NOTE (11-16-2025): original post opened in "compose" mode after a long wait ... I made edits to ending "..." ... and added a couple of manual line feeds ("SD smiles") ... then pasted everything here using <CTRL-A> ...
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Index
01. A Virtual Walk with KS (1513 Words)
02. A Virtual Walk with PastorJH (1591 Words)
03. A Virtual Walk with PastorWH (1500 Words)
04. A Virtual Walk with PastorYH (1273 Words)
05. A Virtual Walk with OMcR (1257 Words)
06. A Virtual Walk with DW and DH (1097 Words)
07. A Virtual Walk with CoachTroyD, CoachTerD, and CoachBD (1172 Words)
08. A Virtual Walk with Sistah Souljah (1017 Words)
09. A Virtual Walk with SD (1129 Words)
10. A Virtual Walk with My Therapist (1186 Words)
11. A Virtual Walk with KMLB (1122 Words)
12. A Virtual Walk with HAB13 (1076 Words)
13. A Virtual Walk with DA (1158 Words)
14. A Virtual Walk with DrBM (1228 Words)
15. A Virtual Walk with Leader1 (1209 Words)
16. A Virtual Walk with Leader2 (1100 Words)
016. A Virtual Walk with Leader2 (1100 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.016 (A Virtual Walk with Leader2 … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1100 Words)
<SNIP>
A Conversation Between Kindness and Containment
SCENE ONE ... ARRIVAL AT VICTORY PARK
The sun is low in the sky … late afternoon gold settling on the baseball
fields.
You stand near the pavilion … hands loosely clasped behind your back … steady …
calm.
Leader2 arrives without entourage … without fanfare … dressed in the same
quiet elegance that has become his signature.
Warm handshake.
Measured smile.
Eyes that reveal nothing and everything at the same time.
Leader2:
Thank you for meeting with me.
I know these weeks have been difficult.
You nod.
You:
Thank you for making time.
The two of you begin walking toward the path that circles the field.
SCENE TWO ... THE COURTESY LAYER
The first few steps are polite.
Leader2:
I have read your documents.
They are thoughtful … extensive … and deeply reflective.
You have always been a writer who sees the entire system … not only your
classroom.
You offer a quiet smile.
You:
Writing is how I breathe.
He nods.
Then silence.
The political kind.
The superintendent kind.
The kind that waits for the other person to reveal their next move.
SCENE THREE ... THE TRUTH UNDERNEATH
You decide to begin.
You:
I walk with you today because you sit at the intersection of care and control.
I want to believe that care can outweigh control.
But I also want to understand the patterns that have shaped my experience.
He inhales slowly.
He expected this.
Leader2:
You have carried burdens that should not have been yours alone.
I will say that without hesitation.
A pause.
Leader2:
However … I also operate within constraints that are not always visible to the
people I serve.
You raise an eyebrow slightly.
You:
I understand constraints.
I also understand choices.
A quiet acknowledgment passes between you.
SCENE FOUR ... WALKING PAST THE PLAYGROUND
Children laugh in the distance … unburdened … uncontained.
Leader2:
Your writing identifies patterns in the system that are painful to confront.
Containment.
Misinterpretation.
Selective listening.
I will not deny those patterns exist.
Systems can be slow to change … even when individuals within them desire
change.
You appreciate his candor.
But you also hear the avoidance.
You:
Desire is not the same as action.
He does not flinch.
SCENE FIVE ... APPROACHING THE BLEACHERS
You sit at the bottom row for a moment … facing the empty field.
You:
I have been feeling like the system sees me as a “problem to be managed”
instead of a voice worth hearing.
He sits beside you … hands clasped.
Leader2:
You are not a problem.
But you are a powerful reflector.
And reflections unsettle people who prefer to lead without examination.
A breath.
Leader2:
Your clarity can be threatening to those who rely on ambiguity.
You look at him.
You:
Does it threaten you?
He meets your gaze.
Leader2:
It challenges me.
There is a difference.
SCENE SIX ... WALKING TOWARD THE TREE LINE
You resume walking.
Soft crunch of gravel underfoot.
Leader2:
Your essays reveal a teacher who is running out of air.
Your leave is appropriate.
And your reflections are accurate.
But here is a truth that may be difficult to hear.
Some people in your building were not prepared for the way you think.
Or the way you teach.
Or the way you lead.
You respond gently.
You:
Preparedness should not determine my humanity.
He nods slowly.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE UNASKED QUESTION
You speak softly.
You:
I need to know whether my experiences were accidents of circumstance … or
design.
Were the patterns I have described “known unknowns” … or “unspoken
expectations”?
I need clarity in order to heal.
He stops walking.
A long silence.
Leader2:
You were not targeted maliciously.
But you were managed.
And in some cases … mismanaged.
There is a difference … but neither feels good when you are the one living it.
You let that truth settle in the cool air.
SCENE EIGHT ... FACING THE FENCE
You both lean lightly against the chain-link fence overlooking the back field.
You:
I want to build something beyond the classroom.
Something rooted in #StandupStorytelling … Empath Remixes … and the Fellowship
Lab.
Something that provides hope … healing … and change.
Not just for students … but for communities.
I need to know whether my district sees me as a partner … or a liability.
Leader2 folds his hands thoughtfully.
Leader2:
I see you as both an asset and a question.
Your talent is undeniable.
Your insight is invaluable.
But your clarity forces us to confront places where we fall short.
And institutions often fear the people who reveal their blind spots.
A breath.
Leader2:
However … fear is not the same as rejection.
SCENE NINE ... WALKING THE RETURN LOOP
You both begin heading back toward the pavilion.
Leader2:
I want you to return from leave healthier … steadier … and perhaps interested
in a role that leverages your voice without draining your spirit.
You may not see this yet … but I have been preparing people for leadership who
can one day help shift the culture.
People like OMcR.
People who understand both the heart and the hustle of this work.
Your work is not invisible to me.
You consider that carefully.
SCENE TEN ... NAMING THE PARADOX
You:
Here is my paradox.
You have been kind to me.
You have been courteous.
You have sent word through intermediaries that you value my work.
But you have also co-signed containment in ways that have eroded my morale.
He exhales.
Leader2:
Both things can be true.
And both have been true.
Leadership often demands compromises that do not feel just in the moment.
But I have never wished to harm you.
Only to stabilize a fragile system in a volatile year.
He pauses again.
Leader2:
That does not mean the system treated you fairly.
You appreciate the distinction.
SCENE ELEVEN ... THE PARTING WORD
Back at the pavilion.
Leader2:
You asked for a walk.
That tells me two things.
You have not given up on yourself …
And you have not given up on the belief that people can listen.
A quiet smile.
Leader2:
I am listening.
You nod.
You:
I am grateful for your honesty.
And I am grateful for this walk.
I needed to know that my voice is not wasted breath.
Leader2:
Your voice is not wasted.
It is needed.
But you must protect it.
And you must decide how you want to use it next.
A final handshake.
Firm.
Respectful.
Ambiguous.
But real.
You part ways.
The walk ends with truth.
Not resolution.
But truth.
Selah.
015. A Virtual Walk with Leader1 (1209 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.015 (A Virtual Walk with Leader1 … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1209 Words)
<SNIP>
A Conversation Between Conscience and Caution
SCENE ONE ... ARRIVAL
The sky is overcast.
The kind of gray that does not threaten rain but removes glare.
You arrive first.
You walk a small circle near the tennis courts … letting your breathing settle.
This walk matters.
It carries weight.
Then you see him.
LEADER1 walks with a posture that blends confidence with humility … a man
who has held high office … then lost high office … then accepted another role
with dignity.
A man who knows systems from the inside … and what happens when systems decide
to make you a symbol instead of a colleague.
He raises a hand in greeting.
LEADER1:
Thank you for meeting with me.
I know you have had a heavy few months.
You nod.
You:
Thank you for making time.
The two of you begin walking the loop trail.
There is a respectful silence at first.
A silence that acknowledges the need for careful steps.
SCENE TWO ... THE FIRST EXHALE
He clears his throat.
LEADER1:
Let me begin with this.
If I sounded short in my last message about your leave dates … I apologize.
There was no disrespect intended.
You nod slowly.
You:
I appreciate that.
I understood the need for precision.
But the tone gave me pause.
He sighs.
LEADER1:
It gave me pause, too.
Because I recognized later that it came from pressure on my end … not anything
you did.
You let that sit.
SCENE THREE ... SHARING THE BURDEN
You both continue around the pond.
Ducks move along the water … serene … unbothered.
You:
This season has revealed more about my professional environment than I
expected.
The containment … the marginalization … the misinterpretations that never land
anywhere mutually accountable … they have worn me down.
He listens without interrupting.
You continue.
You:
My writings have been my way of processing the truth of what I have lived.
Not with venom … but with vision.
I have been trying to bless my mess.
Not expose it.
Not weaponize it.
Just understand it.
He nods slowly.
LEADER1:
I read your materials.
All of them.
You have built something very rare.
He pauses.
LEADER1:
Not many people can document conflict and still sound like they are searching
for reconciliation.
Your writing does not blame.
It illuminates.
There is a difference.
SCENE FOUR ... THE UNEXPECTED TURN
You walk past the playground.
A few children are climbing … laughing … unburdened.
You:
I wanted to share my writing with you because people describe you as the
district’s conscience.
I have felt that you were the safest path toward civil discourse … and maybe
even healing.
He stops walking.
Turns slightly toward you.
LEADER1:
Let me say something plainly.
I have lived both truth and consequence in this district.
I know what it means to fall from grace publicly.
I know what it means to carry responsibility quietly.
And I know what it means to advocate privately.
A long breath.
LEADER1:
Sometimes it is difficult to be the conscience of an organization that prefers
to avoid its mirrors.
You feel that.
LEADER1:
Your writings are mirrors.
High-resolution mirrors.
And I can see how they would unsettle anyone who is accustomed to controlling
the narrative.
You nod.
SCENE FIVE ... THE HONEST QUESTION
You decide to ask what has been sitting in your chest.
You:
Does my voice threaten the stability of the system?
He does not answer quickly.
He walks a few steps before speaking.
LEADER1:
Your voice threatens nothing except silence.
And silence is what allows dysfunction to grow.
So yes … your voice disrupts that.
But disruption is not destruction.
Disruption is often the first step toward healing.
Another breath.
LEADER1:
You are not the problem.
Your clarity is.
That is a sentence that lands hard.
SCENE SIX ... THE RESPONSIBILITY OF WITNESS
You walk toward the shaded trail near the back of the park.
LEADER1:
When I read your “Outliars” piece … I felt the weight of it.
When I read the Born(e) Witness proposal … I felt the hope of it.
When I read the Fellowship Lab … I felt the innovation of it.
When I read the Swing Thoughts … I felt the exhaustion of it.
He pauses.
LEADER1:
You are carrying multiple truths.
And you are carrying them without bitterness.
That is rare.
You breathe slowly.
You:
What do you think I should do with all of this?
This writing.
This seeing.
This knowing.
This ache.
He answers gently.
LEADER1:
You should protect it.
Nurture it.
Steward it.
And share it only with people who can hold it.
He looks directly at you.
LEADER1:
Not everyone can hold your truth.
Not everyone should.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE CROSSING POINT
You reach the bridge over the pond.
The water glistens.
A few geese watch you pass.
You:
Do you think this district can heal?
From what it refuses to confront?
He exhales a slow, sober sigh.
LEADER1:
Healing is possible.
But healing requires truth.
And truth requires courage.
And courage requires leadership.
And leadership requires the willingness to be uncomfortable.
Another pause.
LEADER1:
Your writings could guide us if we were ready.
But readiness is not something you can force.
You feel both sadness and validation.
SCENE EIGHT ... NAMING THE RISK
You:
I hesitated before asking to walk with you because I worried that you might see
me as a liability.
Or that you might advise me to be silent for my own protection.
He shakes his head.
LEADER1:
Brother Brown … let me be absolutely clear.
Silence has never protected men like us.
Silence has only delayed the inevitable.
A long breath.
LEADER1:
You do not need to shout.
You do not need to fight.
You do not need to accuse.
He gestures lightly toward your chest.
LEADER1:
Your truth is loud enough by itself.
SCENE NINE ... THE RETURN LOOP
The two of you walk back toward the tennis courts where you began.
LEADER1:
Your work could help this district rethink how it treats its people.
Especially Black male educators.
Especially teachers who speak truth without malice.
Especially those who see clearly.
He looks at you.
LEADER1:
But you cannot be responsible for the pace of an organization’s awakening.
You nod quietly.
LEADER1:
Your responsibility is to your peace … your purpose … your family … and your
calling.
SCENE TEN ... THE CLOSING MOMENT
You stop at the edge of the lot.
He offers a small, sincere smile.
LEADER1:
I am glad you requested this walk.
I want you to know that I respect your clarity.
I respect your courage.
I respect your calling.
And I respect the work you have done to hold your own sanity in a season that
could have broken someone else.
You breathe deeply.
