He came in as my student at the age of eleven

Big brother, Ernest was a big, tough bruiser

His family’s gang membership was known throughout

Their history written in city jails and on prison walls

When his dad was home, and had a bit to drink

Tender souled and diminutive statured Jacob

Was tossed down the stairs and thrown around

“By Hell, MY son WILL be tough!”

First thing each morning

As I prepare my lessons for the day

His timid knock beckons me to the side door.

He sidles in hunched over with cold

Several inches of frozen pant cuff

wrap around his ankles

and drag stiffly on the floor

the fingers of both hands

hungrily cup the roll and cheese

waiting at his seat beside pen and books.

Seven years later, I was tracked down

by a teacher of adult education.

It seems a young man named Jacob

Had written a paper about me

And how he had been positively affected

by this white teacher who wasn’t afraid

To go to the inner city home

Of a much feared gang member family.

Now, I have to admit, I stood there speechless

I had made a difference to someone

I had affected a life for good!