Hearing about Randell today has just totally fucked with my head. I met him when I was 18 and had no idea the importance of my own actions. He was 13 at the time and a kid with so much character. I worked with him for 4 years, and still made the drive after graduation to make sure he knew I hadn't forgotten about him. He was always playing basketball and wanted to play in college but said he didn't have the money for that shit. I went to his high school graduation and sat next to his mom while she bawled like a baby because he was the first in their family to have a diploma. God, I loved that kid. So much passion that I never had at his age. Always laughing, always making fun of me, always threatening to kick my ass in a game of 21, and he always did. He never made it to college and ended up working to provide for his brothers and sisters.

His life, and now death, has just been a reminder of how much I absolutely love working with children. I was never cut out to be a teacher, but to even just be surrounded by them everyday doing something you love, I can't even imagine. I love writing, I love reading, and I love publishing, but do I love all of it more than this? I've thought about writing children's books, but even then, it's not the same. All I've ever wanted out of life is to feel like I have had a hand in improving something. From here on out, my career consumes the majority of my life, so I should be able to use it as a vehicle to further my dreams, right? I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but I would give up a nice paycheck and comfy desk to help repaint an old gymnasium and talk to kids and teens about anything and everything. I guess since I've graduated, I've just lost sight of what it felt like to make a difference in someone's life. I really, really miss that.

Randell, I am so proud of you. I always have been. Thanks for keeping me grounded in my crazy college years and showing me strength and courage. Rest easy, kid. I'll think of you always.