Lighting the Way: A Mentor’s Journey in Forgotten Neighborhoods

Lighting the Way: A Mentor’s Journey in Forgotten Neighborhoods

The first time I walked into the community center on Jefferson Street, I wasn’t sure what I was doing. The building looked like it hadn’t seen fresh paint since the 1980s, and the flickering light in the hallway buzzed with the kind of energy that makes you feel a little uneasy. I clutched my backpack tighter, hoping the kids wouldn’t see through me — a middle-class college student from across the city, thinking I could somehow “help.”

I didn’t know it then, but that small, hesitant step into the room would change the next five years of my life — and the lives of a few kids who had already learned that most people walked out of their world, not into it.

The First Connection

The first student I met was Marcus. He was 13, tall for his age, with sharp eyes and a mouth that didn’t open unless it had to. His file said he’d missed more than 40 days of school that year and was on probation for a minor theft charge. He didn’t say much during our first session. He sat with his hoodie up, arms crossed, giving me a look that said, What makes you different from the last guy?

Honestly, I didn’t know the answer. But I kept showing up.

Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, I was there. I helped with homework, I asked about his drawings, I listened when he talked — and when he didn’t. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to shift. Marcus started coming in even on days I wasn’t scheduled. He stayed after our sessions ended. He asked me one day, “Why you keep comin’ here, for real?”

I told him the truth. “Because I see something in you — and I think maybe you’re starting to see it too.”

He shrugged. But I saw it. A spark.

More Than Mentorship

Over time, the program grew. What started as me and a few college friends volunteering once a week turned into an organized mentoring initiative called “The LightHouse.” We partnered with the community center to recruit more mentors, trained local volunteers, and raised funds for new supplies, books, and snacks. But the most powerful part was never the resources — it was the relationships.

Kids like Tasha, who had bounced between three foster homes in two years, began writing poetry and performing it at open mic nights we hosted. DeShawn, a quiet teen who barely spoke above a whisper, began tutoring the younger kids in math. When asked why, he said, “Because someone helped me, so I’m helping now.”

It wasn’t easy. There were setbacks. One of the boys we mentored, Jamal, got into a fight outside the center and was arrested. Another, Aniyah, dropped out of school after her mom was hospitalized. But we didn’t give up on them — not then, not ever. We visited Jamal weekly at the juvenile center. We helped Aniyah get enrolled in an online program. We didn’t save them. They saved themselves. But we walked beside them, lit the way when it got too dark.

What They Gave Me

People often say, “You changed those kids’ lives.” But here’s the truth: they changed mine.

They taught me that consistency is love. That showing up — even when it's hard, even when you don’t have the perfect words — is the most powerful gift you can give. They taught me that resilience isn’t something you’re born with, it’s something you learn when you have no other choice. And most of all, they taught me that potential lives in every zip code — it just needs to be seen, nurtured, and believed in.

I remember Marcus’s graduation day. His grandmother hugged me and cried. “You didn’t just help my grandson,” she whispered. “You reminded this family what hope looks like.”

Marcus is now a youth mentor himself. He leads a group at the same community center, sitting in the chair I once did, listening to kids who remind him of himself. He told me recently, “You passed me the light. I’m just keeping it going.”

Moral of the Story

The story of mentoring youth in underserved communities isn’t just about helping others — it’s about transforming together. The power of mentorship lies not in solving problems, but in believing, showing up, and lighting the path where darkness has lived too long.

Moral: When you give your time and your heart, you don’t just change someone’s world — you expand your own. Real impact doesn’t require perfection. It only requires presence.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi