Tom Robinson Monologue

The pale orange beam of the afternoon sunlight arrowed through the branches of the oak trees. Sam tilted his broad-brimmed hat down to protect his eyes from the piercing glare. With a glance down, he noticed the small rusted plaque, partially hidden in a patch of untamed grass, that rested above his feet. A simple plaque that had two words engraved: Tom Robinson. Sam mustered a small smile, shoved his hands in his pockets and gathered the courage to speak, looking directly at the plaque, “It’s been a long while, huh?” He paused, as if he was expecting a response, but there was only the sound of a crow squawking, reminding him he was the only one present. “I suppose I should probably say sorry for not coming around more often.” He cleared …show more content…
From the moment Sam reached the age in which he considered a responsible adult, his main priority was leaving Maycomb behind. Maycomb, a town that prides itself on white supremacy, prejudice and showing no remorse for its behaviour. Whilst Sam considered himself to be quite a forgiving person, he couldn’t, for the life of him, forgive his hometown for what they did to his father. He had to leave this god-forsaken town. To leave behind all the memories, his heartbroken mother, but most importantly, all the pain that he associated with Maycomb. The day Sam took his final look at the last sign of Maycomb that had the words, ‘You’re Now Leaving Maycomb’ was the day he felt as though a heavy weight was lifted off his chest. Shortly after that, Sam settled in a small Alabama town, far north, with a sense of newly found freedom (well, as much freedom as a coloured man could have in 1950s America). He wed, had children and lived a life that, for most, would be …show more content…
And maybe that’s the reason Sam came home to Maycomb. Maybe that’s why he was standing above his father’s grave. Sam needed a sense of closure after several years of ignoring the truth. “I lost count of how many years have passed since you been gone, pa,” he continued, “I still can’t forgive them for what they did to you. This town, they treated you wrong. They painted a portrait of you that didn’t exist. Scary black man with violent tendencies. You deserved better, hell, you deserved justice.” He squatted down and pulled out the grass covering part of his name, “Ma never let me forget what a good man you were. She never wanted me thinking you were the man Maycomb portrayed you as. Ma never lied, did she?” And he was. Tom Robinson was a good-hearted man with an unmatched diligent attitude, white porcelain teeth that shined like a full moon on a cloudless evening each time he smiled, and a severed arm that never hindered his desire to assist anyone. Tom had a heart of gold, and a brain that harboured guidance and advice like no other. June 15th,