Young Writers Society

There is a reason that Homie refers to himself as the “best driver’s ed teacher in Northern Virginia”. It’s because, unlike other driver’s ed teachers, Homie understand that driver’s education doesn’t just center around driving. Instead, it encompasses many other aspects of life that extend past the road.

In Homie’s classroom, education goes all the way to the streets of Baltimore. Lessons on road rage extend far beyond our cozy DC suburbs.

“If someone gets out of the car and tries to fight, always remember that you’re from Northern Virginia, and that means you’re a chump. None of you can fight, so don’t try to. Like this kid. Look at him.”

Homie’s attention suddenly diverted to one of the quieter students in the class—a short Eritrean boy who now stared at Homie blankly.

“I bet if we were on the streets of Baltimore, you wouldn’t be eyeballin’ Homie like that.”

The boy just sat there, his head tilted to the side and his eyes rolled upward to glare at Homie with the same, bored expression as before.

“You had better watch who you’re eyeballin’ in Baltimore. If you saw a six foot tall black man walking down the sidewalk, you would have a different look on your face. I look friendly here, but any other place, each and every one of you would be runnin’ the other way, scared.”

Homie continued to receive the same blank gaze from the boy.

“And he’s still eyeballin’ me!”

Some children learn slower than others.

In Homie’s classroom, education about giving back to others gets extremely personal.

“Insurance companies give discounts to boy scouts and girl scouts. Do I have any boy scouts in here? No? Hold on one minute.”

Homie stepped out of the room for about 90 seconds, and came back with an olive green hat on his head. A red patch was sewn into the front of the cap, and in Homie’s arms was a bundle of clothes, all in the same olive green shade.

“Homie was a boy scout. But, see, Homie was a po’ Boy Scout—that means poor. All we had was a hat, and a handkerchief to go around our necks. We met in a parking lot for every meeting. That’s why, for every class of students, I ask them to please complete Homie’s uniform. I have had students mail packages to my house with pants in them. One student stuffed a bowl-o tie in my mailbox. And I know they don’t fit, but—”

Homie paused as he pulled his arms through the sleeves of an old, donated Boy Scout jacket someone had given him, and stood in front of us, his hands unable to touch his sides as the taut green fabric was filled to capacity by his husky build. His gut was framed by the edges of the Boy Scout jacket that was evidently tailored for someone about a hundred pounds lighter than him.

“I know they don’t fit, but, please… do it for Homie.”

We waited patiently as Homie showed us that some clothes are easier to get on than they are to get off.

In Homie’s classroom, education isn’t just about driving.