My Story

Simply telling a story and writing words doesn’t do justice to the lessons I have learned.

Simply reading a poem of words unspoken isn’t a reflection of a friendship unbroken.

I tip tap and rip rap against the keyboard and express to the Lord how grateful I am for you.

For a woman that has overcome and underwent; undergone and underspent her own time to live a life that lifts others not of her kind. And in her time has never second guessed spending a minute to help a friend, to share her knowledge and spark a child’s fire so they are ready for college.

You are one of the privileged few but not for your wealth or flashy fashion, but for your passion that has fashioned the minds of many current and future educators.

You are the chosen one, not because of your supernatural ability to stay calm in the midst of what life brings you and decipher a plan of action to get through the traction in the road of your road

less traveled. But because you chose the one job that would gain less profit, and profited nothing but floods of love from hearts in New Orleans, and a parking lot filled like a Fiesta with nationwide support, and sleepless nights in the city that never sleeps studying and writing and challenging your way through the subways of the politics of education.

You’ve taught me so much, and you don’t even know it. Yes you were the teacher in that class where it all started.

I did the learning. We did the living. You did the lesson. But the question I ask myself is where did the lesson begin? Where did a scaffolded living of a differentiated friendship such as ours truly begin?

I honestly can’t tell you, but I’m glad the rest is still unwritten