The Afro Kid

Math has never been my thing. From early on, it was clear that I was much more comfortable with words than with numbers. As the old adage goes—and I'm paraphrasing here—you're either a math person or a word person; but never both. In elementary school, I did fairly well with basic math and was, in fact, on the high honor roll from the 1st grade to the 6th grade in all subjects and that made me feel good because it was one of those things where they posted the high honor roll and honor roll students' name and pictures on the wall outside of the classroom door. It wasn't until I began taking Algebra I and Geometry in high school that it became evident math was definitely not my strong suit anymore.

It's not that I didn't apply myself. I am an excellent student and I always have been. I love to learn and I take copious notes while also studying the information in the books we were given (reading ahead if I can). If I'm being honest, my failing math grades in high school can be attributed to the teachers I had being ineffective at teaching the information. Now, many of you may believe I'm placing blame but I'll give you the facts.

In my Freshman year, my grades in math were fairly decent because the teacher was adept at conveying the information in a way that was readily received and understood by the class. In 10th grade I ended up changing schools and, at this school—deep in an old-school racist community to be quite frank—the teacher was racist against African American students, namely me. He put me in the back of the class without reason, when my initial choice of seat was front and center so I could see the board and take in the information.

He also regularly used racial slurs when referencing me (he never said my name). When he would handout work or tests, my paper would always already have a huge red 'F' on it. So, I'd write my name and hand it back because I never got assigned a book to read on my own and although he was teaching the class, he was not very good at it; and without a book or paper with the problems he was teaching, I was unable to keep up with the class.

Ultimately, even when another student attempted to defend me the day he made me move to the back of the class, I went to the office to complain and since it was my word against his (he was also the softball coach to a winning team, which was a big deal in this small town) their solution was to have me go to IS (Internal Suspension)—which was a portable (a small trailer made to look like a classroom) that's very similar to detention—whenever it was time for his class. When time expired, I'd simply go to my next class. They didn't make sure I got the worksheets or tests from his class while I was in there either. I would just sit there and either write, draw, or sleep (this was the late 90s so there were no fancy cell phones or anything like that to keep me occupied). So, I failed 10th grade math.

In the 11th grade, I was at the same school but instead of being at the annex with all those portables, I was at the main building in an actual classroom. We used to roast the teacher because she was so mean it was as if she was married or related to the same teacher at the annex who was racist against Black people. She, also, had no clue what she was doing. She'd attempt to teach the material but she was not good at it in the least. She literally read, word-for-word, from the textbook and simply copied down the problems but didn't explain the process for reaching the answers and everyone in her class was failing; all except one guy.

In the back of the classroom was a quiet, tall and lanky kid who usually wore all black clothes, glasses, and had a huge picked-out afro. He would enter the classroom way before everyone else and would already have his head down on his desk as if he was asleep. No one ever talked to him and he never talked to anyone but when the teacher would hand back our tests or classwork, he would always have an 'A'. This intrigued me. How does this kid who doesn't even pay attention during class always seem to pass?

I took it upon myself to move from my seat in the front to the back of the classroom and try to strike up a conversation with him. Having failed 10th grade math, it was imperative that I pass 11th grade math if I was to graduate to the 12th grade. I was desperate to raise my 'F' to at least a 'C' or 'B' at best. My plan was simple: I'd become his friend and pick his brain to see how he was able to pass the class without paying attention at all. Ultimately, perhaps I could learn something valuable which would help me do better in the class.

Surprisingly enough, he wasn't mean or standoffish. He was actually fairly soft-spoken and seemed eager to talk to me. He had a great smile, beautiful hazel eyes, and I wondered why he didn't have any friends when he was such a cool dude. Nevertheless, I had begun to prefer sitting in the back of the class with him just chatting and laughing at one another's jokes. He also had been tutoring me and explaining the things the teacher couldn't make clear. We worked on the classwork together and I felt I owed him for being so nice to me and helping me.

One day I asked him why he chose to sport an afro. He claimed it was just easier than anything else given the texture of his hair. I explained that, if he was open to it, I'd be willing to braid his hair for him as a barter for his help in math class (which I did end up passing with a 'C'). Fortunately, he agreed and so we set a date for him to walk home with me so I could braid his hair. I gave him several cornrows with rubber bands at the tips and when he had a chance to look in the mirror, he was ecstatic. His smile is the one thing I remember because, in school, he had been known for never smiling. He seemed to glow from the inside out and it made me feel good.

The next day at school, when everyone saw him enter the building, they collectively erupted in applause. His grin was unmistakable. People who had mocked him for his huge afro and lanky build before were now touching his hair and goosing him up over his new look. This kid who was once alone, friendless, seemingly depressed, angry, and unpopular was now the talk of the entire school and it made me feel good to know something so seemingly simple became so transformative for both of us.

Without his help, I wouldn't have graduated to the next grade and showing my genuine gratitude in the way I could, using my natural gift of styling hair, turned out to be the perfect vehicle for helping him to come into himself and finally know what it's like to be popular. It was one of the single most memorable acts of kindness I've ever experienced in life and I will forever be grateful to the Afro Kid for being the reason I was able to not only graduate high school but I've also gone on to graduate college with an AA degree in Website Administration in addition to attending school for Medical Assisting where I also graduated with a 3.9GPA and even made the Dean's List several times. Thanks Afro Kid.