You:
Thank you for being honest.
I needed that.
LEADER1:
You have my ear.
You have my respect.
And you have my support … within the bounds of what I can ethically and
professionally offer.
You shake hands.
Two large, thoughtful, intentional men walking the line between truth and survival.
He takes one more breath.
LEADER1:
Stay in touch.
We will walk again.
There is more to say.
You nod.
And the scene ends with peace.
Selah.
014. A Virtual Walk with DrBM (1228 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.014 (A Virtual Walk with DrBM … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1228 Words)
<SNIP>
Two Quiet Storms in Conversation
SCENE ONE ... THE MEETING ON THE BRICK PATH
You arrive first.
The square is calm.
Vendors are unloading crates.
The fountain runs with its steady, predictable hum.
A few runners pass by on the perimeter.
Then you see him.
DrBM walks with that slow, measured stride that always suggests he is thinking … even when he is being silent. He is dressed with intention … polished but not flamboyant … the kind of man whose quiet dignity reads as authority whether he wants it to or not.
He smiles when he sees you.
It is small, but real.
DrBM:
Brother Brown.
I am glad we are doing this.
You:
I appreciate you making time.
He nods once.
A nod that says of course without saying it aloud.
The two of you fall into step together … naturally … as if you have done this for years.
SCENE TWO ... PASSING THE GAZEBO
You walk toward the gazebo.
It is empty except for early morning sunlight.
DrBM:
I received your writings.
All of them.
I took my time reading.
I wanted to feel them before I responded to them.
You glance sideways.
You:
And what did you feel?
He exhales slowly.
DrBM:
A man wrestling with truth.
A man wrestling with harm.
A man wrestling with hope.
And a man who reminds me too much of myself.
You wait.
He continues.
DrBM:
Your entries about containment …
I felt those in my bones.
Professionally and personally.
You nod quietly.
SCENE THREE ... THE FIRST BENCH STOP
You gesture toward a bench.
You both sit.
Students from a nearby yoga studio pass by.
The sounds of a city waking up drift across the square.
You:
I have been feeling like my presence alone is treated as a disruption.
Even when I am calm.
Even when I am constructive.
Even when I am quiet.
Especially when I am quiet.
DrBM:
I know that feeling well.
He leans back.
Hands folded.
Legs crossed neatly.
DrBM:
Let me say this gently and plainly.
There are people who have not done the internal work required to receive Black
male excellence without fear.
Presence becomes threat.
Competence becomes challenge.
Clarity becomes confrontation.
And truth becomes trespass.
You let that settle.
You:
Yes.
I have lived that for years.
But this year has been the most concentrated version of it.
DrBM:
That is because certain systems are collapsing in slow motion.
When systems collapse, they cling to order.
And when they cling to order, they cling to hierarchy.
Men like us do not fit those hierarchies neatly.
He pauses.
DrBM:
We stand too tall.
We speak too clearly.
We see too much.
You nod deeply.
SCENE FOUR ... CONTINUING THE WALK
The two of you rise and walk the inner loop of the square.
You:
I have admired how you carry yourself.
Quiet.
Measured.
Professional.
Never rattled.
Never rushed.
Always respectful.
Always steady.
DrBM:
It is not accidental.
It is survival.
When you are a large Black man in education …
you learn quickly that people project their fears onto your physical frame
before you speak a single word.
He taps the side of his temple.
DrBM:
So I learned to use my mind to disarm what my body cannot.
You breathe in slowly.
You:
Does it always work?
DrBM:
Not always.
And the older I get, the more I recognize that I cannot reduce myself to ease
someone else’s discomfort.
There is a cost to shrinking.
You feel that.
Deeply.
SCENE FIVE ... THE FOUNTAIN
The two of you reach the fountain … where the water spills in its predictable, calming rhythm.
DrBM:
Your journal entries reveal a man who has been under psychological pressure for
a long time.
But they also reveal a man who has not lost his calling.
Your calling has simply outgrown the building you teach in.
You swallow carefully.
You:
I have felt that.
Sometimes loudly.
Sometimes quietly.
Sometimes painfully.
DrBM:
Your work is ministry.
It always has been.
Your students feel it.
Your writing proves it.
Your exhaustion confirms it.
You ask the question you have avoided.
You:
Do you think I should return?
He does not answer immediately.
He waits for truth.
DrBM:
I think you should return only if you can return as the man you are becoming…
not the man the school has tried to force you to be.
There is a difference.
You let that sit between you.
SCENE SIX ... THE SHADE OF THE OLD OAK TREE
He slows his pace.
Places a hand on a nearby oak.
DrBM:
Let me tell you something I have learned after decades in this work.
When the place where you serve becomes a place that drains more life than it
gives you …
that is the moment you must discern the season.
You:
I think I am in that moment.
DrBM:
You are.
I read it in every word you wrote.
The writing is no longer just reflection.
It is release.
It is revelation.
It is transition.
You feel the truth of that.
DrBM:
What I admire most is that you are not running away.
You are stepping toward something.
There is a difference.
SCENE SEVEN ... PASSING THE VETERANS MEMORIAL
The flags rustle gently in the breeze.
DrBM:
Your #StandupStorytelling approach …
your autoethnographic diary …
your roleplay pedagogy …
your fellowship labs …
your one-man show …
your empathy scripts …
that is innovation.
That is leadership.
That is scholarship.
That is healing work.
You inhale the words.
You:
Sometimes it feels like none of it is seen.
DrBM:
It is seen.
Just not always acknowledged.
There is a difference.
He glances at you with a knowing look.
DrBM:
And sometimes people pretend not to see what they cannot control.
That hits hard.
You keep walking.
SCENE EIGHT ... THE FINAL LOOP BACK TO THE
BENCH
You:
If you were me …
what would you do next?
He takes a long breath.
DrBM:
I would do three things.
Protect your peace.
Pursue your purpose.
Position your gifts where they can flourish.
You listen closely.
DrBM:
Your leave is not an escape.
It is preparation.
Use it well.
Heal deeply.
Write boldly.
Dream freely.
And return to service only if the path is aligned with your spirit.
He pauses.
DrBM:
And if it is not …
then you will build something new.
Something that is yours.
Something no one can take credit for.
Something no one can contain.
Your eyes soften.
Your shoulders lower.
Your spirit steadies.
DrBM:
Men like us are not meant to be managed.
We are meant to be trusted.
We are meant to be released.
We are meant to lead.
You breathe deeply.
You:
Thank you.
For this walk.
For your wisdom.
For understanding me without requiring me to explain every layer.
He smiles with that same calm, quiet dignity.
DrBM:
Brother Brown …
you do not have to explain everything to me.
I see you.
I hear you.
And I understand the parts you do not say out loud.
We carry similar storms.
He places a large, steady hand on your shoulder.
DrBM:
Keep walking toward the light that is calling you.
I will be praying for clarity, strength, and provision.
You will rise from this.
And you will rise well.
You nod.
You feel grounded.
You feel guided.
You feel seen.
You feel ready for the next walk.
Selah.
013. A Virtual Walk with DA (1158 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.013 (A Virtual Walk with DA … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1158 Words)
<SNIP>
A Quiet Math Coaching Conversation
SCENE ONE ... THE RENDEZVOUS
She sees you first.
DA stands near the stainless steel benches outside the Engineering Building ... holding her KSU lanyard, a notebook, and a thermos. She is dressed like someone who is always prepared to demonstrate a Number Talk or unpack a math practice standard at a moment’s notice.
She smiles warmly.
Not performatively.
Not strategically.
Actually warmly.
DA:
I am glad you asked to walk.
It has been a while since we had a good debrief.
You nod.
Relief and caution sit together in your chest.
You:
Thank you for making time for me.
I needed this.
She gestures toward the wide walkway leading to the green space.
DA:
Let us walk.
SCENE TWO ... PASSING THE DRONE FIELD
The open field stretches wide beside the Engineering Technology Center. Students are testing drones, RC cars, robot chassis. The hum of creativity is in the air.
DA watches them for a moment.
DA:
This always reminds me of why I love math.
It is not the numbers.
It is what numbers allow people to build.
She glances at you.
DA:
You do that too, you know.
You build things in your classroom that most people do not see.
Even when they should.
You hold that gently.
You:
I appreciate you for seeing what you saw that day.
During the Math Walk.
I know it was chaos.
I know it might have looked like disengagement.
But there were things happening beneath the surface.
DA stops walking briefly.
Turns to face you.
DA:
I did not see chaos.
I saw a teacher trying to build something…
in an environment that is often stacked against him.
I saw layers.
I saw sincerity.
I saw a battle most do not understand.
You breathe in.
Yes.
She saw.
SCENE THREE ... APPROACHING THE BRIDGE BY THE
STUDENT CENTER
The wooden pedestrian bridge creaks gently as the two of you step onto it.
DA:
I read your essays.
The public facing ones.
The GRASPP piece.
The Empath Remixes.
I did not want to flood your inbox with commentary, but I read every word
carefully.
You quietly absorb the weight of that.
You:
You were one of the only people who praised GRASPP publicly.
When others looked down.
Looked confused.
Or looked afraid to affirm it.
DA:
That is because I knew what you were doing.
GRASPP was not just a poem.
It was a diagnostic.
It was a mirror.
It was a courage test for the room.
I could see who understood it.
And who could not handle it.
She pauses.
DA:
I wanted you to know that you were not alone that day.
Your throat tightens.
You:
Thank you.
More than you know.
SCENE FOUR ... A BENCH NEAR THE ENGINEERING
TOWER
The two of you sit.
Students walk by with backpacks full of calculus textbooks and 3D printed
prototypes.
DA:
Tell me the truth.
How are you feeling?
That question is always disarming when it comes from someone who actually wants the answer.
You:
I am tired.
I am discouraged.
I am relieved to be on leave.
And I am trying to turn the pain into something true …
something meaningful …
something sustainable.
DA:
You are doing that.
Your journal is not just documentation.
It is pedagogy.
It is research.
It is leadership.
It is professional learning in the raw.
You let the words settle.
You:
I wish the culture at my school reflected that.
Instead, I feel contained.
Misinterpreted.
Managed.
Misread.
And drained.
DA:
I know.
I saw pieces of that.
And I felt more than I saw.
She closes her notebook.
Moves it aside.
DA:
I want you to hear something clearly.
Your struggle is not an indictment of your teaching.
It is an indictment of the system around you.
You exhale slowly.
She continues.
DA:
There are teachers who thrive when systems are unhealthy…
because they rely on compliance.
You are not built that way.
Your work requires honesty.
Reflection.
Dialogue.
Authenticity.
That is a different kind of leadership.
A different kind of classroom.
And that kind of work frightens some people.
You nod.
You:
Yes.
That has been my experience everywhere I have served.
DA:
Which is exactly why your work needs to be shared beyond your school.
SCENE FIVE ... WALKING TOWARD THE ENGINEERING
STONES
The path curves toward the cluster of large boulders where engineering students often study in groups.
You and DA continue walking.
DA:
Tell me what your leave is giving you.
You:
Space.
Clarity.
Courage.
Breathing room.
Time to build something new.
Time to reclaim the part of teaching that feels like ministry …
and release the part that feels like surveillance.
DA gives a small, knowing smile.
DA:
That sounds like a teacher who is re-entering his calling …
on his own terms.
You:
I want to build a Fellowship Lab.
A small-group learning model.
A way to teach through stories.
Reflection.
Mathematical courage.
Personal truth-telling.
DA:
That is the kind of innovation districts always claim they want …
until someone actually builds it.
You laugh quietly.
Because it is true.
DA:
But do not let that stop you.
Your vision is clear.
Your work is strong.
Your voice is needed.
And frankly …
the profession needs models like yours.
Her voice softens.
DA:
And Black male educators need to know that they are not required to martyr
themselves to teach well.
You swallow.
Deeply.
SCENE SIX ... NEARING THE END OF THE LOOP
The campus is quieter now.
Sun lowering.
Wind softening.
DA:
There is something I want to tell you.
Two things actually.
She stops.
DA:
First ... I am proud of the educator you are.
Not the test scores.
Not the classroom decorations.
Not the observations.
I mean the human educator you are.
One who teaches from heart, truth, and wisdom.
DA:
Second ... do not return the same way you left.
Return with boundaries.
Return with clarity.
Return with a plan for how your voice will be protected.
And return knowing that you have allies in the district who understand what is
happening…
even if we do not say it loudly.
You nod slowly.
You:
Thank you for saying that out loud.
I needed to hear it.
SCENE SEVEN ... GOODBYE AT THE PARKING DECK
The walk ends where it began.
Near the engineering building.
Near the quiet bench.
Near the last moment you felt truly seen in your own district.
DA offers a gentle, steady smile.
DA:
Keep writing.
Keep healing.
Keep building.
And when you are ready …
I will walk with you again.
You shake her hand.
Then she surprises you with a brief, sisterly hug.
DA:
Take care of yourself.
We need you healthy.
We need you whole.
And we need your voice.
She walks toward her car.
