Not much more happened that I really feel like talking about, so let’s fast forward to the next year. I hadn’t taken another magical journey to The Great Wall of Michigan, so the little that did happen between then and now isn’t even relevant. I mean, I broke my arm at the elbow - but that’s about it. There wasn’t even a cool story behind it. It was just a slip and fall accident. How lame is that? Anyway, it hurt like hell, I was in a sling for months, I couldn’t do shit, and the fragment is still in my arm.

Okay, I’m 13 at this point. I’m getting in a lot of trouble in middle school because of the problems I have outside of school. I kept a bad attitude, stayed tired from difficulty sleeping, and, because I was still smaller than my peers, I had new bullies to fight. For a while in grade seven I didn’t get into quite as much trouble in the streets, however. I played a lot of basketball and really tried to get ahead in school. I didn’t want to end up at my neighborhood high school because of the reputation it had as the most dangerous high school in the city. It wasn’t uncommon for gang fights to take place right in front of the building, for girls to cut each other up with razors, or for boys to bring guns into the school. Used to that kind of shit as I was and still am, I didn’t want to be inside while it took place. Kind of made me feel like a sitting duck.

So, let me tell you how I ended up going to my neighborhood high school anyway.

I got dropped into a non-elective social studies class that I really, REALLY didn’t want to be in. I had reservations about the subject because I had always struggled with it. We learned a lot of things that either didn’t seem useful or didn’t make sense. We didn’t really learn the why behind anything. It was really cookie cutter, you know what I mean? And if things don’t make sense to me, I usually reject them. I need things to make sense. It’s not that I’m not objective, that’s not true at all. It’s that I’m a knowledge claim type of person. I don’t like subjective arguments and personal views without evidence, in regards to how everyone should live. I’m not okay with that shit.

There was tension from the moment I first walked into this throbbing dickhead’s class. She saw me, in all my dark skin, and decided on the spot that she hated me. Her eyes rolled in her skull and her face flushed red. I wasn’t the only student she did this to because I wasn’t the only, or even the darkest, darky in the class. No. See, I’m the only one this treatment stuck to - and then I figured out why. She had a real elitist attitude. I was the only kid in the class who was poor. My clothes were usually patched, lightly stained, oversized (for growing room), and / or a little frayed along the hems. So, she wasn’t all that fond of us darker kids, but she hated the poor ones. Ahh hell! This turned into a VERY long school year for me almost instantly, and I have to admit that my spirit was very much broken by the end.

This was the first year I actually performed well in social studies. Times were different back in the 90’s. Social studies classes were largely bullshit. I didn’t really retain anything of value, especially from this douchebag’s class. Anyway, I got most answers right. But the piece of shit commonly marked my answers wrong purely out of spite. A few acquaintances and I even hatched a plan to catch this human garbage in the act. More on that later.

Mom had to frequent the school to find out what was wrong with my grades. If there was anything she usually didn’t have to worry about it, it was my grades. See, I have an aversion to looking stupid. I never want to be considered stupid because then I have to worry about assholes trying to play me, and then I’ll have to get down on them, and I don’t really like having to do that. Things get messy and it ruins my clothes. Furthermore, I admittedly have a prejudice against a stupid mother--... I’m done. I’m done! I’m over it. You get the point, right? Cool. Well, my mom would frequent the parent teacher conferences and be satisfied until she got to the tiny penis who always wrote me failing grades. And before you think it, she wasn’t racist. She was Black too. She’s just some shit.

Mom most usually pointed out the fact that my correct answers were marked wrong.

Dickhead Teacher: (smugly) I just feel like Adam doesn’t apply himself. He’s lazy, Mrs. Washington, and he just copies from the book. The other kids work hard and he just doesn’t. He thinks he’s better than me, like I haven’t seen it all before.

Mom: (frustrated) That doesn’t matter if he gets the answer right. You’re making me think it’s his fault he’s failing but all I see are correct answers and no proof that he plagiarized anything. Produce it. Show me what the book says.

Dickhead Teacher: (smuglier) I just told you what the book said. My word is good. Now, what are we going to do to discipline Mr. Washington?

Oh HELL NO! I’ve taken enough beatings over this bullshit! This bitch has me coming to school with black eyes and cuts, big ass brooms broken over my back, kicked down the stairs and shit, and she wants me to get fucked up even MORE?! Who couldn’t tell that I was a CLEARLY abused child? I was in a dangerous enough situation as it was. I didn’t need to ALSO have someone PUSHING my mom to hit me more than she already did. But this is how it was back then in my city. This was how powerless a kid in my situation really was. See, nowadays you spoiled little jackasses don’t even have to present evidence to get someone to go after your parents. But 20 years ago? Nope, forget about it. If you were trapped, you were trapped. Either you got killed or you survived and managed to run away. It wasn’t favorable to go into foster care, and it wasn’t like they tried very hard to take on new wards of the state. Not around my way.

