25 and 365 (Corey and Sydni)

I remember it like it was yesterday.

25 years ago, I needed a ride to work.

I was going to ask my best friend who lived across the street to take me. He had been "acting funny" with me and we hadn't really spoke in a couple of days so I didn't ask him. Besides, he always slept late and probably wasn't awake, so I didn't call him or go over there, I asked my Uncle Walter to take me.

It was probably the best day I had at my job. We talked. We laughed. We sold clothes. Life was good; I was a 17 year old kid with a JAY OH BEE.

My mama picked me up from work and we went home. When we got to our street...there was a crowd of people, a police car, and an ambulance in the street by my house. Our little dead end street never seemed as long as it did that day.

I got out of the car and went straight in the house to put my stuff up; I knew something bad happened and I wasn't quite ready to face it. I wouldn't have a choice though...

There was a knock at the door, the Sheriff's Deputy came over to ask me some questions. "I hadn't seen him since yesterday." "No sir, well, he had been saying that he didn't want to move to Crosby with his parents." The officer said thank you and left.

My best friend killed himself. I didn't know why. He was dead. The next time I'd see him he'd be laying in a casket. I remember sitting at the edge of his yard, just shy of the crowd of people and i just put my head down. I was numb. I felt physically sick.

I remember congregating at the park, we prayed, we listened to Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight", while reminiscing  about the fun times we all had. We cried. We laughed. We prayed. We danced. I cried myself to sleep that night. I remember being a pall bearer and putting our FTP (Flat Top Posse) armbands in the ground with him...

365 days ago I watched a group of kids congregate in the school parking lot because their friend killed herself. They were listening to music, talking, and praying. As I watched them making sure they were ok, it hit me: I was in the exact same position 24 years prior.

I wanted to go over and hug all of them. I wanted to cry with them. I wanted to listen to their stories, but I couldn't bear to go over there, it was too familiar, it was too much like August 8, 1989.

I went home.

I went to bed.

I couldn't sleep. So I got on my phone, and jumped on Twitter. I remember tweeting some stuff about going through the same thing 24 years ago and telling the Class of 2014 that I knew how they felt. Getting that out of my system made me feel better. I fell fast asleep.

I was awakened out of my sleep by my phone going off. Students discovered my tweet. The favorited. They retweeted. They began to follow me. When I woke up the next morning, I was so touched by so many students connecting back with me through this tragic event.

Suicide is not to glorified. It is one of the most selfish things you can do. Suicide leaves everyone and everything you knew in shambles. 

With that being said, the horrible events of August 8, 2013 provided me with an opportunity to connect with kids at my school and allow them to see me as a real and genuine person. Positive relationships was the Phoenix that rose from the ashes of despair.

After a year, It doesn't get much better. You still mourn, you still hurt. Songs make you laugh and cry at the same time. Significant events aren't the same because a dear friend is missing. What do you do?

You do what Corey and Sydni should have done. You keep on moving. YOU LIVE...

25 years later, when you are blessed to look back on your life and you think about all the things that helped mold and shape your life, you will remember this day August the 8th and know that the events surrounding it were a catalyst. You will remember it as one of the most significant things you will ever experience. My prayer is that you make this negative event something positive as you move forward.

The One and Only

Tonight on Twitter, I had a very interesting sidebar with some fellow educators about the dearth of educators of color in schools where we work. It is something that I always think about one point or another because who I am and what I look like frames a certain perception for many people.

I can't begin to tell you how blessed I've been as an educator.

I got my first teaching job with a handshake.

My first AP job was with the one principal that I always wanted to work with.

My first Principalship enabled me to create the school that I always wanted to create if I had the opportunity to do things my way.

All of these opportunities have one thing in common: I was always the first and/or only Black male on the job. It has been an interesting experience that I was prepared for by my public school experience of being the only Black in my core classes (most of the time).

The experience was most glaring when I began my job in my current district. When I met the Superintendent, he told me, "You know you are the first." and I replied, "Yes sir...With all due respect it is not the first time that I've been the first." And so it began, my district had its first Black administrator since it's inception in 1929.

There are times when I am made aware of the gravity of being "the one and only".

I remember on of my first days in the district, there were a bunch of custodians at the end of a hallway and I was on the other end talking to some folks and they kept staring at me. Now mind you these were the only Black folks I have seen since I got hired so I was interested in meeting them. When I got to the opposite end of the hallway, I introduced myself by saying "How y'all doing, I'm Kirven Tillis...I know y'all thought I wasn't  going to speak." All of them busted out laughing because that is exactly what they were thinking! They thought I was stuck up and full of myself.

During my time in my district, there has never been more than 5 Black professionals in my district at the same time. I was Principal of a campus and I worked one of the Black teachers for three years and that was nice.

Being a Principal/Assistant Principal can be a lonely existence. That feeling is magnified when no one looks like you. There is pressure, mostly created by me, to make sure that I am looking my best and doing my job the "right" way. I am the only Black male that hundreds of kids are exposed to on a daily basis. There is pressure to represent and be a positive role model.

I am aware, acutely aware that whether I like it or not, I am the "representative", I am the one who will have to defend my "Blackness", I will have to fend off attacks from those who think I have "sold out", "got soft", or "lost touch". The opportunities that have been afforded to me are both a gift and a curse.

There are times when I see the custodians and I talk to them; they tell me how proud they are of me and that they see how the kids respond to me. I know that I am in the right place doing what I need to do. I love the kids and co-workers even if they don't all look like me. I wish our district was more diverse, but I have had the opportunity to contribute by hiring diverse staff members that are and will be outstanding teachers. I have had the opportunity to work with various groups of students, including minorities and the "at-risk". This is what I was built for, it is why I wake up rearing to go.

I relish it. I embrace it. I am indeed the one and only.