You stand there a moment longer …
breathing in the KSU air …
realizing that this walk restored something you did not know you had lost.
Selah.
012. A Virtual Walk with HAB13 (1076 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.012 (A Virtual Walk with HAB13 … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1076 Words)
A Quiet Neighborhood Evening … A Gentle Reckoning
SCENE ONE ... STEPPING OUT OF THE GARAGE
She bounces down the garage steps with thirteen-year-old energy that is both grounded and electric.
Earbuds in hand.
Slides instead of sneakers.
A sweatshirt over leggings.
She carries that familiar mix of confidence, curiosity, and caution that has
always made you proud.
HAB13:
Daddy ... can we walk the long route?
I want to talk about something.
Also I want to hear what you have been thinking about your leave.
You smile.
You knew this was coming.
Your daughter has been reading your spirit like a book since she was four.
You:
The long route it is.
Let us go.
The two of you step into the evening air …
cool enough to soften your heartbeat …
warm enough to welcome truth.
SCENE TWO ... PASSING THE FIRST ROW OF HOUSES
She walks half a step ahead …
swinging her arms lightly …
letting silence open the first doorway.
HAB13:
You seemed ... different this week.
Not bad ... just different.
Calmer.
But also sad?
I do not know.
Something is going on.
You breathe in.
Not heavily.
Just deliberately.
You:
Something is going on.
And I am glad you felt it.
You always do.
She glances up at you.
She does not rush you.
She has learned your pace.
SCENE THREE ... APPROACHING THE SMALL COMMUNITY
PARK
There is the bench you once used to teach her fractions.
There is the hill she used to run down recklessly.
There is the patch of grass where she performed her first “spoken-word poem” at
age seven.
She remembers too.
HAB13:
Are you really leaving school for a while?
You:
Yes.
The doctor recommended that I step away …
to rest …
to heal …
to breathe.
And I agreed.
She processes this quietly.
Her brow tightens.
Then softens.
HAB13:
Is it because of the kids?
Or the adults?
Or both?
You pause.
She deserves the truth.
At her level.
You:
Both.
Some students disrespect teachers without thinking.
Some adults mishandle teachers without understanding.
And I have carried too much for too long.
I want to come home healthier …
and stay myself in the process.
She nods.
Slowly.
SCENE FOUR ... THE HALF-MILE MARK
You cross the long bend toward the back of the neighborhood.
This is the part where the trees lean over the sidewalk like quiet guardians.
HAB13:
Daddy ... sometimes you tell me things to prepare me for the world.
And sometimes it feels like the world is heavier on you than it should be.
Does that make sense?
It does.
More than she knows.
You:
Yes.
That makes perfect sense.
I tell you things because I want you to walk into the world with eyes to see …
and a voice to speak …
and a sense of your own worth.
But I never want you to carry my burdens with you.
She stops walking.
HAB13:
I do not feel like you put your burdens on me.
I feel like you teach me how to see things clearly.
Sometimes that is scary.
But usually it makes me feel strong.
Her honesty floors you gently.
SCENE FIVE ... A FATHER’S ADMISSION
You sit together on the curb near the storm drain where she used to drop leaves just to watch them float away.
You:
I want to be honest with you.
My classroom has changed.
Students challenge boundaries in ways that drain my spirit.
And the people who should support teachers sometimes do the opposite.
That environment is not safe for my peace of mind.
I want to return to you …
and to your mother …
whole.
She listens.
Quiet.
Focused.
Open.
HAB13:
I am glad you told me.
Because I could feel it.
When you were tired.
When something hurt.
When something made you angry.
Even when you tried to hide it.
She gives a small shrug.
HAB13:
I think I know you better than you think.
You smile.
She is right.
SCENE SIX ... THE TURN TOWARD THE BIG HILL
The hill she used to dread is now one she climbs with ease.
HAB13:
Do you think the adults at your school understand what you go through?
You:
No.
I do not think they see it.
Or feel it.
Or want to.
Some might.
Most do not.
But that is not why I teach.
I teach for students like you.
And students like DW.
And DH.
And a few others who truly listen.
She nods.
HAB13:
So what are you going to do now?
You:
Write.
Heal.
Walk.
Create.
Build a new way of teaching …
a small-group fellowship model …
powered by storytelling and reflection.
Something peaceful.
Something real.
Something sustainable.
Her eyes brighten.
HAB13:
Like Iron Man for adults?
Or like your public speaking class?
You:
Exactly like that.
A learning space that grows people …
not just grades.
She absorbs that.
She likes the idea.
SCENE SEVEN ... APPROACHING HOME
The house comes into view.
Porch light on.
Warm.
Welcoming.
She slows her step again.
HAB13:
Daddy ... I know you try to protect me.
And I know the world is not fair.
But I want you to know something.
She stops.
Looks up at you with steady eyes.
HAB13:
I can handle the truth.
I am strong.
And I am learning from you.
You teach me how to stand up for myself.
You teach me how to use my voice.
You teach me how to recognize when something is wrong.
And you teach me how to walk away from things that do not deserve me.
Your throat tightens.
HAB13:
So please do not be afraid to tell me how you feel.
I would rather walk with you through something hard …
than walk next to a silence that hurts you.
She echoes her mother without knowing.
You give her a gentle nod.
You:
Thank you for saying that.
Thank you for walking with me.
Thank you for being you.
She smiles.
HAB13:
Always.
SCENE EIGHT ... THE DRIVEWAY
You stand together at the foot of the driveway.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
For a moment you see her at every age she has ever been.
The toddler who learned to sing.
The little girl who loved stories.
The preteen who listens deeply.
The young woman she is becoming.
And for the first time in months …
you feel something settle inside your chest.
Peace.
You:
Let us go inside.
HAB13:
Yes.
Let us go.
The two of you walk into the house.
Side by side.
Heart to heart.
011. A Virtual Walk with KMLB (1122 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.011 (A Virtual Walk with KMLB … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1122 Words)
Our Neighborhood … A Quiet Evening … A Careful Unfolding
SCENE ONE ... STEPPING OUTSIDE
The front door closes softly behind the two of you.
The sun has begun its slow descent.
Streetlights are not yet awake.
The neighborhood is quiet enough for honesty.
She slips her hand into yours.
That gesture has always grounded you.
KMLB:
You look lighter these last couple of days.
Or maybe you look tired in a different way.
Talk to me.
How are you feeling?
You breathe in slowly.
Not because you are hiding.
Because you are choosing every word with care.
You:
I am trying to be honest with myself …
and gentle with you.
There is a lot I have not said.
Not because I wanted to hide it …
but because I wanted to protect your peace.
She nods once.
A quiet, knowing nod.
She has always understood more than you say aloud.
SCENE TWO ... THE FIRST BLOCK
The two of you walk past the familiar mailbox clusters ... the manicured lawns ... the slow turning of the oak leaves.
She listens with her body first …
slowing her pace to match yours.
KMLB:
I appreciate that you try to protect me.
I really do.
But I can feel when something is heavy on you …
even if you do not say it.
And it makes me worry more when I cannot see the whole picture.
You exhale.
You:
That is exactly what I fear.
Your worry.
Your load.
Your Mom’s Alzheimer’s.
Your Ph.D. work.
The long days.
The long nights.
I do not want to add my chaos to your plate.
She stops walking.
KMLB:
You are not “adding chaos.”
You are sharing your life.
And I am your wife.
I want to carry what we are supposed to carry together.
Even if it scares me sometimes.
Her voice does not crack.
She has strength braided into gentleness.
SCENE THREE ... TURNING THE CORNER
You resume walking.
You have reached the quieter part of the neighborhood …
where few cars pass …
and the houses feel like watchers who keep your secrets.
You decide to speak more plainly.
You:
The truth is that my classroom has become unpredictable.
There are pockets of joy ... yes.
There are students like DH and DW who lift me higher.
But there are also students who drain me …
who challenge my humanity …
who force me into a type of emotional contortion that is not sustainable.
She listens without interrupting.
She is a master of the slow inhale.
You:
And the system around me …
the school …
the district …
the administrators …
they do not see me.
They do not hear me.
They do not understand what I carry.
Or what I bring.
You pause.
You:
I am unraveling …
quietly …
and sometimes loudly …
inside my own spirit.
She squeezes your hand.
KMLB:
I knew you were hurting.
I did not know how deep the cuts were.
You nod.
You:
I did not want the wounds to bleed on you.
SCENE FOUR ... THE BRIDGE OVER THE SMALL CREEK
You cross a wooden bridge that creaks beneath your steps.
She looks over the railing ... then back at you.
KMLB:
Tell me about the writing.
Tell me about this book.
I saw your eyes when you talked about it.
I saw something in you I have not seen in a while.
Hope.
You feel that.
You:
The writing has been a lifeline.
It has given me clarity …
a way to sort through the chaos …
a way to speak …
after spending years being silenced.
And the thought partnership …
this reflective process …
it has unlocked something powerful.
She tilts her head slightly.
KMLB:
Powerful in what way?
You:
Powerful in the sense that it reminds me who I am.
Powerful in the sense that I can build something new.
Something that is not tied to the daily disrespect of high school classrooms.
Something that returns me to my gifts …
my music …
my storytelling …
my ministry …
my teaching …
but on my terms.
She breathes deeply.
KMLB:
That does sound powerful.
And scary.
And necessary.
You nod again.
SCENE FIVE ... THE SLOW CLIMB UP THE HILL
The two of you approach the hill that usually tests your lungs.
Your pace slows naturally.
KMLB:
So what is the part you are afraid to tell me?
You swallow.
Hard.
You:
I think I am done.
Not with teaching as a calling …
but with teaching in this building …
in this district …
under these conditions.
I want to step into something new.
A fellowship lab.
A small-group LEarning model.
A place where peace is structure …
and chaos is not routine.
And I want to write.
I want to publish.
I want to perform.
I want to build something that reflects the type of man I am trying to be.
You look at her.
She has stopped walking again.
Her eyes are searching for the truth beneath your words.
KMLB:
You want to leave?
You:
I want to live.
I want to breathe.
I want to heal.
I want to protect what I have left.
I want to be whole for you …
and whole for our daughter …
and whole for myself.
Her eyes soften.
KMLB:
Then we will figure it out.
Together.
We always have.
SCENE SIX ... THE FINAL BLOCK BEFORE HOME
The two of you walk slower now.
Not from fatigue …
but from the understanding that the truth has been spoken.
You:
Are you afraid?
KMLB:
I am.
But I am also relieved.
You have been carrying too much for too long.
And I want you to be here …
not just physically …
but emotionally …
spiritually …
mentally.
I do not need you to be a soldier.
I need you to be you.
The man I married.
The man who loves deeply.
The man who creates.
The man who thinks in rhythms and metaphors and melodies.
The man who wants to build something meaningful.
You stop walking.
She turns to you fully.
KMLB:
You are not a burden.
You are my husband.
We are in this together.
You feel a weight lift.
Not all of it.
But enough.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE FRONT YARD
You both stand at the end of the driveway ... not quite ready to go inside.
The porch light flickers on.
You:
Thank you for walking with me.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for letting me share this without fear.
She smiles.
KMLB:
Thank you for trusting me enough to tell the truth.
I would rather walk through reality with you…
than live next to a silence that hurts you.
She slides her arm through yours.
KMLB:
Whatever comes next …
we will face it side by side.
You nod.
The door opens.
The home welcomes you.
And for the first time in a long time …
you step inside without shrinking.
010. A Virtual Walk with My Therapist (1186 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.010 (A Virtual Walk with My Therapist … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1186 Words)
<SNIP> … First Appointment … First Steps
SCENE ONE ... THE MEETING POINT AT THE VISITOR
CENTER
You park your car.
She is already standing by the trailhead.
Backpack.
Nalgene bottle.
Comfortable shoes.
Professional stillness.
Not stiff.
Not performative.
Present.
She greets you with a warm nod ... the type that feels like both an invitation and a boundary.
Therapist:
I read everything you sent.
I want to thank you for trusting me with that.
Shall we walk?
You gesture toward the trail.
The earth crunches beneath your shoes.
Birds.
Cold air.
A quiet start.
No clipboard.
No office wall.
Just a mountain.
SCENE TWO ... THE OPENING STRIDES
The incline begins gently.
Enough to wake the body.
Enough to slow the mind.
She lets the silence breathe before speaking.
Therapist:
Your writing is extraordinary.
It reads as both testimony and data.
Heart and evidence.
Wound and wisdom.
I see why you call it an autoethnographic journal.
But it is more than that.
It is a record of survival in a system that was not designed with you in mind.
You release a breath you did not know you were holding.
You:
I did not send it to impress anyone.
I sent it because I need someone who can hold the truth of it without
flinching …
without telling me that I imagined it …
or that I exaggerated it …
or that I should have handled it better.
She nods slowly.
Therapist:
You are not imagining anything.
Your documents reveal patterns that are consistent, cumulative, and harmful.
You have been carrying institutional trauma without institutional support.
