There is a beauty in inner-city communities that is often overlooked. There is a uniqueness that brings excitement even in the shadow of hardship. While people living in these communities may not always have everything they need, they rarely feel sorry for themselves. Instead, there is resilience, pride, and a deep sense of belonging.
In my early years walking the streets of Wilmington, I felt that beauty immediately. There was a sense of pageantry and connection that felt different from other places. It was alive. It was human. And it drew me in.
African Americans have long lived within a communal atmosphere rooted in traditions brought from Africa. The phrase “it takes a village to raise a child” was never just a saying. It meant neighbors looking out for children, grandparents stepping in, and families extending beyond bloodlines.
That village was exactly what I experienced when I began working with children in inner-city neighborhoods. I was young, I had no wealth, and I had no grand plan. But I cared deeply, I showed up consistently, and I was accepted. I cannot recall many mornings when I did not want to get up and go to work. Not because the work was easy, but because it mattered.
Big Brother
What everyone truly wants is to feel safe and secure. Not only within their physical surroundings, but also with the people they encounter every day. What I tried to provide in the community was consistency. I worked hard to be the same person in every setting.
Because the work involved children, I understood that my image and reputation mattered even when I was not present to defend them. Parents needed to feel secure. Families needed to trust. And children needed to know that the person guiding them would not change based on convenience or circumstance.
For the sake of the children I served, consistency was not optional. It was a responsibility.
As I grew older and spent more years rooted in the community, my love for the work only deepened. Although I was not consciously seeking recognition, credibility and trust grew naturally through years of consistent presence.
Eventually, there was no part of the city where I did not feel comfortable walking, and no neighborhood where I did not feel welcomed. There was no place I feared entering during the day or night. A mutual respect had developed, not because of authority or position, but because of the relationship.
That trust was built over time. It was built by showing up, listening, holding standards, and caring deeply. In the end, the community did not just see me as someone working with children. They saw me as someone who belonged.
