Spirit.
Come on!
Off you go!
Spirit. Spirit.
All clear, girls!
- All gone. - We did it, Grams!
Thanks, Nana!
Sync and corrections by btsix www.addic7ed.com
It is definitely active in here.
Active, like good, or...?
Is there something evil in the house?
Oh, no. Not evil. If there was evil here, I'd throw up.
- Oh, God. Please don't do that. - No, I'm-I'm feeling kindness
and decency...
and love.
And a pig.
A pig?
I gained, like, ten pounds in college.
- Is-is that weird? - No, no, not... No.
No.
This has nothing to do with food or weight. Um,
has there been a pig in anyone's life?
Actually, last week when I was getting my roots done,
one of the colorists at the salon had a baby pig.
Oh, my God, no fair!
Interesting.
Although, there is something piglike about a salon.
Well, you know, um,
snouts in the trough of privilege and...
the troughs are all the-the hair dryers,
and the... pig grunts are all the bits of gossips.
This one, wow.
- Yeah, I know. - She should be listened to.
Like I have a choice?
Clearly, you're a sharp kid, Frankie.
Well, thank you.
But, you know, that sharpness... it can hurt people.
Oh, w... No, I-I know.
But I'm-I'm... not like that.
I'm-I'm pretty chill.
Look, all I'm saying is just... just bring it down a notch.
Especially with the people you love.
Like your mom.
Okay.
I'm getting another feeling.
Another animal. Not a pig.
Something smaller. A bird?
Or... or a mouse.
Mandy Patinkin!
My mouse... she died, and my momflushed her down the toilet.
Oh. Okay.
Well, Mandy Patinkin misses you.
A lot.
I can feel her here, right now.
She's... she's watching over you.
She's your guardian angel.
Thank you, Mandy Patinkin.
I miss you.
Anyone home?
Oh.
Well. What's going on here?
Is this...
Oh. Is this the gypsy you hired to read palms?
Why is he dressed normal?
Hello.
I'm Phyllis.
Toby D'Angelo.
Oh! Don't ever grab
a lady's hand like that.
I... I beg your pardon.
I'm-I'm so sorry.
Okay, um...
Allow me to be frank.
I have my own feelings about hexes and spells,
as far as men are concerned.
But I'm willing to be entertained.
Here's my palm.
Oh. Uh, n-no.
I don't-I don't read palms.
- Uh... - And, "gypsy"...
It's quite an archaic term.
And frankly, it's offensive to mediums.
Phil.
We're in the middle of something.
Yes. Go on.
I'll just sit and watch.
Don't you have somewhere you need to be?
No. Not at all.
I couldn't help but notice thatthis house is filled with women.
Oh, yes. Flooding with estrogen.
Wall-to-wall vaginas.
It's like a matriarchal dystopia.
Especially...
as it's well-known that half the women
in my side of the family are witches.
Phil.
Okay. All right.
Not a word. God forbid.
Even though, uh,
this house is filled with feminine... energy,
I'm feeling a masculine presence.
His energy is everywhere.
Oh, please. You don't have to bea psychic for that.
What you're sensing, Mr. D'Angelo,
is the deadbeat father, Sam's ex-husband.
So your dad...
is not really in the picture?
No, not at all.
You girls mind if I give you some advice?
Something... I wish I would have known when I was young.
If you have a toxic person in your life,
you need to move past him, or her,
and protect yourselves.
How do you move past a dad?
- It's my dad. - Don't think of him that way.
Think of him as a friend,
someone who let you down.
What do you do with a friend like that?
You move on.
But the man I'm sensing is not your dad.
Someone older. Someone you love.
Older? Who?
I'm seeing a big collar, beard,
bushy eyebrows, a large laugh.
Someone who's been gone quite a while.
Grandpa!
It's Grandpa. It has to be.
Wow.
Hmm.
Sorry.
So, how long have you been doing this?
Since I was about 15.
- And you call it a gift? - A gift, yeah.
Hi!
There's my babies.
He's a good boy. He's a good boy.
On the stairs. In plain sight.
In a house with a 14-year-old
and an 11-year-old.
Seriously. Guys, this is still hot.
Mom!
You can't scold us. We're not kids anymore.
Go away!
Wow.
She's still here.
Oh, my God, that's... Oh...
Jesus, Mom.
Stop.
Can't you see we're talking?
No, Max.
You stop!
Okay.
And, you, John-O,
I helped you come outto your parents, remember that?
And Amir...
Amir, you ask me for money every time I see you,
and I give it to you, and I can't help but notice
that you're wearing $300 Yeezys.
And you?
I don't even know who the hell you are.
And, Paisley, honey, come here.
