Seven years ago, a student lingered in my classroom after school. Seventeen and already shouldering an adult’s burdens — buying food for younger siblings, paying the electric bill — he’d made a choice he regretted. A crew of hustlers near his block had talked him into working as a lookout. They were neighborhood guys, and he was cool with them. He could’ve declined. So I said the obvious thing: “You won’t be able to help anyone if you’re locked up or worse.”