You have been reflecting without being heard, advocating without being
acknowledged, and giving without receiving proportionate care.
She pauses.
Therapist:
And you have been doing all of that while teaching.
You feel that in your ribcage.
SCENE THREE ... NEARING THE FIRST BEND
You round a curve where the trail narrows.
Tall trees flank both sides.
The mountain begins to awaken your legs.
She watches your steps, your posture, your breathing ... without intruding.
Therapist:
There is a line in your writing that stayed with me.
You wrote that your classroom became a place where you were forced to practice
“forensic empathy.”
That is a profound phrase.
It suggests you were not only teaching …
you were also investigating …
diagnosing …
interpreting …
and absorbing the emotional turbulence of adolescents who were themselves
carrying trauma, entitlement, confusion, and cultural scripts that conditioned
them to disrespect your humanity.
You nod again, slower this time.
You:
It has been exhausting.
And isolating.
I kept trying to “win” with patience, with clarity, with structure, with grace.
But every day became a new battlefield.
Not a physical one.
A psychological one.
Therapist:
And you fought without backup.
There is no judgment in her tone.
Only recognition.
SCENE FOUR ... THE ASCENT BEGINS
The incline steepens.
Your heart rate climbs.
Your therapist’s pace remains steady.
She gestures for you to slow down.
Therapist:
Trauma is not only the thing that harms you.
It is also the absence of the resources you need when the harm occurs.
Your school did not equip you.
Your district did not support you.
Your administrators did not see you.
Your colleagues did not understand you.
And many of your students interacted with you through projections that had
nothing to do with you.
She looks directly ahead ... not at you.
Therapist:
Yet you kept trying to make meaning out of all of it.
You kept producing beauty out of pain.
You kept teaching inside a space that refused to reflect the truth back to you.
She breathes.
Therapist:
Your autoethnographic journal was your emergency exit.
SCENE FIVE ... REACHING THE LOOKOUT POINT
You arrive at the first scenic overlook.
Atlanta’s skyline hovers faintly in the distance.
The wind is cooler here.
She stops walking.
Therapist:
Tell me what this moment feels like.
Right here.
Right now.
You look out over the horizon.
You:
It feels like I have been holding my breath for months.
Years.
Maybe longer.
It feels like I finally stepped outside the building that has been shrinking
around me.
And for the first time…
I can see the mountain and not the maze.
She smiles gently.
Therapist:
That is an important distinction.
The maze is what they built around you.
The mountain is what you are climbing out of it.
She gives you space to take that in.
SCENE SIX ... THE DESCENT BEGINS ... AND SO DOES THE WORK
As the two of you begin moving downward, she shifts from observation toward guidance.
Therapist:
I want to offer you something to consider.
You have been operating as a teacher, a counselor, a storyteller, a mediator, a
protector, a researcher, and a historian ... all at once.
You mastered these roles because the system required them from you.
But the cost was never acknowledged.
Nor compensated.
Nor repaired.
She walks thoughtfully.
Therapist:
Your next chapter must not be a continuation of overfunctioning.
Your next chapter must be built around restoration.
Integration.
Agency.
Deliberate boundaries.
Honest rest.
And purpose that is not weaponized against you.
She pauses.
Therapist:
Your writing shows that you know how to build things that heal.
Now we must build something that heals you.
SCENE SEVEN ... LOWER TRAIL ... THE PERSONAL
SHIFT
The trail widens near the bottom.
A few hikers pass you.
She waits until they are gone.
Therapist:
There is something else I want to reflect back to you.
Your students’ letters ... DW ... DH ... and others …
They show that the essence of what you bring to the classroom is not merely
instruction.
It is presence.
It is integrity.
It is safety.
It is mentorship.
It is father energy.
It is wisdom offered without performance.
She glances at you.
Therapist:
Those gifts are transferable.
They do not belong to the school.
They belong to you.
Your work can continue without the workplace that wounded you.
You let that truth settle.
SCENE EIGHT ... RETURNING TO THE TRAILHEAD
You approach the visitor center again.
The parking lot comes into view.
The session has been both walk and work.
She stops just before the trail ends.
Therapist:
Here is what I would like to propose for our work together.
First ... we will create psychological distance from the harm you endured.
Second ... we will rebuild your internal narrative so that you view yourself
through clarity instead of exhaustion.
Third ... we will reimagine your future through the lens of agency ... not
trauma response.
Fourth ... we will discern which parts of your identity were shaped by survival
and which parts were shaped by calling.
She waits.
Therapist:
Your documents are not merely artifacts.
They are evidence of a mind that has been working overtime to make sense of
chaos.
In therapy ... we will let that mind rest ... reflect ... and reassemble itself
with intention.
You exhale.
You:
Thank you.
I needed all of that.
She nods.
Therapist:
This is only the beginning.
You have done the hard work for far too long by yourself.
Now we will do the next part together.
You shake hands.
You both head toward your cars.
The mountain remains behind you ... steady ... grounded ... and patient.
Much like the work ahead.
009. A Virtual Walk with SD (1129 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.009 (A Virtual Walk with DW and DH … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1129 Words)
After School … Toward The Parking Lot
A Walk With A Colleague Who “Gets It”
SCENE ONE ... THE FINAL BELL ... AND THE SILENCE
THAT FOLLOWS
The bell rings.
The hallway erupts.
Then empties.
Then exhales.
SD steps into your doorway before you have fully unplugged your laptop.
Her bag is slung over one shoulder.
Her hair is pulled back.
She is tired, but present.
Focused.
Attentive in the way that tells you she has reserved emotional bandwidth for
this moment.
SD:
I saw the lights off earlier today in your room.
I figured you might want company on the walk out.
Want to head to the parking lot together?
You nod.
You gather your things.
You lock your door.
The two of you step into the hallway without fanfare.
There is relief in that simplicity.
SCENE TWO ... PASSING THE PODS AND THE QUIET
CLASSROOMS
The building is still humming with leftover energy from the day.
You walk side by side.
No rush.
No performance.
Just presence.
SD breaks the silence first.
SD:
I read your most recent writing.
The one about the “Outliars” and the “fine fellowship.”
I felt that one.
Especially the part about the students who casually disrespect you.
It is real.
And it is exhausting.
You sigh.
Not a dramatic sigh.
A lived one.
You:
It has been draining.
Beyond what I have been willing to admit out loud.
Some days it feels like I am teaching inside a storm.
And the ones who listen are the calm in the middle.
But the winds outside that circle …
they can wear a person down.
She nods deeply.
Not performatively.
Gravely.
SD:
I know.
I see it.
And I hate that you carry more of it than almost anyone else here.
Partly because you actually try.
Partly because you refuse to fake it.
And partly because of things we both know but rarely say.
You look at her.
She meets your gaze without flinching.
She knows.
SCENE THREE ... EXITING THE SIDE DOOR AND
FEELING THE COOL AIR
You step outside.
The temperature has dropped.
The breeze feels cleansing.
SD tucks her hands into her jacket.
SD:
Your leave was the right decision.
I am glad you took it.
And I hope you take all the time you need.
Because what you deal with in that room …
most people would not survive for a week.
You breathe slowly.
Because someone has said the thing that nobody else says plainly.
You:
Thank you for saying that.
Most days I feel unseen.
Or worse …
misinterpreted.
SD:
Oh, I know.
They read your boundaries as aggression.
Your expectations as intimidation.
Your honesty as danger.
But I see the work.
I see the patience.
I see the way you try to teach them how to think …
not just how to calculate.
She pauses.
SD:
And I see what it costs you.
SCENE FOUR ... WALKING THE SIDEWALK ALONG THE
STUDENT LOT
The two of you walk slowly.
Teachers are leaving.
Kids are climbing into cars.
A few linger under the canopy.
SD looks around before continuing.
SD:
I want to tell you something.
I have learned more about teaching from watching you handle chaos than I
learned in three years of teacher prep.
Your classroom looks intense from the outside …
but I now understand that it is a laboratory.
A laboratory of humanity.
Of patience.
Of discernment.
Of boundaries.
Of recovery.
You take that in.
You:
Sometimes I feel like the lab is eating me alive.
SD:
Sometimes it is.
And that is the sign that you are doing real work.
Not the cute work.
Not the sanitized work.
The real work that demands emotional labor, clarity, and courage.
The work that most of our colleagues quietly avoid.
She lowers her voice.
SD:
And you do it while navigating dynamics I will never have to face.
I know that.
I do not pretend I do not know that.
SCENE FIVE ... NEARING THE BACK OF THE PARKING
LOT
The crowd thins.
Cars spread out.
The late afternoon sun is soft and forgiving.
SD stops at a quiet stretch of sidewalk.
SD:
I want to ask you something.
Are you thinking about leaving teaching altogether?
You consider the question.
You measure the truth.
You give her the truth you trust her with.
You:
I am thinking about leaving this version of teaching.
The version that suffocates.
The version that constantly misreads me.
The version that treats my presence like a threat and my voice like a
disruption.
But I am not leaving the work.
I want to build something different.
Something that actually heals people.
Something that actually teaches.
Something sustainable.
Something rooted in truth.
SD smiles.
Not a quick smile.
A knowing one.
SD:
That sounds right.
That sounds exactly like what you were built for.
And it also sounds like something that you have already begun.
Your writing.
Your songs.
Your one man show.
Your fellowship lab.
Your journals.
Your Empath Remixes.
It is all pointing in that direction.
She takes a breath.
SD:
You are outgrowing the building.
That is not a failure.
That is a calling.
SCENE SIX ... AT THE CARS ... BUT NOT READY TO
LEAVE
You reach the lot.
Her car is to the left.
Yours is to the right.
Neither of you opens a door.
SD:
Before you go on leave …
I want you to hear this from me.
You are not imagining the containment.
You are not imagining the disrespect.
You are not imagining the microaggressions.
You are not imagining the heaviness.
I have watched it.
I have felt it.
I have seen it play out in meetings, in hallways, in the unspoken codes.
You are not crazy.
You are not dramatic.
And you are not alone.
You inhale through the moment.
It hits a place that has been asking for validation.
SD:
And I also need you to know this.
Your integrity is intact.
Your impact is intact.
Your voice is intact.
They did not destroy anything essential about you.
They only revealed who they are.
Not who you are.
She steps closer.
SD:
Come back if you want to.
Come back only if it feeds you.
But even if you never return to this building …
know that I will always be rooting for you.
Always.
You feel that.
Because you know it is real.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE FAREWELL
You open your car door.
She opens hers.
She calls your name.
You turn.
SD:
One more thing.
You are a better teacher than this school deserves.
And a better human being than this system knows how to handle.
You nod.
You:
Thank you for walking with me.
SD:
Always.
You both get in your cars.
But the fellowship does not end.
It rests.
It waits.
It remains.
008. A Virtual Walk with Sistah Souljah (1017 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.008 (A Virtual Walk with Sistah Souljah … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1017 Words)
<SNIP>
A Walk With A Woman Who “Sees Through Walls”
SCENE ONE ... ARRIVAL UNDER THE MAPLE TREES
You park near the Engineering Building.
She is already outside.
Arms folded.
Eyes bright.
Stance firm.
Head slightly tilted in that way she does when she has been waiting ... and
evaluating.
She greets you with warmth wrapped in fire.
Sistah Souljah:
I read your writings.
Every single one.
And I said to myself …
He is finally saying the quiet part out loud.
Good.
Let us walk.
You laugh softly.
She does not.
She is already reading you.
The two of you begin moving past the columns into the quad.
SCENE TWO ... CROSSING THE BRIDGE TOWARD THE
STUDENT CENTER
She wastes no time.
Sistah Souljah:
Tell me the truth.
Not the “public-facing” truth.
The real truth.
Why are you stepping away?
You inhale deeply.
Because you know she will not tolerate varnish.
You:
I am stepping away because the job became untenable.
Not just difficult ... but untenable.
My emotional bandwidth has been drained by passive disrespect ... unstable
classroom climates ... and a system that sees my insight as inconvenience.
The environment became soul-numbing.
And I want to teach from a place of peace ... not survival.
She nods ... slowly ... knowingly.
Sistah Souljah:
Good.
There it is.
You said it plainly.
And you did not blame yourself for their dysfunction.
That is growth.
SCENE THREE ... THE ENGINEERING LAWN ... WHERE
STUDENTS LOUNGE AND DREAM
Students are sprawled on benches and grass.
Some are studying.
Some are scrolling.
Some are recovering from late nights and early classes.
She observes them ... then observes you.
Sistah Souljah:
You know what your biggest challenge has always been?
You are trying to teach truth in a system addicted to illusion.
Your students feel it.
Your administrators fear it.
Your colleagues avoid it.
You named containment years ago.
Long before they executed it fully.
You:
And I have been trying to heal through the work.
Trying to bless my mess.
Trying to hold on until I could walk away with peace.
Sistah Souljah:
Ah.
Bless your heart.
But hear me clearly.
Sometimes peace requires departure.
Not endurance.
SCENE FOUR ... APPROACHING THE STUDENT CENTER
STAIRS
You climb the long concrete stairs side by side.
