Eleventh Grade

By the time the 11th grade came around I had pretty much settled down. I’m not sure if I was using drugs by this time. If I was then it wasn’t much longer before I quit. The reason I did drugs was not a matter of addiction. It was more about fear of man than being drawn to the drug itself. I would drink and do different drugs because that is what my family did, it was the only crowd I could hang around, seemingly no one else would spend time with me and there was some gratification from getting high. The gratification was not that important. The other liabilities to drugs were weighing much more on me. I quit. It was stupid and certainly not worth it.

I quit drinking, drugging and stopped cursing as well. My hair had peaked out around my shoulder blades. I began cutting it shorter and shorter. These were the elemental steps of self-reformation. It was time to wise-up. I think Robby was in prison by this time. If he was not, he was about to go. Joey may have been in prison by this time as well. He made it into the 12th grade, but went to prison before he could finish. Two brothers in prison, it was not a good sign for me. Gary made it into the 12th grade, but he fell by the wayside as well. It seemed as though the door was locked to graduation. Three brothers had the opportunity and all three of them failed. Gary ended up joining Army. He would say Monroe was a bust. Here we are 30 years later and he would still say something similar. What he still hasn’t got is the problem is in the heart, not our external world. It wasn’t about Monroe; it was (and is) about the heart.

The eleventh grade was uneventful. I do not remember much about it. I can only remember one class and that is vague to me. My life was heading outside of school by this time. I wouldn’t be able to remember the 12th grade if I had not been part of DECA. DECA was related to my work. Otherwise there was not much to retain regarding my school. I was going to turn over a new leaf and anything that didn’t seem worthy to retain I was not going to bother with. School was one of those things I discarded. After 11 years of torture I was ready to walk away. The only regret to this decision is that I have lived to see that better education would have been a good thing for me. I threw the baby out with the bath water. However, at that time I was thinking I didn’t need school and the thing that I excelled at was work and therefore I am going to go out, get a job and become a successful person. Work was my out. Prison took my two oldest brothers and the Army grabbed the third one. Work grabbed me. At the end of the day it did not matter who got us. We were angry kids who were very frustrated and we were looking for an out. I found my out. My approach seemed more respectable, as well as Gary’s approach. At the end of the day we both ended up with dysfunctional families of our own, divorced and starting over one more time 20 or so years later.

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Tenth Grade: Revisited

I learned how to make time bombs in the 10th grade. We would take a smoke bomb and put a filter-less cigarette on the end of it. We would light the cigarette, place it on the stem of the smoke bomb, place it in an inconspicuous place and about 10 minutes later it would go off. The one time I did this that I remember was at the door of Mrs. Bolden’s English class. I set it up, went inside and became the model student. That should have been a hint that I was up to something. I was actually paying attention and acting interested in the class. About 10 minutes into the class smoke began to bellow under the door and out in the hall. It was a big time mess. I think the alarms went off and we had to evacuate the class. It was the perfect crime. They never knew I did it. About 20 years later, after becoming a Christian, I went back to Forest Hills to find Mrs. Bolden to apologize to her. She was a meek, nice and unassuming teacher. I shouldn’t have done that. I could not find her. She was probably dead by that time.

Another time in her class I was doing purple microdot. It was an acid. It caused you to hallucinate in some of the wildest ways. I was setting on the end row, next to the wall. My head was laying on the desk and all of a sudden I saw the desk going up into the air in a roller coaster type motion. It was really wild. I said something about it, but I can’t remember what happened after that. I think Mrs. Bolden ignored it. I think she had a clue about what was going on.

I had a specially made jacket with several inside pockets. This was my drug jacket. I would go to the restroom at break and open it up and folks would shop for what they wanted. It was mostly joints of various sizes and brands. Robby supplied me with the drugs, I would give him the money and make a little profit on the side. It was careless days for sure. We lived out in the open, more or less, with our drugs. It was a different culture than today.

During the 10th grade I began skipping school a lot. This was the fruition of my “I don’t really give a damn” days. I was angry and frustrated with life. I decided I would do whatever I wanted. This attitude was short-lived. I was arrested and put in jail. That was a good thing. As fast as I went up, I came back down to earth and begin to think of another strategy for my life.

The one big positive highlight was sitting in my typing class with Mrs. Russian was my substitute teacher. She was trying to get to know us and she asked us our names, first, middle and last. She asked mine and I told her and she wrote this on the chalkboard: “R. L. Thomas”. She stepped back, looked at it and said, “You are going to be famous someday. Your name sounds important.” I never forgot that. It was probably the most encouraging thing to happen to me during these years. Many years later I went back to Monroe and tried to find her as well. I think I did. I called her (or a lady named Mrs. Russian) and told her the story and that I’d like to come visit with her. She thought I was a kook and would not tell me where she lived. She was probably 70 by that time.

Cigarettes and Jesus

A number of years ago (probably 1988 or ’89) I met a young man who was living a hopeless life. He had relational problems, drug problems, employment problems and financial problems. I saw these problems and recognized them for what they were and I further discerned what the cure would be. He needed a Savior.

