “Clayton Robinson Get-A-Crib fund”. I had raised about 2,000 dollars when one Ms. Rumph comes up there.
“Hey Clay! How is everything?”
“It is what it is. I guess. ‘Bout to get my own place finally.”
“Let me ask you, you wanna go to college?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“You can go if you want to. You can go to my old school.”
“Where’s that?”
“Alcorn State University.”
“Where’s that?”
“In Mississippi.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow if you like.”
“How will I get there?”
“You can catch a bus. WE can get you a ticket.”
By we she meant Mr. Rhymes and herself. They had already promised me that I would go to college. They were the only two people (and my grandma) who really wanted me to go to school. Everybody else thought it would be best for me to go to the Army, to get some discipline. I told them both what had happened with the Flint Journal and they saw how disappointed I was. But I still wasn’t sure if there was a catch.
“How much do I have to pay for school?”
“Nothing. We got it taken care of. Yes or no Clayton.”
Sorry, not the long dramatic thought that takes 5 minutes to think about here buddy.
“Hegs yeah, I’m there. What time do I leave?”
“The bus leaves at 1:30. I’ll come pick you up from your mother’s house at 10. I want to get you some things before you go.”
And with that, it was final. My boss let me get off work early when I told him the news. He wished me the best in life so I didn’t need a two week notice or anything- this was my future. No matter how much I liked working there, I didn’t want to end up like Ms. Ella, a 60-something year old “hospitality rep” that comes Monday through Friday faithfully and has been doing so for over 40 years. I got home and once again, my mother was sleep. I crept in her door, trying not to scare her, so I can tell her my news. There was nothing she could say to change my mind this time. I was going to Mississippi to school. By myself. As I approached her, I started to gently call her name to prime her for my arrival. She opened her eyes as if she knew my appearance was inevitable.
“What do you want?”
“I’m leavin’ tomorrow.”
THERE, I SAID IT. NOW TURN AROUND AND LEAVE. DON’T SAY SHIT ELSE.
“What?!”
“I’m going to school tomorrow. I’m going to Alcorn, down in Mississippi. Ms. Rumph got me in.”
“Ms. Rumph?!”
FUCK!!
“Did you ask me if you could go? Matter of fact, fine! Go! You’ll be back. Thugs can’t make it in college.”
I don’t think she thought I was serious. I didn’t even sleep that night. I brought 3 trunks and packed them full of clothes. That’s all I had left. We pawned most of our things trying to keep the lights on. But I wasn’t tripping. I’m still a hustler, and I know I can make it down there.
The next day, Ms. Rumph comes to pick me up and ironically, my mother wasn’t home. Who cares?!! We go and grab me a few essentials out of the kindness of her heart. When we get to the bus station, Mr. Rhymes is there. It’s crazy; this is only the third time I remember crying in my life (other than when I was getting an ass whooping). I found out it was going to be a 25 hour bus trip. Cool, I can sleep. The only fucked up part about it was that I didn’t have any bud on me. I did manage to get a fifth of Vodka though. I guess I could have got some green but I didn’t know if they would be searching. They check my trunks onto the bus, I say my good-byes, and without another glance of my past, the bus ride begins. I could never have fathomed what 25 hours on a bus felt like, but it is not something I would wish on an enemy. After we made our last stop in Memphis, it seemed like civilization quit there as well. Tree after tree after tree is all I saw for the next 8 hours. My stop was Port Gibson and when I arrived, the bus driver dropped me off at an Exxon station with a Greyhound sign at the top. I looked around and saw the most rinky dink city ever. So this was Mississippi.