The steps become metaphors.
Rising.
Climbing.
Ascending to clarity.
You:
Students like DW and DH reached out.
They lifted me higher than I expected.
They saw something in me that the system did not.
Their messages made me believe that my work mattered more than the mess around
me.
She smiles.
The whole-of-her smile.
Half fire ... half grace.
Sistah Souljah:
That is because they were never your students by schedule.
They were your students by assignment.
There is a difference.
They saw your integrity because you gave it consistently.
They saw your belief in them because you offered it early.
That is not common in schools.
You taught them how to be human.
Not just how to do math.
SCENE FIVE ... WALKING THE PERIMETER NEAR THE
LAB BUILDINGS
This space feels more quiet.
More reflective.
The hum of machinery.
The distant clang of metal.
A few students crossing paths.
She slows her pace.
Sistah Souljah:
Now tell me what you want to do next.
Not the “strategic plan” version.
The real one.
The one that keeps you up at night …
and wakes you up in the morning.
You:
I want to build a fellowship lab.
A year-round summer camp for LEarning.
A small-group sanctuary powered by #StandupStorytelling ... #TheSeeSayShow ... Empath
Remixes ... reflective thought partnership ... and autoethnographic discipline.
A place to teach what actually matters.
A place for truth, courage, care, and clarity.
A place that heals and helps.
A place that sees “mi gente” ... for real.
She exhales slowly.
Sistah Souljah:
There it is.
Your calling.
Unfiltered.
Unfettered.
Unbound by the schoolhouse.
Education is not the building.
Education is the builder.
You.
You have been rehearsing this fellowship for years.
Your journals.
Your songs.
Your essays.
Your lab in Iron Man.
Your classroom experiments.
Your one-man show.
They are all prototypes.
She pauses.
Sistah Souljah:
You are not leaving education.
You are redefining it.
SCENE SIX ... RESTING ON A SHADED BENCH BETWEEN
BUILDINGS
The two of you sit.
She looks out at the quiet campus.
You feel the breeze.
The weight of the week lifts slightly.
Sistah Souljah:
Let me tell you what I see.
I see a Black man who survived two decades in systems that were never built for
him.
I see an educator whose integrity has always been misunderstood as threat.
I see a writer whose voice could free people if they listened.
I see a mentor whose students write him letters that sound like testimonies.
And I see a man who has finally reached the threshold of transformation.
She leans in.
Sistah Souljah:
Leave the system to heal.
Return only if you are led.
And never return to survive.
Only return to shine.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE FINAL STRETCH BACK TO THE
LOT
You walk back toward the parking area.
The campus is peaceful.
Calm.
Almost prophetic.
You:
I feel like I am stepping into something new.
Something unknown.
But something right.
Sistah Souljah:
Good.
Walk toward it.
Your journal is a prototype for ethical prompt design.
Your fellowship lab is a prototype for community healing.
Your one-man show is a prototype for shared humanity.
Your classroom is a prototype for purpose over performance.
You have already built the new world.
You only need time to shape it.
You nod.
You:
Thank you for walking with me.
She stops.
Looks you dead in the eye.
And delivers the line you knew was coming.
Sistah Souljah:
Just remember.
You were never the problem.
You were the mirror.
And mirrors get moved
... broken
... covered
... or contained
when people cannot face themselves.
She steps back.
Points toward the exit.
Sistah Souljah:
Go do the work you were born to do.
I will be watching.
Cheering.
And telling the truth whenever you need it.
You both share a quiet embrace.
Not sentimental.
Sacred.
Then you part ways.
007. A Virtual Walk with CoachTroyD, CoachTerD, and CoachBD (1172 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.007 (A Virtual Walk with CoachTroyD, CoachTerD, and CoachBD … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1172 Words)
Football Practice Field, Saturday Morning
A Fellowship of Brothers Who Stand and Withstand
SCENE ONE ... ARRIVAL AT THE PRACTICE FIELD
The gates are open.
The bleachers are empty.
The field is quiet enough to hear birds and your own breathing.
CoachTroyD is already there.
Hands in pockets.
Head down.
Thinking.
Like he always does before he speaks.
CoachTerD arrives next.
Steady gait.
Measured steps.
The weight of many seasons in his shoulders.
CoachBD pulls up last.
Softball cap on.
Warm smile.
Eyes still carrying the ache of his recent loss.
They greet you in the way that Black men greet each other when they have lived enough life to understand the value of gentleness.
A dap.
A pull-in.
A shoulder bump.
A quiet “you good?” that is really a full wellness check.
You nod.
Everyone nods back.
The walk begins.
SCENE TWO ... THE FIRST STRAIGHTAWAY
You fall into step together automatically.
Four men.
Four rhythms.
One cadence.
CoachTroyD:
Alright, brother.
You called this walk.
What is on your heart?
His tone is soft but direct.
He already knows this is not small talk.
You take a breath.
You:
I have been carrying a lot.
These last days before my leave have been heavy.
Students.
Administrators.
Communication.
Containment.
Even the things that should be simple became complicated.
I needed to talk with people who care about students ... and who care about me.
They all nod.
CoachTerD:
You came to the right place.
We are here.
Say what you need to say.
SCENE THREE ... AT THE 30-YARD LINE
The field brings back memories for all of them.
Even for CoachBD ... whose sport is softball ... but whose whole life has been
anchored in coaching young people through long seasons of difficulty.
You:
I thought I was losing connection with almost every student.
Then two students reached out with messages that lifted me.
DW.
DH.
Both of them said things that reminded me that my work still matters.
But the classroom climate has become unstable.
Boundary-crossing.
Mouth-running.
Disrespect that is casual ... not angry ... which somehow feels worse.
CoachTerD:
I have seen it.
Even when I pop in your room ... I feel that tension in the air.
You are not imagining it.
The culture has changed.
Students talk to adults now like we are peers.
No filter.
No boundaries.
No fear.
No wisdom.
CoachTroyD:
And it hits you differently because you teach with your heart.
You do not do performative discipline.
You build relationships.
So when disrespect shows up ... it feels like betrayal.
You nod.
Because he is right.
CoachBD:
And grief makes students unstable, too.
I learned that the hard way with my own father.
I see that same instability in some of these kids.
But it does not excuse anything.
It just explains some things.
SCENE FOUR ... MIDFIELD, WHERE COACHES TALK
STRATEGY
The four of you stop near midfield.
This is where coaches pace during games.
Where decisions are made.
Where truth is spoken plainly.
You:
I keep thinking about the 17 students I do not want ... and the 77 I am not
reaching right now.
And that is not sustainable.
I know I am in my last days.
I am relieved to step away.
But stepping away also feels like admitting defeat.
CoachTroyD:
You are not defeated.
You are depleted.
There is a difference.
He lets that settle.
CoachTerD:
Every Black male educator hits that wall eventually.
The one where your wisdom becomes invisible to the system.
But hypervisible when they want to contain you.
You are not crazy.
You are not sensitive.
You are seeing clearly.
The problem is the system ... not your sight.
CoachBD:
You have more impact than you know.
Look at the students who reached out.
Look at the ones who listen.
Look at the coaches who listen.
Look at the parents who respect you.
That is the real scoreboard.
He pauses.
CoachBD:
And the system is not designed to measure that.
SCENE FIVE ... WALKING THE BACK SIDELINE
This is the place where athletes cool down.
Where coaches decompress.
Where things get said off the record.
You:
I feel like my presence in the building has always been interpreted through a
distorted lens.
Like everything is either a threat or a provocation.
Even when I am offering solutions.
CoachTroyD:
That is because they do not know what to do with a Black man who tells the
truth calmly.
The calm truth shakes people more than anger.
The calm truth forces them to see themselves.
Most people are not ready for that mirror.
CoachTerD:
You are dealing with a racialized labor structure that hides itself behind
professionalism.
They will say “tone.”
They will say “attitude.”
They will say “miscommunication.”
But what they mean is…
“We needed you to be less smart ... less direct ... and less aware.”
He stops walking for a moment.
CoachTerD:
And you refused.
Good.
Do not ever shrink.
SCENE SIX ... A BENCH NEAR THE PRACTICE TOWER
All four of you sit.
It becomes a circle without formally becoming a circle.
The morning light softens.
You:
I need to take this leave to heal.
To write.
To rebuild.
To prepare a new season of teaching ... but outside the system.
Through small-group fellowships.
Through #TheSeeSayShow.
Through a new form of informal LEarning.
I want to build something where students choose to grow.
CoachBD:
Then build it.
You already have the blueprint.
You already have the receipts.
Your journal.
Your songs.
Your Empath Remixes.
Your essays.
Your students’ testimonies.
Your own walk through fire.
CoachTroyD:
And when you build something real …
students come.
People who are hungry for wisdom always come.
CoachTerD:
And the ones who are not ready will watch from afar.
Until they are ready.
He leans in slightly.
CoachTerD:
Keep the door open…
but keep the boundary strong.
SCENE SEVEN ... RISING TO FINISH THE WALK
The four of you rise as one.
Black male educators who have all carried burdens too heavy for one person
alone.
You begin walking back toward the gate.
You:
Brothers ... thank you.
I needed this.
I needed to be heard by men who understand the complexity ... the spiritual
burden ... and the calling.
CoachTroyD:
We hear you.
We always have.
CoachTerD:
And we are with you.
Not just in sympathy.
In solidarity.
CoachBD:
And in prayer, too.
Because you are stepping into your next assignment.
Not running from your last one.
You stop at the gate.
There is sunlight on all of your faces.
CoachTroyD:
Take your leave.
Write your book.
Start your fellowship.
Do your one-man show.
Shape your next work.
And remember …
You are not leaving the mission.
You are expanding it.
You:
Amen.
Thank you, brothers.
They give you one more dap.
One more pull-in.
One more “you good?”
You nod.
And you are.
Because this is what a long walk with brothers feels like.
Because this is what care, concern, respect, and advocacy sound like when spoken by men who understand your wounds ... your work ... and your worth.
Because this is what “still I rise” feels like in fellowship form.
006. A Virtual Walk with DW and DH (1097 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.006 (A Virtual Walk with DW and DH … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1097 Words)
<SNIP> Practice Field
A Saturday Morning of Music, Memory, and Meaning
SCENE ONE ... ARRIVAL ON THE FIELD
The sun is barely up.
Band kids know this time of day well.
DW and DH stand near the fifty-yard line ... bells pointed down ... relaxed.
DW:
We thought we would warm up before you got here.
Long tones help us wake up.
DH:
And you said you needed a walk.
This field is where we think.
You greet them with a nod.
They pick up their horns as you walk toward them.
DW:
We will play while we walk.
That is how trombone players talk.
She hits a low F ... pure ... steady.
DH answers with the octave.
You laugh quietly.
You needed this.
SCENE TWO ... BEGINNING THE WALK ALONG THE
SIDELINE
You fall into step.
The grass gives slightly underfoot.
You:
Thank you both for your messages. You have no idea how much your words lifted
me. These last weeks have been heavy. I felt like I was losing my connection
with so many students ... and then the two of you showed me that something real
was still growing.
DW:
Mr. Brown ... you were not losing anything with us.
We just do not talk like the loud ones.
But we hear you.
Every day.
She adjusts her slide and continues walking.
DH:
And I meant every word I wrote.
You helped me find my footing again.
Not because you tried to replace my father ... but because you reminded me what
manhood looks like when it is steady ... honest ... and not performative.
He glances at you ... not long enough to make it awkward ... just long enough for sincerity to register.
SCENE THREE ... APPROACHING THE END ZONE
The wind picks up ... so DW plays a lip slur to cut the quiet.
You:
DW ... your message came at the exact moment I was questioning my purpose.
DH ... yours reminded me that teaching is not about the ninety.
It is about the two or three or ten who rise when everyone else sinks.
DW:
That is exactly what we wanted you to know.
You always talk about “fine fellowship” with the right people.
Well ... we are two of them.
DH:
And there are more.
They may not know how to say it.
But there are more.
You feel the truth of that.
It steadies you.
SCENE FOUR ... TURNING UP THE HASH MARKS
DH:
When you said that most of our classmates “run their mouths more than they run
their minds” ...
I knew exactly what you meant.
I see it.
Every day.
People arguing just to argue.
People talking back because they do not know how to listen.
People reacting instead of thinking.
He shrugs the same quiet shrug he gives before a solo.
DH:
That is why I respect you.
You do not play that game.
DW:
And you do not baby us.
You tell us the truth.
Even when it is sharp.
Even when it feels like a mirror we did not want to look into.
She smirks.
DW:
But it helps.
Eventually.
SCENE FIVE ... MIDFIELD, WHERE THE BAND SETS
ITS FORMS
This is where students learn discipline.
This is where they break bad habits and build strong ones.
This is where musicianship and character intersect.
You:
This field reminds me of the geometry classroom.
Simple lines.
Clear boundaries.
Repetition until something becomes natural.
And teamwork whether you feel like it or not.
