Keith. What can I tell you about Keith? He was in his first year of college. He was a track athlete. He was black. He was proud. He was from the Houston and Galveston area. He and his twin were both in my basic English class their first semester at Cowley College. Most importantly, he was my teacher as much as I was his.

Early in the semester, Keith’s brother stopped attending class. I still remember walking up to Keith from behind (we were in a computer classroom), putting my hand on his shoulder to quietly get his attention to ask about his brother, and only narrowly avoiding being hit when he instinctively rose with fist drawn. Where he came from, and where he was, were two very different places. He had much to learn, but I had more. It was the first point in time where he could see I cared about him personally. It was my first time to recognize I could not assume I had the trust of those in my classroom just because my role was teacher.

Keith taught me many lessons in his time with me. He taught me that the most intelligent individuals on the planet just might be sitting in developmental classes due to the poor educational opportunities they’ve had. Keith could explain the educational system in Texas and exactly how his schools were substandard. He knew the flow of the state’s money and where it went instead. He may have benefited from my class, maybe mostly from my mentoring, but he had all he needed inside himself to be successful.

Keith became my foster son through a college program for athletes. I’d requested him when Isaac wanted a brother instead of all sisters, and after that initial classroom incident. I guess I wanted to keep learning from him. We talked often, we discussed issues he had at school, he came to my home, we went to movies and talked about books, and he was a great big brother to Isaac.

Keith’s twin brother left college and went home after getting too far behind in classes. I remember Keith coming to my office not long before finals one semester to tell me he had to go home. His brother had gotten into trouble with some people, and Keith felt he had to go there and get involved. He was worried about his brother and was torn. He was doing well in school, but family was important to him. I understand the strong feelings of family, but I knew Keith’s path was already a tough one. I took a deep breath, and then we talked about the reasons he needed to stay—only one of which was those exams. He left in thought, and later came back to tell me he was staying to finish out the semester. It was a good educational decision, but my relief was something else, something much more. I knew if Keith went, he, too, could end up on the wrong end of those same people, of the law or, worse, of a gun.

Keith and I keep in contact periodically. I’ve read a few things he’s written recently, with titles like “Who’s Next? The Black Political Imperative Post Obama Presidency and the essential need to actively participate in Local Government”,  “The Case against the Confederacy and its poignant symbol”, and “Au Contraire Dr. McWhorter”, which counters an anti-Black Lives Matter article written by a professor from Columbia University. His job is managing a $20 million budget for social services workforce development contracts in Austin, he’s active in his community, and he’s writing a book advocating for a public health workforce development program for minorities that can “serve as a catalyst for preventable disease and preventive violence methodologies.”

Keith started in my basic English class, and now he’s an advocate for others, and he’s a writer. Ah, the lessons we learn from those who cross our life’s path and become embedded in our hearts.