Saving a Life is Harder than Writing About It

Last month, a talented Black teenager whom I work with made a plea that has haunted me largely because he doesn’t know the depth of what his words mean, and I do.

“Ms. Clark,” he said, “I need something to do.”

This moment in his life is representative of a swatch of time in which something goes wrong with too many Black males who eventually become statistics. His home life hasn’t been ideal but is stable now. He spent the early part of his adolescence in a poor, rural community that had few resources to nurture him.

He is smart, but older than he should be for his grade. His educational foundation is shaky, but I believe it can be fortified with the time and attention of a band of adult teachers, mentors and volunteers--if he is willing and can focus his mind to receive their guidance. I believe he is.

But his background has all of the factors that push wandering, shepherd-less Black boys to become lost men. The obstacles he’s up against and his resources to navigate them are the reason we’ve developed public-policy solutions to save a faltering generation.

And he has unwittingly revealed to me that he’s in possession of the one thing that can damn him to a fate of unfulfilled potential or redeem him and make use of his talent.

He has no idea how to handle a fortune of free time. Surly, there’s a fitting program out there. I thought, Upward Bound? The Black Male College of Explorer’s Program? There’s got to be someone out there who can help this young man this summer. His age and vulnerability have primed him to reach for help. If only someone could help him. Who? I began to fret.

And then I thought of the prophet Nehemiah, and I began to pray. For 18 months, I’ve urged others to mentor, to take time, to work with the children too many systems have failed. This time I realized, the responsibility has fallen to me.

“God,” I begged, acutely aware of my frailty and inexperience, “strengthen my hands for this good work.”

I always found it presumptuous and silly for people to burden themselves with a savior complex, but now I understand their aim and the frustration that accompanies it. For who am I to save a generation of Black men, beginning with this one.

I am a journalist. I am a writer. I am an editorial board member. And I am busy. I work full time, I volunteer. I mentor. I’m doing something to help a number of kids just like this one, and even then, I’m not sure I’m doing that so well.

But no excuse trumps the fatigue I feel hearing the reports of robbery, theft, homicide and rape followed by the words, “the suspect is described as a black male…” If this is a moment in which I can do anything to steer this kid right, God help me, I will fulfill the words of that blasted pop song, <“How to Save a Life.” >I will learn how to save a life.

Written By: Meredith Clark

Tallahassee Democrat

Meredith Clark