When You Live In A Book Desert
He was beefy and laconic, rumored to be gang-affliated. Kids whispered that he stood outside of school in the early mornings selling weed, though we could never catch him at it.
He was also brilliant. If you define “intellectual” as a person who takes delight in the process of abstract thinking, Xavier* was one of the most purely intellectual people I’ve ever met. Faced with a complex question that would leave other kids stumped or bored, Xavier would stare at the ceiling, a slow grin moving over his face as he contemplated the various possible answers he could give. Watching Xavier think was like watching him listen to music only he could hear.
Despite his brilliance, he did homework only sporadically, was absent a great deal of the time and was barely passing his classes. I met Xavier my first year teaching in South L.A. and like many new teachers, was determined that I would be the one to reach him. The day he approached me after class to ask for a reading list, my heart leapt. He wanted to read more, but he had no books in his home. His parents, who had had to start working as children and did not have much education, worked 12-hour shifts at factory jobs. But Xavier wanted a different life; he wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to write about his experiences. What should he read?
I raced home and compiled a list of my favorite books, making sure to include teen favorites, books about the medical profession and topics that might speak to a kid growing
