My personal belief about Education, my feelings toward Education, and my faith in what makes me a quality Educator are all ironically intertwined into one antithesis of a statement, and it is this: One does not choose Education; Education chooses its own.

As a young black boy, Education wrapped its arms around my life and shielded me from the destruction of the streets and from the destruction of poverty. It chose me, whispered an irrevocable call into my subconscious spirit, and placed its mantle upon the shoulders of a young African American Male who was quickly headed toward the stereotypical and statistical damnation of failure that generationally claimed the likes of thousands like me, a damnation that drowned the life out of my younger brother at the age of fifteen.

It chose me, and each year that I teach, Education gives me seventy little brothers and sisters to replace the one I lost. It gives me but one choice and constantly reminds me of it; inspire and teach them to swim or let them drown.

This is my passion. This is my desperation. This is my reward. I didn’t choose Education; Education chose me.

As long as I am an Educator, it is for this purpose, for this passion, for this blessing of a curse that I choose to be chosen. This is the effect Education had on my life.