Six decades ago, I moved to the Englewood neighborhood. I was raised there and lived most of my life there. I’ve worked there, got my GED there, raised four children there, started my ministry there. Today I’m a 61-year-old college student who’s a year away from earning a bachelor’s degree. That might surprise some people. But on the South Side, we’ve been surprising people for generations—turning “you can’t” into “watch me.”
It’s an afterthought of a neighborhood where boarded-up buildings outnumber new ones, where headlines mention gunfire but rarely much progress. I know the pain behind those stories—I lost both a son and a nephew to gun violence. That kind of loss doesn’t just hurt you: it changes you.
But even in my grief, I saw something clearly: If things are going to change in Chicago, then people like me, people from here, need to be the ones changing them. That’s why I went back to school. I got my GED at Kennedy-King College, the community college in Englewood named for two men who believed in justice and progress. In my late 50s, I decided to keep going and earn my associate degree in political science.
I believed God was calling me to get an education so I could reach my destiny. I knew that to walk through the doors God had opened for me — to be part of the change in Chicago, to connect with the people I needed to meet — I needed a college degree.
But let’s face facts: I was not a good student. I have street smarts from growing up in Englewood. I’ve gained wisdom and knowledge from being a preacher, a stay-at-home mom, a security guard, a victim’s advocate and a re-entry specialist who supports men and women just out of prison. But I had struggled to pass the math portion of my GED. I knew that grit and determination would get me only so far. I knew I needed support during my college journey.
Two people became my champions. One was Warren, my academic counselor at Kennedy-King. He offered me encouragement at every turn. The other was Jonathan, my counselor with One Million Degrees, the Chicago nonprofit that makes a meaningful difference in the lives of community college students.
Jonathan is my hero. When I — a grandmother about to turn 60 — began to question what I was even doing in college, Jonathan was the first to tell me that age is nothing but a number. He would always answer my phone calls, even on the weekends, when I was having trouble with my computer.
He made sure I had the financial support and other sources so I could climb this ladder of success. Jonathan’s patience, his encouragement and his mentorship helped me push through. Thanks to that support, I earned my associate degree in political science in 2024.
But — surprise, surprise — I wasn’t done. I transferred to Northeastern Illinois University, where I’m majoring in justice studies and I’m minoring in urban community studies. I got a 4.0 GPA in the spring semester and made the Dean’s List. Lord willing, I’ll earn my bachelor’s degree next year.
After that, I want to get involved in politics. I love to serve, and I want to give back to my community. I want to bring about change to reduce gun violence, support our young people and give people just out of prison a second chance at a good life. We need solutions — real solutions — to solve these long-standing challenges in our communities. I want to use my new knowledge and understanding to be part of this change.
I wrote this article because there are thousands of adult learners like me across Chicago — parents, grandparents, caregivers, workers — who are chasing a dream we were told was too late to reach. What we need isn’t pity. We need investment. We need support.
We need organizations working within the community that believe second chances can become first steps toward real change. When I speak from the pulpit, I tell people about my journey from the streets to the church, from the ’hood to college.
I tell them that you’re never too old to make a mark, to impact others, to walk through the doors that open up for you. I’m proof that education is not just about getting a better job. It’s about finding your voice.
It’s about standing up, not giving up. And it’s about showing our children and our communities that someone from Englewood or anywhere else in Chicago can rise up and rebuild the very block she grew up on.
Don’t count us out. We’re just getting started.