Oh Brother

The city's young black men are lost. I realize this is a blanket statement, but I can't help but feel this way--especially after working at the local community college for seven years. I've also lived in the city for nearly fifteen years, so I've seen many of these boys over a long period of time. Very few of them are bad people. What I've noticed among them has been a troubling trend of regression. Seemingly innocent, good natured boys end up being angry men with no direction.

I've certainly encountered some upstanding young brothers around the city, but those encounters have been few and far between. I started my post-college career working for an Upward Bound program that served low-income/first generation students in the city. Among the black boys I worked with over a three year span, for example, only four out of twelve earned a Bachelor's degree within six years of enrolling in college (33%). Of the remaining eight, one is still working towards his degree and another is employed. The last six, on the other hand, are doing absolutely nothing productive. As a matter of fact, a couple of them are big time drug dealers in the city.

I continued to see similar trends when I moved on to coach at the local community college, particularly through my basketball program. In addition to working with my guys, I have developed relationships with some of their younger siblings during my tenure. There was one little brother (Stretch) who stood out because he came to see his big brother play at every home game.

Stretch was an easy going 8th grader who possessed really long arms and above average athleticism for his age. As an acknowledgement of his basketball potential, and enthusiasm, I gave him a free pass to my summer basketball clinic where he dominated the competition. Unfortunately I lost touch with Stretch after his brother played for me.

Three years later when I ran into Stretch, he was enrolled at the local alternative school that's designated for emotionally troubled youth. He didn't even play a full year of high school ball despite all the promise I had seen years earlier. His older brother once told me that Stretch acted out frequently in school, but I never had any issues with him in the gym or at my summer clinic. The smile and energy that I remembered were gone when I saw him again. Outwardly, at least, Stretch had changed quite a bit.

One evening I happened to cross paths with Stretch's older brother at a grocery store and I asked how he was doing. The update was discouraging.

Brother: Dude is a gambling addict now.
Me: What? No way. Is he hooked on craps?
Brother: Nah. Poker. Dude can't stop playing.
Me: Where does he get the money to do that?
Brother: He'll start off with like $100 and work his way up then lose it all.
Me: Damn. That's really too bad.
Brother: You didn't hear what happened to him recently?
Me: No. What happened?
Brother: He's about to do time for a home invasion!