It was break time at the warehouse, and as usual, the younger crew was hanging out near the back, chopping it up about whatever was trending. Music, social media drama, and, of course, politics. Well, sort of. Most of them weren’t taking it seriously.

“Man, I don’t even know why folks trippin' about this election,” said Darius, a tall, lanky dude who loved cracking jokes more than working. “Ain’t nothin' gonna change, no way. And Trump? That dude’s wild! Might vote for him just 'cause he’s funny.”

A couple of the others laughed, nodding in agreement. Keisha, always with her nails freshly done, chimed in, “Right? I remember he had that reality show back in the day. I ain't mad at him.”

Their supervisor, Mr. Watkins stood nearby, scrolling through his phone. He’d been listening though, just like he always did when these kids started talking reckless. He was in his fifties, with the kind of voice that commanded respect without trying. Not loud, but deep and calm, like your granddaddy after church, telling you to fix your life before it’s too late.

He cleared his throat, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Y’all out of your minds, I swear.”

The group turned to look at him, surprised he’d jumped in. Normally, Mr. Watkins kept it cool and let them talk their talk. But today was different.

“Wait, what you mean, Mr. Watkins?” asked Marcus, the youngest on the crew, who’d just turned 21. “It ain’t that deep. Ain’t none of them politicians gonna help us anyway.”

Mr. Watkins shook his head slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag. “Young Buck, lemme tell you somethin’. You think this election ain’t serious? You think voting for somebody 'cause he makes you laugh is smart? You might as well be handing over your whole future on a silver platter and saying, ‘Here, do what you want with it.’”

He walked over and leaned against a crate, looking each of them in the eye. “Y’all gotta understand somethin'. People fought, bled, and died for us to have the right to vote. Your ancestors couldn’t even step into a voting booth without risking their lives. And now, y’all just gonna sit here and laugh about it? You serious?”

Keisha rolled her eyes. “But Mr. Watkins, we got money when Trump was in office! Ain’t that reason enough to vote for him?”

That’s when Mr. Watkins gave her the look. You know the one—the "you can’t be this foolish" look.

“Money?” he scoffed. “Girl, that money didn’t come from him. Let me school you right quick. It was Nancy Pelosi and Congress who pushed for them checks. We was in the middle of a pandemic! The economy was fallin’ apart, and they had to do somethin' to keep the whole country from crashin'. So yeah, you got a check with Trump’s name on it, but he didn’t pull that outta thin air. They finessed him into accepting the bill because he just had to have his name on that check to make y’all think it was his idea. Played y’all like a fiddle.”

The younger crew went quiet for a second, processing what he said. Darius, trying to save face, mumbled, “I mean, it was still nice to get the money though.”

“Yeah, but you gotta look deeper than that!” Mr. Watkins leaned forward, voice firm but caring. “You can’t vote just 'cause somebody threw you a bone once. What about when they take everything else from you? What about the stuff they don’t put on TV, like the policies that make it harder for you to get healthcare, keep a job, or even stay in this neighborhood? You think those folks care about you? Naw. They care about stayin' in power. And the people behind Trump? They the ones who’ll take away the very things you depend on to live.”

Marcus scratched his head, looking uncomfortable. “But I don’t even know enough about all that to vote. I ain’t tryna mess nothin' up.”

“That’s why you gotta learn!” Mr. Watkins slapped the crate for emphasis. “Look, I get it. Y’all feel like you don’t know enough. But sitting out while other folks make decisions about your life ain’t an option. You gotta plug into what’s goin' on around you. Pay attention to who’s running the city council, what they’re saying at community meetings, what’s happening in your schools. You can’t complain 'bout how things ain’t fair if you ain’t willing to show up and vote for the people who can make it right.”

Keisha folded her arms, but her expression softened. “I mean, I guess. But nobody in our community is really talkin’ about this stuff. How we supposed to know?”

Mr. Watkins sighed, his tone shifting to one of empathy. “That’s on us. We got older folks who vote and then disappear. We don’t show up to neighborhood meetings, don’t talk to our elected officials. We leave y’all out here, and that’s not right. But listen—just 'cause we dropped the ball don’t mean y’all gotta keep it rollin'. Y’all are grown now. You can’t just sit back and let things happen to you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his belt. “Let me tell you somethin' else—everybody wanna complain when things ain’t goin’ right, but nobody wants to put in the work to make sure it goes right in the first place. You gotta stop living by default and start livin’ by design. Create the life you want by getting involved. Be proactive, not reactive.”

Darius, for once, didn’t have a joke. “I ain’t never thought of it like that, Mr. Watkins.”

“That’s 'cause nobody ever broke it down for you. But now you know. So what you gon' do about it?”

There was a pause, and then Marcus spoke up, “I guess I gotta figure out who’s really on my side. Start payin' attention.”

Mr. Watkins gave a small smile. “That’s what I like to hear. And next time y’all see a name on a ballot, don’t just check it 'cause you think somebody’s funny or loud. Do your homework. Learn about what they’re really about. 'Cause trust me, what’s funny now might not be so funny when you realize you voted for your own downfall.”

He looked around at all of them one more time. “Young folk, we gotta do better. If the people  around you don’t teach y’all, we’ll do better. But you—you—gotta be more informed from here on out. Your future depends on it and we’ve come too far whether you know your history or not.”

The break bell rang, and the crew slowly got back to work, a little quieter, a little more thoughtful than before. Mr. Watkins smiled to himself as he walked away. Maybe they were listening after all.

COMMUNITY CHRONICLES is how we start important conversations our culture needs to have. The stories reflect my own values, interests and beliefs. If you believe what I believe, enjoy and share with other like minded good people in the community. Reach one, teach MANY.