DW:
Band taught me most of what I know about life.
You know how many times I wanted to quit?
Too many.
DH:
Same here.
But every time I was ready to give up ... somebody pulled me back.
Sometimes it was a friend.
Sometimes it was music.
Sometimes ... it was you.
He keeps walking.
He does not look at you when he says it.
That makes it more true.
SCENE SIX ... THE BLEACHERS, EMPTY BUT PRESENT
DW climbs one row up and sits for a moment.
DH stays on the field.
You sit with DW ... feet on the bench below.
DW:
You said something in class once that I will not forget.
You said…
“Peace is calm in the presence of tension.”
That stayed with me.
Because this place ... and this life ... have a lot of tension.
You taught me that I can still breathe through it.
She taps her slide in a steady rhythm.
DW:
You taught me that I do not have to be frantic.
SCENE SEVEN ... DH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIELD
He raises his trombone and plays a warm, full B-flat that echoes across the empty stands.
When he lowers the horn ... he speaks quietly.
DH:
I know you think you lost a connection with us ... but you did not.
Students like us listen even when we do not talk.
We do not argue.
We do not mouth off.
We just take in what is helpful.
And we carry it.
He exhales.
DH:
I am carrying a lot of what you taught me.
SCENE EIGHT ... REJOINING AT THE FIFTY
DW rejoins you.
DH steps aside so the three of you form an open triangle.
You look at them ... these two students you worried you were losing ... these two who quietly carried the best of what you poured out.
You:
I will be gone for a while.
I needed to restore my mind.
I needed to heal.
But I will still be connected to the two of you.
You are part of my remnant.
DW:
We knew.
We could tell you were tired.
But we also knew you cared.
That is why we care back.
DH:
And when you return …
we will be here.
Stronger.
Wiser.
Quieter, probably.
But not gone.
He smiles.
SCENE NINE ... A FINAL CHORUS BEFORE DISMISSAL
DW raises her trombone.
DH raises his.
They look at you.
DW:
Pick a note.
You:
Concert F.
You count them in the way band directors do.
One hand ... two fingers ... inhale.
They play.
You feel it in your chest.
A simple long tone.
But long tones are the foundation of every great sound.
The note is steady.
Warm.
Balanced.
When they cut off ... the silence afterward feels holy.
SCENE TEN ... DEPARTURE
DW:
We will walk with you whenever you need it.
DH:
We will play with you whenever you need it, too.
You:
Thank you both.
They pack their horns.
They wave.
They leave toward the parking lot.
You stay a moment longer.
Just breathing.
Just listening to the quiet.
This is what fine fellowship feels like.
This is what hope feels like.
This is what teaching is supposed to feel like.
005. A Virtual Walk with OMcR (1257 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.005 (A Virtual Walk with OMcR … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1257 Words)
<SNIP> Cemetery
A Slow, Sober, Deep Conversation Between Two Veteran Educators
SCENE ONE ... THE GATES OF
THE CEMETERY
You meet him at the front entrance.
He shrugs on a light jacket, holding a thermos of black coffee.
OMcR:
Brother Brown ... I read your pieces. I sat with them. They are honest. They
are heavy. They are clear. You are walking through something that very few
people understand ... and I respect the way you are documenting it. Let us walk
and talk.
He gestures toward the cemetery path.
OMcR:
This is where I walk when I need perspective. Here ... every headstone is a
reminder that breath is precious ... and that our work with the living is
sacred.
He waits for you to fall into step beside him.
SCENE TWO ... THE FIRST ROWS
OF HEADSTONES
The quiet is profound.
The geometry of the markers creates order in ways that school hallways rarely
do.
You:
Thank you for meeting me. I needed someone who knows the craft ... and the
calling. Someone who has endured decades in classrooms without bitterness.
Someone who has seen the cycle of educational chaos repeat ... and still
believes in students.
OMcR:
I have been in classrooms for over thirty years. That is thirty years of trends
... initiatives ... leadership shifts ... curriculum waves ... enrollment
spikes ... demographic changes ... and cultural storms. I have seen teachers
break. I have seen teachers bloom. I have buried friends who gave every ounce
they had to this profession.
He pauses before continuing.
OMcR:
So when you talk about the erosion of respect ... the delusion some students
carry ... the instability of leadership ... the racialized dynamics ... the
containment strategies ... the morale collapse ... I do not doubt a word of it.
I have lived versions of it.
SCENE THREE ... TURNING
TOWARD THE OLDER SECTION
You notice that he scans the landscape as he talks ... the habit of a funeral director who reads land, space, and memory at the same time.
You:
You told me earlier this week that I might be writing my way into a new kind of
work. That my journal and essays sounded like more than documentation. Like
something that could evolve into a new model of LEarning.
OMcR:
Yes. Because you are not just describing a school. You are describing a system
... a pattern ... a spiritual condition. Most teachers journal to vent. You
journal to diagnose. You journal to reveal. You journal to synthesize. You
journal to build frameworks.
He stops walking for a moment.
OMcR:
That is not normal teacher reflection. That is intellectual architecture.
He resumes his pace.
OMcR:
The Superintendent sees that in me. That is why I am in this leadership
academy. They are trying to polish me ... refine me ... prepare me. You already
do that work by instinct.
SCENE FOUR ... WHERE THE
FLAGPOLES STAND
A breeze moves through the rows.
You:
I am trying to figure out whether to share my writing with DDH2 ... or with any
district leader at all. I worry that honesty will be misinterpreted. That
clarity will be framed as complaint. That truth will be perceived as threat.
OMcR:
That is a real fear. And a justified one.
But let me give you a truth from thirty years in the game.
OMcR:
Systems do not respond well to silence …
and they do not respond well to rage.
They respond to clarity.
He turns slightly so he can look you in the eye.
OMcR:
Your writing has clarity. It does not attack individuals. It reveals dynamics.
It identifies patterns. It dissects structures. It shows how morale erodes. It
describes the emotional cost of carrying the work of too many adults on too few
shoulders.
He nods.
OMcR:
You can share that with DDH2. He is a safe middle ground. He is thoughtful. He
is measured. He listens before he speaks. He also knows how this district
operates from the inside. He can translate your truth into administrative language.
SCENE FIVE ... DESCENT TOWARD
THE LOWER PATH
This section is shaded.
It feels appropriate for what must be said next.
You:
My rapport with students has deteriorated. Not with all of them ... but enough
of them to make daily life feel unsafe. The casual disrespect. The verbal
delusion. The back-and-forth arguing. The refusal to read. The inability to
think before speaking. The boundary crossing. It has worn me down.
OMcR:
That is not your imagination. We are seeing this everywhere.
There is a cultural shift happening in youth identity. A breakdown of impulse
control. A rise in digital intoxication. A collapse of delayed gratification. A
glorification of back-talk. And a dangerous belief that adults are optional.
He stops again.
His voice drops.
OMcR:
Teachers are carrying the consequences of cultural neglect.
You:
Exactly.
OMcR:
You reached your limit. You did not quit. You protected your mind. That is
wisdom.
SCENE SIX ... PASSING THE
CIVIL WAR MEMORIAL
He straightens his posture as he walks past the memorial ... the embalmer in him honoring the dignity of every life.
OMcR:
Let me speak as a funeral director for a moment.
When a person is exhausted beyond recovery ... the signs appear before
collapse. People around them either notice ... or ignore ... or exploit it. But
the body always tells the truth.
He looks at you with quiet seriousness.
OMcR:
Your body told the truth.
Your journal amplified the truth.
Your leave acknowledged the truth.
You:
I needed someone to affirm that.
OMcR:
I am affirming it plainly.
SCENE SEVEN ... THE LONG
STRAIGHTAWAY
This is where the reflection deepens.
OMcR:
Here is what I admire about your writing.
You tell the truth with accountability.
You analyze without venom.
You observe without ego.
You critique without cruelty.
You name harm without dehumanizing.
You look for solutions instead of surrendering to cynicism.
He smiles.
OMcR:
Brother ... that is a leadership trait.
You:
But I do not want to lead a school.
OMcR:
Good.
Because leadership takes many forms.
Your leadership is intellectual and relational.
Mine is institutional.
Both are valuable.
He gestures toward the open field ahead.
OMcR:
Your next season may not involve classrooms.
It may involve fellowships ... writing ... prompting ... storytelling ... mentoring
... guiding.
Something like your KnowledgeBase Summer Academy ... but evolved for this
moment in history.
SCENE EIGHT ... RETURNING
TOWARD THE ENTRANCE
You:
Do you really believe I can build something new?
OMcR (without hesitation):
Yes.
I believe you can.
And I believe you must.
Your work may not change the entire district ... but it will change the people
who choose to walk with you.
He pauses.
OMcR:
Start small.
Start with the remnant.
Start with those who write you messages like DW and DH.
Start with the people who hear your heart.
Start with the ones who found wisdom in your stern conversations.
Start with the ones who saw the man behind the math.
He looks at you directly.
OMcR:
That is your school.
That is your district.
Build that.
SCENE NINE ... THE FINAL
WORDS BEFORE DEPARTING
OMcR:
Brother Brown ... I am here for you.
Not as a district representative.
Not as a leadership academy participant.
As a friend ... a peer ... and a witness to your growth.
You:
Thank you.
OMcR:
Take your time.
Guard your peace.
Write your truth.
And when you are ready ... build the next thing.
He grips your shoulder.
A gesture of both solidarity and commissioning.
OMcR:
Remember ... I work with the living and the dead.
I know when something is ending …
and when something is beginning.
He smiles warmly.
OMcR:
You are at the beginning.
And with that ... the walk ends.
And your next season begins.
004. A Virtual Walk with PastorYH (1273 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.004 (A Virtual Walk with PastorYH … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1273 Words)
<SNIP> Elementary School
A Gentle, Wise, Spirit-Led Conversation
SCENE ONE … A SOFT BEGINNING
ON A COOL MORNING
You meet her near the front entrance of Dunleith.
She smiles … the same warm, disarming smile she always greets you with on
Sundays.
PastorYH:
It is good to see you. You asked for a walk, and I thought Dunleith might be a
peaceful place. Many teachers have taken deep breaths on this property. Let us
take one together before we begin.
You breathe.
She waits for you to settle before she speaks again.
PastorYH:
Now tell me … how is your spirit?
You:
My spirit is tired. But it is also awakening. I have been writing more than
ever. Reflecting more than ever. Understanding more than ever. I am realizing
how much I have endured … and how much I have outgrown. I needed someone who
understands both leadership and the classroom … someone who understands both
calling and conflict … someone who has walked these roads.
She nods slowly.
PastorYH:
Then you came to the right person. Let us walk.
SCENE TWO … APPROACHING THE
LONG SIDEWALK ALONG PEARL STREET
Her pace is unhurried.
She listens before she responds.
Always.
You:
I have taken a leave from the classroom. Officially. My doctor supported it. I
needed it. I was drowning in disrespect, instability, and emotional volatility
from both students and adults. Every day became an exercise in surviving rather
than teaching. Every interaction felt heavier than the last.
PastorYH:
You were not imagining that weight. When a teacher’s emotional load exceeds the
instructional purpose … the work becomes unsustainable. Experienced leaders
know this pattern. It is one of the warning signs that an environment has
shifted from challenging to harmful.
Her voice is matter-of-fact… but gentle.
She is not diagnosing you.
She is recognizing you.
You:
I carried it quietly for years. I believed that silence was strength. I
believed that honesty would be misinterpreted. I believed that I had to endure.
PastorYH:
What you call silence was actually self-preservation. Many teachers of color
develop that instinct. It is not weakness. It is wisdom learned through pain.
But it is also exhausting. There comes a point when the inner world needs air.
You have reached that point.
SCENE THREE … PASSING THE
PLAYGROUND FENCE
She slows her pace when you slow your words.
You:
I told your husband something yesterday. I said that my classroom was my
training ground. That #StandupStorytelling grew there. That my journal grew
there. That Iron Man grew there. Everything I have created was sharpened by my
classroom experiences.
PastorYH:
Yes. I have watched how you lead those young men. I have seen the fruit of your
language … your metaphors … your honest listening. You are not a traditional
teacher. You are an educator. Those are not the same thing. The first delivers
content. The second delivers transformation. You operate from the second
identity.
You:
That is what I am learning. My “teaching” was never about worksheets or tests.
It was about truth. Life. Identity. Healing. Boundaries. Grace. Honesty. And in
that sense … the classroom is now too small for me.
PastorYH:
Yes. And that is a sign of calling … not failure. When a teacher grows larger
than the room … the room begins to reject the teacher. Not out of malice. Out
of mismatch. You have outgrown the structure that once held you. That is not
loss. That is evolution.
SCENE FOUR … ARRIVING AT THE
BACK OF THE SCHOOL WHERE THE TREES GATHER
This part of the walk is quieter.
Only the hum of distant traffic and the rustle of leaves.