Me: WHAT?! You just got caught! You’re CHEATING ME!!!

Dickhead Teacher: You’re cheating, Mr. Washington. Sit down and close your mouth. You talk enough during class. You should really establish better control of your son, Mrs. Washington. He copies and he talks back to his seniors.

Mom: (irritated) Go sit at your desk, boy. I don’t need this from you right now.

Me: But--!

Mom: (irritated) GO. AWAY!

The walking turd smiled even smuglier still. I know that wasn’t a real word before. But according to dictionary scholars, it’s only not a real word before it’s been used. So, now it is because I just used it. You’re welcome. Anyway, she knew I might get the shit beaten out of me again, maybe even beaten to death, and she was all for it. So, another kid, Evan, and I thought of a way to catch her in the act. The next PTA wasn’t going to go this way - not if there was anything we could do about it.

Evan and I exchanged phone numbers and started doing our homework while on the phone. I would come up with the answers and read them back to him exactly. He would copy down my answers verbatim. We did this once per week, every week until the next PTA. She didn’t even notice - no, really. She didn’t even notice. She hadn’t even been reading my answers, just marking them wrong, giving me a zero, and moving on to the next. No kidding. Evan and I would compare assignments after she graded and returned them. He would have a perfect copy of my answers and receive a C or C+. I would always receive an F; zero credit.

The next PTA rolled around and me and Evan were ready for her. I was hoping this would be enough to encourage my mom to kick her ass. I walked in with mom and I was wearing a triumphant expression. Evan waited in the hall with his mom. We nodded and grinned at each other as mom and I passed them. We sat down and I waited for the slippery pile of shit to get deep into her usual foolishness. I was dead silent the whole time. I stared at her so hard my eyes could have burned a hole through her head. I waited for her to finish.

Me: (cold) Mom, look.

I reached into my bag to grab my graded assignments. Evan dragged his mom into the classroom when he heard me give the signal.

Mom: (flat) No. Shut up.

Me: (upset) Mom! Just LOOK!

Dickhead Teacher: (smugly) You’re losing control of him again. How embarrassing.

Mom: (annoyed) WHAT, Adam?!

I placed all my assignments that Evan and I did together on the desk. The teacher’s eyebrows went up. I saw her get tense. My mom saw all the correct answers that were marked wrong.

Mom: (shocked) You didn’t even read these before marking them wrong. There’s no possible way he could get every single answer wrong for months. ALL of these are zeroes for no good reason!

Me: Evan, show them!

Evan didn’t even say a word, he just dropped his assignments on the desk. His mom looked on quietly as my mom dug through the assignments. Douchebag seemed to be sweating now. Mom’s eyes widened when she read the duplicate answers.

Mom: (angry) You copied off of him to make a point?!

Evan: No! He gave me the answers to make a point, Mrs. Washington. I swear!

Evan’s mom snatched him back by her side and whispered for him to mind his own business. Shithead took advantage of the opening my mom left.  Goddamnit.

Dickhead Teacher: That’s why he received no credit. I saw they had the exact same answers, so I knew that Adam was cheating again.

Mom: (suspicious) And how did you determine that Adam was the cheater and not Evan? Why did you give Evan credit if you suspected they were cheating? You didn’t notice, you’re just automatically failing my son. You think this is a joke.

Dickhead Teacher: That’s not true, Mrs--

Evan: (angry) Yes, it is! You always treat me and Adam worse than everyone else because we’re the darkest kids in the class!

Everyone froze while Evan scowled and bared his teeth at her. His braces gleamed in the pale fluorescent light. Even I hadn’t expected Evan to go to bat for me like that. I was stunned. He didn’t seem to like me very much. I just thought he was interested in helping us catch a mutual enemy. Our teacher was clearly afraid now.

Dickhead Teacher: What’s gotten into you all of a sud--!

Me: Get her, mom! Knock her block off!

Mom: (irate) No. We’re done here. She’ll get what’s coming to her when the time comes. God judges all in the end.

What the actual hell?! She liberally beat the hell out of me for even the smallest things, or for no apparent reason at all, and she let’s the teacher intentionally destroying my future off the hook just like that?! She should have stormed out of that school slapping faces but she just marched out quietly and indignant. My own mom let her get away with it. Not only did she do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it, this teacher started writing me up for suspension from school all the time as a consequence. She got me suspended so much that I was almost expelled from the school, and I didn’t get to go to the high school of my choice. I passed the test and almost had all the grades. Social Studies was the only course I had left. I got a D - and that was only because she didn’t want me in her class again for another year.

That’s how I ended up going to one of the most dangerous high schools in the whole state. Story of my life.