I began to tell him about the Savior. He was interested. He was so interested that he accepted my invitation to come to the church meeting. I picked him up. On the way to the meeting he asked me if he could smoke a cigarette in my brand new Buick LeSabre. I told him that he could not. (You see, this was the Lord’s car and I wasn’t going to have it tainted by some unbeliever who craved cigarettes.)

We arrived at the church meeting and as we approached the church building he asked me if he could smoke before he entered in. Because of his persistence and my fear that he would light up inside the building I told him he could and what transpired afterward was one of my most embarrassing moments of my early Christian life.

I stood on the sidewalk of that church building beside my new friend and the only thought I had in my head was what does this look like as my fellow church friends are filing by me and I’m standing here with this pagan who is smoking a cigarette. I was humiliated. I did not want to be seen with him in this context. I didn’t mind talking to him in his world (the trailer park), but not in my world where clean, middle-American, white people lived.

This story may or may not relate to you, I don’t know. But I relate to it and it tethers me to the disciples who, in Mark 10:13-16, are still struggling with the same arrogant, self-important attitude that puts them in direct opposition to the Savior.

The issue several years ago with me was not about my pagan friend or his cigarette smoking. The issue was that I had no clue about what the Savior appreciated and what the Savior was looking at. I was so concerned with my friends and what they thought about me that I could not see the yearning Savior who targets the hearts of people like my pagan friend and has little concern with societal expectations.

Tenth Grade

This was a momentous grade. Oh, where to start…

I was detained in my typing class for a good reason, which I do not remember at this time. However, it made me late for my biology class and Mrs. Williams sent me to the office because I was late. We called her “Ruby Lips” because she wore deep red lipstick and had big lips. She also has very white skin and blue hair. She was old. I used to say she reminded me of the American flag. Anyway, I went to the office and since I didn’t have anything else to do I took out a book and began reading it. This was one of those rare moments when I was really minding my own business and not doing anything wrong, really. Mr. Hargette came into the office and asked me what I was doing. I said I was reading a book, which was a smart (and obvious) answer. This made him angry. He slapped the book out of my hand and it went sliding across the floor into the other office. He began hollering at me. He said I was a “Thomas” and that I would never amount to anything. I was trash, always will be trash and I was just like my brothers. It was in some sort of surreal, numb shock. I wasn’t afraid, but it was a very real and odd moment. He said what many of my teachers thought and I think this thought was more pervasive than I was aware of at that time. I don’t remember what happened after that. He didn’t hit me.

In the first three days or so of my 10th grade year I was in my typing class. Jimmy Roberson and I began to laugh (snicker) at something. It was one of those moments where the more you do for it the worse it gets. I don’t remember what we were laughing at and it probably was not funny. We were trying not to disrupt the class and I don’t think we were. Mrs. McAfee, the wife of the East Union principal, stopped the class and began to scold us. She said to me, “I had your brothers and now I have you. I’m not going to put up with it.” That stung. It really hurt. It cut deep. It was like I was in this trap and I couldn’t get out of it. It seemed at that point that I sort of gave up. They wouldn’t let me be an honor student at East Union and now the ban was continued at Forest Hills. This was one of my most significant highlights of the 10th grade. I was sad and angry.

We began doing “wind trips” in the 10th grade. A wind trip is when you breathe deeply 10 times and somebody comes up behind you and gives you a long bear hug. You pass out at that point for about 10 seconds. I did this many times. One time I did it at the door of Mrs. Williams’ class. I passed out and fell into the room. I awoke a few seconds later. I don’t remember what Mrs. Williams did. Maybe nothing. Some things were so bizarre that the best response is probably to do nothing. She did nothing.

Ninth Grade

Loraine Maria Roldan was an exchange student from Mexico. She stayed with some Hispanic Americans who had been living in Wingate for a long time and were friends of Gary, at least the girl who was in Gary’s grade. I can’t remember her name or the family’s name. Somehow they had Loraine come over for one year and she went to Forest Hills High School. She was in my class and I promptly fell in love with her. I still have some of her stamps, cards and things in a scrap book. She was not particularly pretty and a bit overweight. However, she was different and she did not judge me as a Thomas. She talked to me as a person, the person I was. I didn’t have to fight through the history that was in place regarding our family. I didn’t have to fight through 9 school years of mistakes. She saw me, we talked and we liked one another. I’m quite sure I liked her more than she like me. However, being the socially inept person I was there would be no way I could judge such things. It was a fun year from that perspective.

I don’t thing much else went on that year. It was a normal, uneventful year from what I remember. This was the time when I had just finished my Judd’s Restaurant career and went on to the Dairy Mart and just before my Hardee’s career.

