Lion of Judah: Robert's Story (Part Two)
by Leslie Golding Mastroianni
Editor’s Note: Find part one of ‘Lion of Judah: Robert's Story’ here.
Hope for miracles but don’t depend on them.
–Jewish proverb
There comes sometimes. according to the Talmud, a moment of clarity which seems to be a difficult Hebrew word to translate. It means “fear of God” but not the bone-chilling kind of fear; what I interpret it to mean is “awe,” as the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are called “Days of Awe.” God revealed something. Robert had not kicked me on the nose—I had unfortunately been in the way of his foot while he was having a fit. A deep gulf exists between those two statements and I relaxed and felt almost happy, despite the pain in my nose! I knew Robert would not deliberately hurt me. A shaft of spring sunshine.
The next day I calmly entered the school building. Everybody there knew what had happened the day before and stared at me. Robert’s teacher was quite surprised and shocked at my appearance there, but nobody said anything of consequence. Robert mumbled “I’m sorry, Miss Leslie” and I said “Don’t worry about it.” After getting stared at some more by the other children, I drew the teacher aside and told him simply what had dawned on me concerning Robert’s actions. He let me know that he was quite pleased with this and we commenced our day.
Several weeks passed uneventfully. Robert’s learning patterns were uneven but he didn’t become frustrated. Then the teacher told me privately that the class was going to stage a play. He wanted my opinion concerning the suitability of Robert’s taking an acting part.
“I think he would like playing the part of the lawyer in the story,” the teacher said with a grin.
I couldn’t control a spasm of giggling. “Oh, boy, would he ever! Could he carry a briefcase?”
“Of course. But you know what your role is in this; we together have to be extremely watchful of his behavior. One more explosion and he’s out of the play. And probably out of the school. OK?”
I said I would be straight and firm with Robert and I used my best “mom/counselor” voice.
“The class is going to be putting on a play and your teacher said you can be in it. But there’s a price tag, Robert. Your behavior must be perfect from now until the play. Any of your fits will keep you out, no exceptions. I can tell from looking at your face that you understand me.”
There was ecstasy in his eyes.
“What will I be in the play?”
“A lawyer.”
“With a briefcase?!”
“Yes, Robert. You would carry a briefcase.”
Robert lacked the skill to express joy but he was wriggling in his chair with excitement.
“I’ll be good.”
We then experienced a halcyon period with Robert. He kept to his promise, learned his lines, cooperated with his classmates. Then, the day before the first night of the play, Robert had a violent tantrum with no provocation. My first reaction was to plead for “clemency” for Robert, but professionalism told me to control myself. He was unable to “hold it together.”
Here’s a question: How much did I care? Did I love him? We weren’t supposed to love the children we worked with. But I was beyond what any professor said. I was heartbroken.
The situation led to Robert’s expulsion from the public school. He was going to be placed in a kind of “facility” for “troubled children.” He wasn’t going to be in a locked-down situation; however, the demand was made for him to have a Therapeutic Staff Support—as I had once been— with him all through the school day.
On the day before his entrance to the new school, he said those words I quoted at the beginning of this piece: I’m not going in there without Miss Leslie. I wanted to throw my arms around him.
Molly was present at this scene and she was cognizant of the rules. Under no circumstances were management-level people allowed to “step down” from their positions and undertake “TSS” duties. Dear, intelligent Molly smiled at me and at Robert. She told the other school officials that if I was willing to accompany Robert all day in this rough, rowdy place, she would allow it.
I wish there was a happy ending to Robert, The Lion of Judah’s, story. But now, he reverted to old ways of behavior. I had to break up fights, one time even placing myself between Robert and another big, strong boy. Was I scared? Yes. But I had been kicked in the nose and survived. My feelings for Robert were primary. (At that time I was very informally studying the Talmud and learning about the three kinds of mitzvot; between God and person, between person and person, and a “little known” area, mitzvot to oneself. It is commanded that I “guard” myself. Was there time to deliberate this? Did Robert come first or did my safety? Fortunately, the large boy facing me realized I was a middle-aged woman and backed off.
The plan fell apart in a few weeks. My mind blocks out what happened to this beautiful, intelligent, angry boy next; I never saw him again. I got over my sadness—I missed Robert but I had a career to attend to—and still think about him, as if he somehow made it through the misery and one day strode into a courtroom, his head held high, swinging a briefcase.
Leslie Golding Mastroianni had a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and Master of Education in Counseling. As a counselor, she worked at the Devereux Foundation in suburban Philadelphia and several other community and family-based mental health facilities. She has been writing since the year 2000. Her novel, Buying A Year, was published in 2004. She is a teacher and shares informal talks and lectures on writing to children’s groups, adolescents, and retired people living in various homes and facilities.