On each end of the front row of
this church basketball team are two Howells. They are the same age, born just one day apart, grew up
within a mile of one another, both attended public urban schools, and the same
church. Both are the youngest of their families, the little brother, the one
typically wiggling and laughing and cutting up.
The white Howell lived in a house
his parents owned and when he got older, could afford to attend a first rate
college. At 23 he is now graduated and gainfully employed as a mechanical
engineer, supporting himself on a comfortable salary. As I write this, he is
enjoying California on a work trip.
The black Howell lived in public
housing, eventually hanging on the street, getting involved in crime and
spending time in prison. Last week he was found shot on a back street and died
of his injuries.
There are more Howells in this
photo. The adult with glasses is dad to that first child and the boy in front
of him. The black child in front of that adult is brother to the now deceased
Howell, and thankfully he has made solid choices with his life and is also
working.
Young people growing up in
poverty can make it, like that older brother. But the odds are sure stacked
against them, which is why I am grateful that my Howell sons are doing so well,
but heartbroken that this other Howell we once knew is now gone.
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