Forest Hills was a good school and it was fun to be there. There was not as much pressure on performing from my classmates. We all got lost in the crowd. The small group that came into first grade was now swallowed up and our strengths and weaknesses were not as glaring. The popular guy’s strengths were not as intimidating and my weaknesses were not as conspicuous. To some of the upper classmen I was Robby’s little brother. It was not as pressurized and it was also a new start. It was the first time since the second grade that I had been around so many students four years older than me and when I was in the second grade I didn’t notice them (the six graders) at all. To come to Forest Hills and see these big teens was a different kind of experience. I felt like a little kid in a young adult world. Bobby Myers and Johnny Lowery and Tommy Lowery were so grown up. They appeared big and had it all together. It was a fresh new group to be impressed with and intimidated by. Intimidated, but not in a bad way. I was not competing with them. They were not peers.

It was all new. In some ways I could carve out my own life w/o the expectations of being a failure because of my pedigree. In other ways the self-fulfilling prophecy of being a failure was in full force. By the end of the year Loraine was leaving, the newness had worn off and I was about to become an adult for the first time in my life.

Eighth Grade

Eighth grade was like the seventh as far as my teachers. I do not remember them. I do remember getting in a fight with Joe Little. We called him Little Joe Little. He was a skinny black boy. I don’t remember if this was the 7th or 8th grade. I don’t remember what we were fighting about. It was in the restroom. I was doing okay until he grabbed my hair and started tossing me around. My hair was long, cool, but a definite disadvantage. We had to go and see Mr. McAfee the school principal. He paddled us. It was a painful experience. When we went back to our class we were walking through the auditorium and I asked Joe if the paddling hurt. He laughed and said it did. We became best of friends from that point on.

One time in class a student had their arm up in a straight-arm position with their hand up against the wall. They were blocking my path. It was a girl and I think it was Teri Absher. I told her I wanted to get by and she said “No”. It was all tongue-in-cheek. I walked and pretended to get clipped at the neck by her arm and fell on the floor. She laughed and several of the people watching laughed as well. It was at that point I learned I could fake people out with pranks and humor. I learned I was funny and could make people laugh. That is where it all began.

Sometime during this time we did a school play. This may have been the sixth grade. The teacher wanted me to be the orator of the school play because she said I had the ability to project to the back row, I was a good speaker she said. These two things put together stirred something in me though I had no idea how it was going pan out in my life. I certainly didn’t think I would be a public speaker as part of my career.

I met Jimmy Roberson during middle school. He was an athlete. He later went to UNC to play football. I don’t think he made it to the pros. His dad was a champion weightlifter. Jimmy became one after college, though I’m not sure if he ever placed like his dad. He was a huge boy, physically. We had a brief life of crime together. We stole the money bag in a local liquor store. The owner kept his money bag in the cooler. We saw it while buying some wine and then made a plan to steal the money. We did. The cops pulled us while in Monroe and we set the cups full of money (we were counting out our haul) underneath the car when they weren’t watching. They took us downtown. When Jimmy pulled the car out he rolled over the cups and the money went in a 1000 directions. I think we were in the 10th grade at this time.

The eighth grade was uneventful I think. Next year: high school. That was a big deal.

Seventh Grade

At East Union (the Eagles) I had multiple teachers. I don’t necessarily remember any one of them. There was the health/PE teacher, Mr. Lawson, an old black man. The math teacher, Mr. Crissman, a young cutting edge kind of guy, though I did not have him. There were a few others. I was a mischievous student that walked on the edge of things. By the time I got to middle school I had written off school. By this time it was a self-fulfilling prophecy that I could not succeed in school. I had the grades to make Honor Society, but the teachers would not let me be part of the Society because in their mind I was too mean or too rowdy. This was probably the issue that pushed me to made a decision to do just enough to get by. I really wanted to be part of the Honor Society. I think if I could have gotten in, my life would have been more dedicated.

I didn’t realize until the 10th grade that many of my teachers had pre-conceived ideas about me and the other brothers. Robby and Joey were so mean that by the time I got to a particular grade the teachers figured I was just like them. I was not like them in all honesty. And I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted make it. I wanted to succeed at something. I never found my niche so I defaulted into what kids like me do, which was being mischievousness. This was totally my fault, but it was a big blow not to be allowed into Honor Society.

Teri Absher and I dated for a period of time during the seventh grade. I also dated Kelley Hill. She had a very large head, but was somewhat attractive. These two girls went to Marshville and didn’t know me so they were willing to check me out so to speak. When Kelley and I were dating I went with Mike Yow and Teri and Kelley to a basketball game at Forest Hills, the local high school. We would walk around the school and find various places to kiss. We went from corner to corner of the school, from hallway to hallway to several outside stops as well. That was fun. This was also the season where lust/porn was introduced to me. My dad kept porn magazines under his mattress. I would sneak into his bedroom, get the magazines and masturbate and then sneak them back to the same spot under his bed.

I also started delivering newspapers with my dad during this time. He would wake us up at 2 or 3 in the morning and make us go with him to deliver the Charlotte Observer. We would go to the pick-up spot, get a carload of papers and deliver them all morning long. We brothers did this on a rotating basis. It was a horrible experience. I would finish the route with my dad and he would drop me off just before class. My hands would be black from the ink. The ink made my skin peel off. I liked my East Union experience. There were more people and I could blend in more and there was less spotlight and/or social pressure on me.