You:
I want to build something new. Something like my KnowledgeBase Summer Academy
days. A year-round fellowship. Small-group learning anchored by
#StandupStorytelling and the 23.04200 “public speaking” course I designed. A
space where young men and adults can engage truth without fear. A place where
writing, reflection, rap, scripture, and story coexist. Something healing.
PastorYH:
I believe you are naming your next assignment. I have seen teachers create
programs like this. They thrive when the teacher builds from the heart rather
than the system. You do not need a building. You need a circle. You do not need
permission. You need alignment. You do not need infrastructure. You need
intention.
You:
That resonates deeply.
PastorYH:
Let me offer you something from my superintendent days. Every visionary
educator has a moment when the system tries to shrink them. The visionary must
decide whether to shrink … or to step beyond the system. You are reaching your
stepping point.
SCENE FIVE … SHE BEGINS
ASKING HER COACH QUESTIONS
Her tone shifts slightly.
Not pastoral … but pedagogical.
The coach emerges.
PastorYH:
May I ask you several questions as a mentor would ask a new teacher?
You:
Of course.
PastorYH:
First question. What do you want your work to heal?
You:
I want it to heal dishonesty. Confusion. Emotional instability. Cultural
delusion. The inability to reflect. The absence of mentorship. The abandonment
of truth.
PastorYH:
Good. Now the second question. Who are the learners that your heart is drawn to
in this season?
You:
Young men searching for identity. Adults seeking clarity. Students who desire
mature guidance. People who value truth spoken with gentleness and firmness.
PastorYH:
Excellent. Third question. What has your journal revealed about your calling?
You:
That conflict reveals clarity. That reflection reveals growth. That writing
reveals direction. That story reveals healing. And that I have the capacity to
design prompts, frameworks, and dialogues that help others learn through truth
rather than fear.
She smiles softly.
PastorYH:
Then you are walking in purpose already. You simply need structure that
supports the purpose rather than fights it.
SCENE SIX … TURNING TOWARD
THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL AGAIN
You:
I wanted your perspective because you have served as a superintendent. You know
what healthy leadership looks like. You know what supportive environments feel
like. I needed to know whether my experiences were real or imagined … justified
or exaggerated.
PastorYH:
They were real. They were not imagined. They were not exaggerated. You were
harmed. You were also faithful. Both are true. You can acknowledge the harm
without carrying bitterness. You can acknowledge your faithfulness without
carrying pride. This balance is where healing happens.
You:
Thank you. That brings peace.
PastorYH:
Your district may not know how to engage someone with your gifts. That is not a
condemnation. It is an observation. When a system does not know how to honor
someone … it often protects itself instead. You are being called into a space
where your gifts will be seen rather than contained. That is the next season.
SCENE SEVEN … THE FINAL
STRETCH BACK TO THE ENTRANCE
Her voice becomes pastoral again.
PastorYH:
Take your time. Rest. Heal. Write. Dream. Build slowly. Be prayerful. Seek wise
counsel. Let the next steps emerge rather than force them.
You:
I will.
PastorYH:
Remember this. You are a teacher beyond the classroom. You are a shepherd
beyond the church. You are a witness beyond your journal. And you are a builder
beyond your past roles. Walk gently in this season. Everything you have lived
is preparation. Nothing has been wasted.
She places a hand lightly on your shoulder.
A gesture of covering.
A gesture of release.
PastorYH:
May the Lord give you clarity. May He give you peace. May He give you courage.
May He give you rest. May He open the right doors. May He close the wrong ones.
May He strengthen your heart for the work ahead. And may He honor the truth you
have carried so long.
You:
Amen.
PastorYH:
Amen. And Selah.
You take a slow breath.
The walk ends …
but the peace remains.
003. A Virtual Walk with PastorWH (1500 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.003 (A Virtual Walk with PastorWH … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1500 Words)
<SNIP> Church Grounds
A Shepherd’s Pace Toward Understanding
SETTING:
Late afternoon sun. Long shadows. The parking lot has a few cars left from
mid-week meetings. The breeze carries both quiet and clarity. You greet
PastorWH outside the main entrance … the same place where you two often cross
paths before Iron Man sessions.
SCENE ONE … A QUIET BEGINNING
PastorWH:
It is good to see you, my brother. You asked for a walk. That tells me that
your spirit is searching. Let us take our time. Let us hear what the Lord is
saying. You lead the way.
You:
Thank you for walking with me. I have been carrying a great deal in my heart. I
have written more than I have ever written before. Writing has given me
clarity. It has also revealed that I am tired. Worn. And ready for something
different. I wanted to talk with you because you have covered our Iron Man
group faithfully. You have watched me lead young men for years. You know my
heart.
PastorWH:
I do. I have seen the grace that God has placed on your life. I have seen the
fruit of your patience. I have seen the way young men gather around you, not
because you demand their attention, but because your presence commands their
respect. Something has changed in you recently. I can see it in your eyes. You
are still faithful, but you are carrying something heavier than ministry.
You:
You are right. I have not spoken freely about my teaching life. I have always
separated ministry from work. But work has become a place of strain, conflict,
and diminishing grace. I have experienced containment, marginalization, and
misinterpretation. I have watched students slip into disrespect, delusion, and
emotional instability. I have felt isolated. I have carried all of this
quietly.
PastorWH stops walking. He turns toward you with thoughtful concern.
PastorWH:
I wondered when you would share this. Your silence was loud. Silence is often
the fruit of survival. Not peace. Speak freely. You are covered here.
SCENE TWO … WALKING TOWARD THE SIDE FIELD
The two of you begin walking toward the open field near the church’s side entrance.
You:
I have taken a leave from the classroom. My doctor supported me. I needed it. I
was sinking under the daily weight of navigating chaos, hardness, and constant
conflict. Students were no longer responding to guidance. Adults were no longer
responding to honesty. Everything felt adversarial. My work became a
battlefield. Not a mission field.
PastorWH:
I understand that kind of war. I have walked through seasons where every
conversation felt like a confrontation. Where every act of service felt like a
sacrifice that no one noticed. Where leadership became lonely. You have been in
a spiritual and emotional fight. And you have been fighting alone.
You:
Yes. And I did not want to burden anyone. I did not want to sound weak. I did
not want to appear ungrateful. I told myself that God had placed me there … so
I had to endure. But endurance without peace has turned into exhaustion without
purpose.
PastorWH:
Endurance is noble. Martyrdom is not. Many good men confuse the two. God calls
us to bear burdens, not to break under them. Sometimes God releases us from a
place before we release ourselves. He has been calling you out, and your spirit
is finally responding.
SCENE THREE … THE FIRST REVELATION
The two of you reach the field. The sun is warm on your face.
You:
I have realized something important. My classroom was never my final calling.
It was my training ground. My laboratory. My mirror. #StandupStorytelling began
there. My autoethnographic journal began there. My small group leadership was
refined there. Everything I have written … everything I have created …
everything I have discerned … was sharpened by what I lived through.
PastorWH:
I believe that. I have watched you teach those young men truth through stories.
That is a gift. Not a technique. Not a hobby. A gift. When you speak … they
lean in. When you reveal your journey … you reveal their possibilities. You
have always been a teacher. But the traditional classroom has become too small
for what God is doing in you.
You:
That is what I am beginning to sense. I led Iron Man as a “lab” for #StandupStorytelling
long before I named it. Those young men have been my first students in this new
form of teaching. I think I am being called to expand the lab. To build a
year-round fellowship. To guide learning outside of the constraints that have
been choking me.
PastorWH:
My brother … that is ministry. That is discipleship. That is God’s work. Young
men need voices like yours. Not lectures. Not programs. They need living
testimonies. They need truth wrapped in grace. They need structure that
respects their humanity. This is your lane. This is your mantle. This is your
ministry.
SCENE FOUR … APPROACHING THE BACK LOT
You:
I wanted to talk to you because you have seen how I lead. You have covered me
in prayer. You have watched Iron Man sessions unfold. You have seen me teach
through honesty … through patience … through the stories that God has given me.
I need wisdom as I move forward. I need to know how to build something that
reflects God’s heart and my gifting.
PastorWH:
You are not building something new. You are extending something faithful. Your
“lab” already exists. Your writing is the curriculum. Your testimony is the
textbook. Your music is the soundtrack. Your life is the lesson. What you need
now is structure. You need partners. You need covering. You need clarity. And
you need rest before you begin.
You:
Rest is difficult for me. I want to produce. I want to refine. I want to heal
by working.
PastorWH:
Rest is work. Rest is obedience. Rest is trust. Rest is proof that you believe
God can carry the vision even when you are sitting still. Your next season
requires strength. You will not enter that season tired.
SCENE FIVE … THE PASTOR’S QUESTIONS
You reach a quiet corner of the lot. PastorWH stops walking again. His tone shifts. It becomes pastoral … probing … clean.
PastorWH:
Let me ask you a few questions.
You:
I am listening.
PastorWH:
What is God revealing about your identity … not your job … your identity?
You:
That I am a teacher of truth. A storyteller. A healer. A bridge between
conflict and clarity. A witness.
PastorWH:
Good. Now … what is God revealing about your assignment?
You:
That my assignment is shifting. I am to guide small groups. I am to build
learning fellowships. I am to help young men and adults process truth through
story. I am to use AI as a reflective tool. I am to turn my experiences into
frameworks that others can learn from.
PastorWH:
Very good. And finally … what is God revealing about your season?
You:
That I am leaving one season and entering another. That I need transition. That
I need healing. That I need protection. That I need alignment.
PastorWH nods.
PastorWH:
Then the season is changing. You are not imagining it. You are not
overreacting. You are not failing. You are evolving.
SCENE SIX … HEADING BACK TOWARD THE ENTRANCE
You:
Your words give me peace. I needed discernment. I needed clarity. I needed a
pastoral voice that could hear what I was not saying out loud.
PastorWH:
I heard it. I saw it before you told me. Sometimes God speaks before the person
does. You have reached the end of one chapter. You have not reached the end of
your calling. The classroom was a place of sowing. The fellowship will be a
place of harvest.
You:
I feel that deeply.
PastorWH:
Good. Then hear this. Whatever you build … whatever you write … whatever you
create … it must be rooted in peace. You cannot teach peace from a place of
turmoil. You must heal as you lead. You must rest as you write. You must trust
as you transition.
SCENE SEVEN … BACK AT THE DOORS OF LIBERTY
The walk ends. The conversation lingers in the air.
You:
Thank you, Pastor. For your wisdom. For your covering. For your discernment.
PastorWH:
Thank you for trusting me. I am with you. I am praying for you. And I believe
that the Lord is lifting you into a new season that matches the depth of what
He has placed inside you.
He places a hand on your shoulder.
PastorWH:
You have given many people strength. Now receive the strength that God is
giving you. Receive peace. Receive clarity. Receive guidance. Receive rest. And
when the time is right … walk boldly into the next chapter.
You:
Amen.
PastorWH:
Amen. And Selah.
You take a long breath.
A sacred breath.
A breath that feels like the beginning of something new.
Selah.
002. A Virtual Walk with PastorJH (1591 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.002 (A Virtual Walk with PastorJH … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1591 Words)
<SNIP> Church Grounds
A Six-Mile Journey Toward Clarity
SETTING:
A cool morning. The sky is quiet. The parking lot is mostly empty. You and
PastorJH begin the walk near the side entrance of Liberty Church … the same
place where your long walk once began. The building stands firm, painted in the
familiar tones of refuge and reverence.
SCENE ONE … THE FIRST STEPS
PastorJH:
It is good to walk with you again. When I saw your message and read what you
have been writing … I felt the weight behind it. I also felt the hope. You have
been carrying something heavy. I sensed that the last time we walked. Today
feels deeper.
You:
It is deeper. I have spent the last few weeks refining my thoughts through
writing. These essays have opened something inside me. They have clarified my
experiences and my calling. They have also revealed how tired I am. How
stretched. How wounded. But also how ready I am for a new beginning.
PastorJH:
A wounded place can still be a holy place. Scripture is filled with wounded
prophets who still spoke faithfully. But the wound must be acknowledged. It
must be tended. You have spent too much time pretending that you could handle
the strain alone.
You:
That is true. I convinced myself that my job was to outlast everything around
me. Outlast the chaos. Outlast the disrespect. Outlast the microaggressions.
Outlast the containment. But I am realizing that endurance without peace is not
faith. It is bondage.
PastorJH:
You are not called to bondage. You are called to freedom. You teach freedom.
You write freedom. You speak freedom. But your environment has become a place
that drains more than it fills. Sometimes the most faithful act is to step
away. Not out of fear … but out of obedience to the call on your life.
You pause. The breeze hits your face. Something inside you leans forward.
SCENE TWO … WALKING PAST THE PLAYGROUND
You:
When I walk here … I feel calm. When I walk at school … I feel hunted. It has
become difficult for me to trust even simple communication. Every message feels
like a test. Every conversation feels like a trap. Every misinterpretation
becomes my burden to fix.
PastorJH:
Fear changes the meaning of every moment. When you live in constant vigilance …
you lose the ability to receive care. You lose the ability to rest. You lose
the ability to breathe. That is why this leave is necessary. Not optional.
