Divergent is defined as tending to be different, or developing in different ways or directions. As a kid, I didn’t see myself as very different from everyone else around me. Pre-kindergarten was great and I still have some of my friends from there till this day. In kindergarten, I was put into Spectrum, a gifted program at my school. I was a happy, normal kid. Everything was fine up until April 20, 2014.

 On that day, I unexpectedly got checked out of school. I was happy at first, thinking to myself, “I never get checked out of school.” I was a bit confused while being walked to the front office by my teacher, Dr. Powers, wondering why I would get checked out early. For some reason, the walk felt super long. I remember walking past the painted mural on the wall in the lobby. It was colorful, but the color that was represented most was green. Green always meant good, but on that day, green had a different meaning. 

When we finally reached the front office, my grandma was waiting for me. That made me even more suspicious about the situation, but the cherry on top was her tears. She was trying her hardest to hold them back. I entered panic mode. 

As if my grandma’s guest appearance wasn't enough, she broke the news. “Your mom is in the hospital. She had a stroke, and we don't know how bad it is.” The words stabbed me like daggers. Her tears hit me like a boxer to a punching bag. 

The car ride to Athens Regional Hospital was silent for the most part, with sniffles here and there. It was the worst ride of my life. I kept wondering to myself, “Will mom be out of the hospital? Is she okay? What is going on?”

While we waited at home with my grandmother, she got a call. Ring ring. Next, I hear her scream, “No!” Me and my siblings, Ja’Darian, Trinity and Serenity rush into the room. 

“What's wrong, Grandma?” Trinity asked. 

“It's your mom. She's gone,” Grandma said. Green, going, gone. The color green had a whole new meaning. 

Six years later 

It has been six years since Mom passed away. Every year, Easter feels heavy on the family, close to the anniversary of her passing. In this time, I have grown to rely on my family.

My brother Ja’Darian and I always clash heads. There’s never a dull nor a non-competitive moment between us as the only two boys in the family. We’re very different, but very alike at the same time. Growing up, all I ever heard was, “I hope you're not like your brother,”  whether that was in school or just family joking around. But I wondered why they would say that, because couldn’t they clearly see that we're two different people? Not the same hair, not the same body type and most definitely not the same character. Two completely different people. 

My brother and I have war stories, like the time we were playing football together and he sprained my ankle. Once, we were fighting and he broke my finger. Another time, we were playing indoor basketball on my mini hoop when he bodied me into the wall and I had the biggest knot on my head for three days. The rivalry between us started to grow, like LeBron James versus Stephen Curry. 

Some people may say I’m a tough cookie, but that's not me. I’m more like a well-structured cake; not perfect, but still great because greatness is the goal. When I say this cake was built off of effort, I also mean this cake was built off of toughness and competitiveness. One thing I can say about this crazy relationship with my brother is that it has built me. It took me a minute to realize that after I lost my mom, but my brother helped me cope. Whether it was through a friendly game of basketball, that somehow turned into a game of football, that then somehow turned into a boxing match, he kept my mind off the thought of my deceased mother.  For that, I say thank you, Ja’Darian, for helping bake this cake.