Life Fell Apart For Me. It Won't For Them.

I needed someone to believe in what I could become, but those voices were silent.

At least, that's how I remember my twenties—adrift in that gap decade between teenage dreams and adult clarity. That absence shapes why I now obsess over creating pathways for young people, why I seek out dedicated educators and well-designed programs that can catch potential before it falls through the cracks.

I deliberately go where others have written kids off. Gary, Indiana, calls to me for this reason.

You know Gary's story without needing the tour. Hollow sanctuaries where congregations once gathered. Theaters sealed behind plywood, their marquees dark. Schools that feel more like monuments to forgotten glory than places of learning. This was the North Star for Black families fleeing the Jim Crow South—steady steel work, homeownership, schools overflowing with opportunities. Advanced classes, championship banners, and college credits earned before graduation day arrived.

Then the foundation cracked, and everything built on it tumbled down.

The young people navigating these streets today carry the weight of a loss they never experienced. Gary's narrative plays on repeat—endless reminiscing about golden years for listeners who only know the aftermath.

But this photograph tells a different story.

Students dressed in crisp chef whites, faces bright with laughter and purpose, eager to demonstrate what they know about flavor profiles, pastry techniques, the choreography of professional cooking. Listen to them speak, and you hear confidence, not defeat. They sound like apprentices preparing for careers, not victims of urban decay.

This distinction matters profoundly. Career and technical education transforms outcomes. Students who complete these programs graduate at a 95% rate—ten percentage points above the national average. They secure higher wages, better employment, and escape poverty at greater rates. Industry certifications can boost earnings by 3-11%.

I got these certifications years ago, but I did it the slow way. Job by job, I took whatever certs they offered for free.

For students in places like Gary, where resources are scarce and opportunities scarcer, these opportunities are offered in a 21st-century charter school. I see the gem here. I see the breakthrough. I know it can rewrite entire life trajectories.

For me, witnessing this feels deeply personal - too deep for this page.

At their age, I worked in kitchens too—but without guidance, credentials, or anyone mapping out advancement. I spent endless hours dicing vegetables, absorbing harsh criticism from temperamental chefs, and finding dignity in labor that offered no clear upward mobility. While others had mentors and networks opening doors, I assembled my future from whatever pieces I could find.

Looking at these students, I see both what I lacked and what they've been given: framework, mentorship, a blueprint for progress. They may not fully grasp it yet, but their presence in this kitchen represents healing for wounds I still carry—proof that the chances I never received are being offered to others.

The fundamental truth remains unchanged: talent exists everywhere and always has. What's often missing are the systems to nurture and direct it. When you construct those pathways, young people don't just move forward—they accelerate toward their potential.

Gary's horizon may be punctuated by decay, but inside this training kitchen, possibility flourishes. Students with knives sharpened and aprons secured, racing past the wreckage toward futures they're actively building.

This is why the work matters. Why education and equity demand our attention. Why every young person deserves more than ruins for a foundation.