What Do You Get When You Combine Popeye’s Chicken and Perseverance

Walking through Harlem brought back memories from my first year in New York. I used to live up on 117th and Manhattan Avenue just one block away from Morningside Park, but on the east side of it, the wrong side. That was when the park was still drug infested and crack heads used to hang around the 116th street subway stop at night to haggle straphangers as they emerged from the dingy underground.

Today, I was on my way to Israel’s high school graduation to be held just blocks away from where I had lived. He was one of my students during my first years of teaching and I couldn’t help but reminisce over those years as I walked along the now gentrified streets. The first year of teaching was by the far the most challenging year of my life. I had just begun teaching at a middle school in the South Bronx that one could have easily mistaken for a juvenile detention center from the outside. I remembered returning home on the cross-town bus exhausted from an excruciatingly painful day at work. I was so frustrated and felt so helpless with my students that I began silently praying on the bus, which then turned into quiet mutterings, which then turned into a full on tear fest. My cheek muscles twitched uncontrollably with every sob as my tears began creating dark bruise marks on my shirt and tie I had recently bought to make myself look older than my seventh grade students. I didn’t care that people around me were staring at me, not so much with concern, but more with side looks and tight lips that said “mmm mmm, that Asian man musta gotten hisself drunk already.” It was in that state of derangement and complaining to God that I saw Popeye’s Chicken outside the bus window. It was a desperate cry for help and quite out of context in hindsight, but at that moment I complained to God that all I simply wanted was some good fried chicken from Popeye’s. That’s not too much to ask right?

Needless to say, I managed to get off at the right stop and drag my feet up the front steps of my brownstone building. I walked in and closed the door muffling the sound of reggaeton and screaming children behind me. It was when I went over to my desk to put my bag down that I saw a box of Popeye’s Chicken with a yellow sticky note that read, “I was driving home from Philly when I saw Popeye’s. I know how much you LOVE their chicken so I made a u-turn and got these for you. Your roommates let me in. Sorry I couldn’t see you! Enjoy! Love, your little sis.”

What?! God, are you serious! There’s no way! For a few seconds I stood paralyzed as tingling sensations pulsed through my body. Rationalizations jumped across synapses in my brain, and unintelligent calculations of the odds of this happening blurred through my mind to make sense of it all. But indeed, the red and white box lay before me, and strangely enough God’s amazing love was confirmed for me right at that moment.

I carefully lifted the box into my arms and cradled it like I had just birthed my first child into the world. I sat down and held the drumstick between my quivering hands but couldn’t even eat it let alone see it because tears were gushing out of my skinny eyes. I was so thankful to God that he would even answer my most silly prayers to let me know that he sees my pain and to assure me that I was exactly where I needed to be according to his perfect will. That day God used my sister and a box of fried chicken to help me remember why I had answered to his call to go educate the inner-city youth. Sure, my students were difficult and I had no idea how to even begin breathing knowledge and life into them, but my hope and strength was restored that night. After an emotional night I woke up the next morning to go teach the very students who caused me to break down on the bus.

That happened six years ago when Israel sat in class 705 and often defended me against other merciless students. He did so using many profane expressions, but I allowed it during those occasions. So, what do you get when you combine Popeye’s Chicken and perseverance? You get a high school graduate, and I had the privilege of attending Izzy’s graduation held in the historic Apollo Theater. He’s the first in his family to graduate from high school and go to college. How much of a part did I play in his success? I don’t know if that can be measured and it’s not important, but I do know I never quit on him or on any of my other students. He and I have both come a long way since then, and today I got to sit with Izzy’s family as their one honored guest and cheer for him as obnoxiously as I could when he walked across the stage.