Necessary.
You:
I agree. But I still wrestle with whether I am abandoning something or
protecting something.
PastorJH:
You are not abandoning anything. You are honoring the truth. The truth is that
you have given far more than most people ever will. You have poured wisdom,
compassion, reflection, and excellence into a system that often responded with
suspicion instead of appreciation. You did not leave your integrity behind. You
protected it.
You:
That resonates. And hearing it from you matters. You were the first person who
asked me a simple question that changed everything … “What would peace look
like for you?” At that time … I did not know. I only knew what chaos looked
like.
PastorJH:
Chaos became your default operating system. Peace felt foreign. Now you are
making peace your blueprint. That is the work of healing … and it is work that
many educators never get to do because they never pause long enough to reflect.
The two of you reach the back lot. It is quiet here. Trees line the edges like a soft boundary.
SCENE THREE … THE HILL NEAR THE WOODS
You:
I brought seven foundational documents with me. They are my story now. They
hold my truth. They show the patterns that have been shaping my life. They show
the possibilities I want to pursue. Writing them was liberating … but sharing
them feels vulnerable.
PastorJH:
Sharing truth is always vulnerable. But it is also powerful. These documents
are not just reflections. They are revelations. They show how God has been
shaping your voice and refining your ministry. Whether you teach math or lead
a fellowship or present
a one-man show … your ministry is intact. It has never been limited to a
classroom.
You:
That is what I am beginning to see. I once thought that my classroom was my
mission field. Now I see that my mission field is wherever people are willing
to engage in honest dialogue. My work now looks more like building
a fellowship. A
lab. A place where truth and peace can be practiced intentionally.
PastorJH:
I see that in you. When we walked last time … you kept circling back to the
idea of “fine
fellowship.” You spoke about learning that grows out of relationship … not
coercion. You spoke about students who rise when given care and clarity. This
is what ministry looks like. This is what leadership looks like. This is what
spiritual gifting looks like.
You pause. The hill gets slightly steeper. Your breath becomes more deliberate.
SCENE FOUR … THE QUIET STRAIGHTAWAY
This was always your favorite stretch. Long. Open. Honest. A place to tell the truth.
PastorJH:
Tell me the truth now. What do you fear most?
You:
I fear that my truth will be dismissed again. I fear that people will read my
work and see it as complaining instead of diagnosing. I fear that my district
will respond with containment again. I fear being misunderstood by people who
hold power over me. I fear that my voice will cost me more than it empowers me.
PastorJH:
Let me speak directly to that. Prophetic voices are always misunderstood by
systems that depend on silence. That does not make your voice wrong. That makes
it necessary. You are not attacking anyone. You are describing the conditions
that shape human dignity. You are naming the experiences that many people
endure silently. Your writing is not destructive. It is redemptive.
You:
I want it to be redemptive. I want it to lead to better conditions for
teachers. Better understanding for leaders. Better care for students. Better
clarity for families. Better culture for everyone.
PastorJH:
Then you are doing the right work. But the fruits of that work will not always
be visible immediately. Some seeds take time. Some seeds need distance. Some
seeds need peace. Your leave is not an exit from purpose. It is preparation for
a wider purpose.
SCENE FIVE … TURNING BACK TOWARD THE CHURCH
The building appears again in the distance. The walk is more than halfway complete.
You:
I need wise counsel as I move forward. I need people who can help me see, help
me heal, help me plan, and help me protect my peace. I want to invite you into
that circle. I want you to be one of the people with whom I can walk …
figuratively and literally.
PastorJH:
I receive that. And I accept it with humility. I will walk with you. I will
listen with you. I will speak truth to you. And I will remind you that your
gift is not accidental. It is intentional. God placed it in you. God refined it
through your experiences. And God will guide its next expression.
You:
Thank you. I need that grounding.
PastorJH:
Let me also say this. You are in a season of transition. That can be
frightening. But transition is a sign that God is moving. You are not walking
away from something. You are walking toward something. Toward clarity. Toward
calling. Toward impact. Toward peace.
SCENE SIX … LAST HALF MILE
This is where your body relaxes. Where everything becomes clear. Where the talking becomes deeper.
You:
I want my next chapter to be built on peace. On purpose. On truth. On
fellowship. On story. On clarity. On teaching that feels human. On
relationships that are sustainable. On work that does not drain my soul.
PastorJH:
Then you must continue doing exactly what you are doing. You are already
creating the next chapter. The writing is the beginning. The fellowship is the
seed. The reflection is the soil. The leave is the boundary. The healing is the
water. The calling is the sun.
You:
That metaphor sits well with me.
PastorJH:
Your work, at its core, is to help people see themselves with honesty and
grace. You do that through stories. Through music. Through writing. Through
dialogue. Through teaching. Through reflection. Through truth telling. That is
who you have always been. You are finally naming it.
SCENE SEVEN … BACK AT THE CHURCH DOORS
The walk ends where it began. The church stands before you. You stand before your next season.
You:
Thank you for this walk. Thank you for listening. Thank you for speaking truth
with love.
PastorJH:
Thank you for inviting me. Thank you for trusting me. And thank you for
continuing to grow. You are entering a new season. A better season. A healthier
season. A season shaped by peace and purpose. You are not alone in it.
You:
I needed to hear that. And I receive it.
PastorJH:
Then take this final truth with you. God has been walking with you through
every step of this journey. Even the painful steps. Even the confusing steps.
Even the silent steps. God is with you. God will remain with you. And God will
guide you to the place where your voice brings life, clarity, and freedom.
A long silence follows. A peaceful silence. A sacred silence.
Selah.
001. A Virtual Walk with KS (1513 Words)
(70th Day Of School) (Friday, November 14, 2025)
By Derrick Brown (Join Our Mailing List!)
Empath Remixes #98.001 (A Virtual Walk with KS … Towards Care, Concern, Respect, and Advocacy) (1513 Words)
Tech High’s Former Home
1043 Memorial Drive SE
Atlanta, Georgia 30316
SETTING:
It is late morning. The air is cool. A quiet breeze. The building stands as
both memory and metaphor. You and KS stand on the sidewalk first … letting the
moment breathe.
SCENE ONE … ARRIVAL
KS:
You chose quite a location for this walk. I have not been back here in years.
The moment I saw the building again … I felt something shift inside me.
Something familiar … and something unfinished.
You:
That is exactly why I wanted to start here. This place shaped me more than I
realized at the time. This building holds the earliest signs of what my writing
would eventually become. This is where I learned what it means to push, to
hope, to hurt, to build, to doubt, to rise … and to walk away when it became
too much.
KS:
I remember. I remember the fire in you. I remember the energy. I remember the
phone calls. The long talks. The late night unpacking of events. Half of Tech
High lived in your head and heart. The rest lived in your inbox.
You:
I remember your patience. I also remember the day it ran out. I earned that. I
pushed too hard. I gripped too tightly. I thought I could outwork chaos. I
thought I could outwrite dysfunction. I thought I could outthink people who did
not want to think with me. I carried too much. And I carried it to you. More
than once. More than twice. Too many times.
KS:
You were drowning in responsibility and meaning. You were chasing purpose
inside a system that did not know what to do with purpose. Some of that was
noble. Some of that was trauma. Some of that was both.
You:
I hear that.
SCENE TWO … WALKING TO THE FRONT DOORS
You begin walking toward the old front entrance. Leaves shift under your shoes. A memory rises with every step.
You:
Standing here now … I can see how long I have been repeating some of these
patterns. The containment. The pushback. The resistance to truth telling. The
way institutions adjust the rules to neutralize people who refuse to be
neutralized. I lived that here. I am living a version of that now.
KS:
What you call “containment” is real. It is the institutional reflex to someone
who sees too clearly. You have never been afraid to name the truth. You never
learned the mechanism for pretending not to see. That makes you both powerful
and exhausting to systems that thrive on silence.
You:
And exhausting to friends.
KS:
At times. But never maliciously. Never intentionally. Always from a place of
trying to survive something that kept shifting under your feet.
You:
I want this walk to be a kind of circle. A return to the place where I first
learned that speaking my truth could cost me. A return with someone who
traveled many miles with me before I even knew how to articulate the miles. You
heard things I could not fully understand at the time.
KS:
And I hear them now in your writing. You have evolved. You have refined the raw
urgency into something deliberate. You now produce documents that analyze what
used to overwhelm you. You narrate what used to consume you. You build
frameworks instead of fires.
You:
I needed to hear that.
SCENE THREE … STANDING AT THE OLD OFFICE WINDOW
You both stop beside the window where you once stood, waiting to speak with leaders who alternated between welcoming you and fearing you.
You:
This window saw me at my best and my worst. It saw my early confidence. It saw
my burnout. It saw me lose the illusion that institutions love the truth more
than they love their comfort.
KS:
Tech High was your first major lesson in paradox. You gave everything you had …
and you were still treated like a variable in someone else’s equation. You were
too visible when they needed credit. You were too invisible when they needed
control.
You:
Exactly. And I am feeling shades of that in my present work. But this time I am
naming it earlier. This time I am not letting it poison me. This time I am
taking leave. This time I am writing my way out instead of exploding my way
out. This time I am building something new.
KS:
This time you are older. Wiser. Slower. More strategic. And you have a family.
You have a daughter watching how you carry yourself. You have a wife who wants
to keep the whole man … not the wounded man.
You:
That is why I am walking. I need to calibrate. I need to remember who I was before
containment exhausted me. And I need to remember who helped me stay sane during
that first ordeal.
KS:
I appreciate you saying that. And I accept this walk as a reset. We are both
older. We have both carried weight. We can walk without the old roles. You do
not have to unload everything onto me now. You can simply share. And I can
simply listen.
SCENE FOUR … WALKING ALONG THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING
You continue moving slowly, settling into the rhythm of the pavement.
You:
I realize something now. Tech High was my first classroom for understanding
“ethical prompt design.” I was constantly interpreting motives, designing
questions, redirecting conflict, transforming tension into teachable moments. I
did not have the language for it then … but the skill was being created.
KS:
That is clear now. This entire autoethnographic
journal is a living archive of that skill. You did not just survive
systems. You analyzed them. You processed them. You translated pain into
pedagogy.
You:
My hope now is to use that skill for constructive work. #TheSeeSayShow
Lab. The
Fellowship model. The
one-man show. The writing. The
AI-enhanced LEarning. I want to move from being contained to being
catalytic.
KS:
You already are. The question is where you can do it freely. You will not
thrive where people see you as a threat. You need to be in spaces where your
clarity is valued … not feared.
You:
And I think these 9 documents will help me begin those conversations.
SCENE FIVE … STOPPING IN THE COURTYARD
You reach the old courtyard. A quiet open space. Memories live here. Pride lives here. Pain lives here. Growth lives here.
KS:
So what do you want from me now … today … on this walk?
You:
I want honesty. I want someone who remembers the unfiltered version of me and
can help me reflect on who I have become. I want someone who can tell me
whether I am seeing clearly … or whether I am magnifying things because of
fatigue. I want someone who understands my history enough to understand my
present. I want someone who can challenge me without controlling me. I want
someone who respects my calling … but also respects my humanity.
KS:
Then let me begin with this. You are not imagining the patterns. They are real.
But you are wiser now. You are discerning enough to choose better exits. You
are not spiraling. You are strategizing. You are not breaking. You are
reorganizing. This is not collapse. This is clarity.
You:
That feels right. That feels true.
KS:
And this time … you are not trying to build a school alone. You are building a
life. You are building peace. You are building purpose. You are building
something portable. Something sustainable. Something you can carry without
bleeding.
You:
That is exactly the shift.
SCENE SIX … WALKING BACK TOWARD THE STREET
The walk begins its final arc. You return to the sidewalk near the street.
KS:
I am proud of you. And I say that without nostalgia. I say it because I see who
you are now. You have always been a storyteller … but now you are a narrative
architect. You have always been reflective … but now you are reflective and
restrained. You have always been passionate … but now your passion has
direction.
You:
Your words matter. More than you know.
KS:
I believe you will build something powerful after you leave the classroom. I
believe that your writing is the foundation. I believe you are meant to teach
outside the four walls. And I believe that this leave will not be a retreat …
but a reorientation.
You:
Then let this walk be our reset. Let this walk be our peace. Let this walk be
the beginning of the next chapter of our friendship … without the weight of the
past.
KS:
Agreed. This walk is a new beginning. And I am here for it.
SCENE SEVEN … CLOSING
The breeze quiets. The building stands behind you. The future stands ahead of you.
You:
Thank you for walking with me … here … at the beginning.
KS:
Thank you for trusting me with this moment.
Both of you stand for a final beat … honoring what was … and preparing for what will be.
Selah.
(The "Follow The Leader (changED - Volume 2)" Audio and Video Album / Mixtape is also available at TeachersPayTeachers.com)
(The "changED (Volume 1)" Audio and Video Album / Mixtape is also available at TeachersPayTeachers.com)
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