I practically raised you,
and do you know how many parent wars and boyfriend wars
and morning-after pills that I have walked you through?
And you treat me this way?
Yes.
Yeesh.
I'm too high for this.
I'm sorry, Sam.
Um...
look, I... I'm really sorry.
I-I don't know you, and you seem nice.
And... I just came over with Paisley.
A-And, you know, Max was being nice.
And you all seem... nice.
You... I...
Uh, I'll stop. Yeah.
I'm sorry, Sam.
It was my pipe.
I totally admit it. My bad.
Not anymore. It's mine now.
Clean this up, move out.
Don't bring this shit to my house.
Come on!
I'm so sorry.
- I'll get you another pipe. - It's cool, Max.
I got plenty of those pipes at home, so we're good.
No. I'm sorry, guys.
Diaper, lose the gum.
The doctor said I have anxiety,
and if I don't chew gum, I could die.
Okay, well, that's nonsense.
Well, I-I have a note.
Mm, I-I... I can't find it.
You know what?
Never mind. Just keep it in your mouth.
Okay.
What are you doing here?
Oh, I'm... I'm chaperoning.
I came to chaperone.
Whatever, Samuel.
So transparent.
Frankie's adjusting well.
Yeah, you think?
It's a tricky age to skip.
Starting high school early.
How's she handling the workload?
Uh, it's pretty good, I guess.
I-I thought it was gonna tire her out, but...
The geniuses are always a pain in the ass.
That one sleeps out.
No texts, no calls.
I mean, when did that become okay?
Los Angeles, make some noise!
And then keep that round of applause
going for my DJ, DJ Teazz Yung.
Give it up! Give it up! Give it up!
Now look, y'all, we getting into it,
so I'm gonna get my butt offstage,
but I am hyped to introduce this next young person to the stage.
Give it up for Yoko Tamada!
Give it up! Give it up! Give it up!
I'm Yoko Tamada.
I'm from CB-Watts, and this is "To Be or Not to Be."
I want to know
that my poems are proof of my progress.
To be sin.
Satan, biblical turmoil.
To be fine.
To be fine. Fine.
I'm not fine.
But I'm learning how to turn sins into poems.
To be the last word.
To be... psych.
I don't end my poems that way.
That morning, I saw the stars float out of my dreams
and land in the chest.
I said,"This hand is made for someone,
and in yours it feels the best."
The city smiled with us.
Car horns played a melodic parade.
We danced and we played
till a man twice my age, skin the same, dared to say,
"Oh!
"You got yourself a blackbitch?
"Damn, you deserve an Oscar!
I'm gonna give you an award."
The next time I walked past him,
I couldn't hold my partner's hand.
I wanted to make sure I could flip him off
with bothhands this time.
Yo, we're on in, like, 20.
Toboosi wants to run it again.
Just do it without me.
I'm sorry. I...
It's fine.
You should go.
No, I'm good right here, thanks.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams.
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright.
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
But stay, O spite!
But mark, poor knight.
What dreadful dole is here!
I thought... I thought we were doing Romeo and Juliet.
Oh, I'm so sorry. Geez.
Asian girls love hip-hop like a white man loves golf.
Asian girls love hip-hop
like white women love juice cleanses and spin classes.
Asian girls love hip-hop.
And it's about time hip-hop started to love us back.
Sorry.
I think I'm feeling a little better.
Are you sure?
'Cause I don't care. We don't have to do this.
Does my face look weird?
No weirder than it normally does.
Audience, make sure
you're showing lots of love. Matter of fact,
can we do a little drumroll real quick on your thigh?
Coming up to the stage,
representing Hamilton High School,
y'all give it up for Bryce Banks!
Ebonics.
Hooked on Phonics. Better to speak right
than be addicted to the chronic.
Yeah, the streets, we bonded.
Heavily influenced by Glock alarm clocks,
but you hear us speak and think we call Beverly home.
Home. Streets we grew up on flooded with demonic tongues.
Guns, usually shunned if you sound like me.
Black boy, but not.
Too wise to let my teeth fall and my tongue rot.
I remember snot-nosed me.
Too critical to speak the language.
Brain, rearranged, told me, "A'ight" wasn't a word,
or "all right" sounded more my style.
Learned, earned that "A" in grammar,
but hammered the nail of life precisely in my coffin.
"No, you're not black.
"You ain't a nigga.
Listen to the way you be talking."
Learning well too early
that my culture was defined by ignorance.
That if you didn't punctuate sentences
with "nigga," you wasn't one.
But too weak to hold a gun, get scared, can't fight.
Have no defense, just run.
I learned to speak in a way that would save me.
Go in, poet!
I use analogies and metaphors to guide me.
Anecdotes and white humor to shield me,
'cause one wrong conjunction, and that could be the end of me.
Yes, I open my mouth,
and words seem to flow out seamlessly.
But, really, it's just a ruse.
The two tongues I use should be on pay-per-view.
The inner battle between culture and safety rages on.
If you look closely, you can see
political correctness throw the first punch.
Sometimes I wish for a moment
where I could speak the way I want to.
Where words don't carry races on their backs like legacies.
A sentence that was just me.
Would that be a'ight?
Thank you.
Now, when I say "spoken," y'all say "word."
- Spoken! - Word!
- Hi. - Hi.
It's something else, isn't it?
Oh, yes.
You have a grandchild in the program?
- Yes. - Me, too.
Well, my daughter. Frankie.
Oh, here. Here you go.
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
I think she wrote about her family.
Maybe I should make a break for it, huh?
Family is the most important.
Yeah. Mm-hmm.
What did your grandchild write about?
My surviving grandson will speak on the detention
and physical assaults endured by his mother
at the hands of the Communist Party of Vietnam
and their state-sanctioned violence
against political dissidents.
Wow.
Good one.
No.
What's good, everybody? If you're feeling good, say "yeah."
- Yeah! - If you're feeling
really good and you don't care who knows about it,
say "hell yeah."
- Hell yeah! - Coming up next,
from Beccles Charter High School,
give it up for Darby Lincoln,
Toboosi Cucci, and Frankie Fox!
Give it up!
Yes!
Uh, hi.
We're from Beccles Charter High,
and this is our original poem.
If you don't go potty, the wolf will come and eat you.
Eat your spinach or you'll never grow.
Don't listen to those bullies. They're just jealous of you.
Your father and I are splitting up,
but nothing is going to change.
It's okay.
Everything happens for a reason.
These are the little lies we tell our little ones.
These harmless little lies
that make their little lives a little easier.
These little white lies.
We need to talk about the way we talk to our kids.
Because there's never been a worse time
to have a casual relationship with the truth.
And we know enough to ask for better,
because you raised us better.
When did parental control become a setting on your iPad?
You pass on to us your insecurities,
your prejudices, your morality.
Your weak ankles, your crooked teeth,
your fear of spiders, and your high cholesterol.
Why not your truth?
Why not say your truths?
Give us the benefit of your experience.
- While we're still asking. - While we're still asking.
If you want to protect me from the world,
then prepare me for the world.
I wish I had known that everything was going to change,
that I would see my father only once a year,
that I would hear my mother sobbing in the bathroom,
trying to be strong for us.
I wish I had known that they weren't jealous,
that they didn't understand what I was,
that I didn't understand what I was.
But it's okay,
because everything happens for a reason, right?
Stop worrying about the medium.
And start caring about the message.
Because there's never been an easy way
to tell a hard truth.
Wow.
Wow, you were incredible.
- You were so, so good up there. - Mom!
Oh, my God. You wrote that?
- Stop! Mom! - Wow!
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
- But I'm so, so proud of you. - Mom...
I can't believe what you did up there.
Let's go celebrate, okay?
- You want a Blooming Onion? - Yo! Franklin!
- Let's go to Outback. - Coming!
Where are you going?
You're not going back on the bus?
Frankie!
Serious?
Hmm.
Hello.
Hey.
Go on. Keep playing. It's lovely.
Is that crack cocaine?
No, there's no crack here.
Then what, marijuana?
Mm-hmm.
Don't slouch, love.
No one will take you seriously.
A man who slouches is like a man who carries a purse...
You'll get away with it, but everybody will judge you.
May I?
You want some of this?
They say it's excellent for arthritis.
I want to see for myself.
Have you ever had it before?
I most certainly have not.
Do I look like some flower child to you?
All right, well,
just take small puffs, 'cause this kush got kick.
Mm-hmm.
There you go.
- Gran! - Hello, darling.
John-o, what the hell do you think you're doing,
giving her that?
She asked me. What was I supposed to say, no?
- Yes! - Stop being such
a stick in the mud, Max.
Just stand there and keep an eye out for your mother.
Okay.
- Here you go. - It's awfully good.
Nice.
Mmm!
Can I help you?
Postmates?
Oh. Oh.
Well, it's not food.
Hemingway?
Nice.
Seriously?
You guys don't card?
Uh, I don't know.
Wow, you should know.
This is not cool!
It's not your fault, but you should talk to your manager
or your supervisor or something.
Have a great night.
Have a nice night.
Hello?
You're welcome!
So glad you could stop by!
You've been a great audience!
Oh, Jesus.
Good night, Detroit!