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After Bryce Gowdy’s suicide, let’s elevate the conversation about poverty’s effects on youth | Commentary

Bryce Gowdy, a senior wide receiver from Deerfield Beach High School is one of the Broward Super 11 football players. (Mike Stocker / South Florida Sun Sentinel)
Mike Stocker / South Florida Sun Sentinel
Bryce Gowdy, a senior wide receiver from Deerfield Beach High School is one of the Broward Super 11 football players. (Mike Stocker / South Florida Sun Sentinel)
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Are you going to be OK, mom?

Shibbon Winelle said those were among the final words uttered by her son, Bryce Gowdy, before he left their motel room and stood in front of a freight train. Bryce, who was 17, died of suicide a week before the Deerfield Beach football star was due to start classes at Georgia Tech on a scholarship Jan. 6.

Bryce, his mom and his brothers were homeless again, and family members said he wrestled with his emotions while preparing to chase college dreams as his immediate family struggled on the front lines of poverty.

It would be hard to see the depth of Bryce’s torment judging by his Instagram account. All you’ll see on his page is the typical highlights from a talented, young athlete. Cool poses, trendy-looking clothes, and videos showcasing impressive football skills.

Young people are often guilty of presenting the world with an enhanced reality on social media.

I wonder how many people outside immediate family knew Bryce was homeless, like college recruiters, high school teachers and coaches, or even some of the fans who cheered for him.

I’m also wondering if we’re failing to have a meaningful conversation about poverty and its connection to the 73% increase in suicide attempts among black teenagers from 1991 to 2017 according to the journal Pediatrics.

Some of the most heartbreaking stories about poverty I’ve heard came during my 15 years as a sports reporter.

It’s impossible to count how many conversations with coaches started about game plans, but ended in discussions about the challenges many young, black athletes from high-risk communities faced outside of practice. Even though the odds are stacked against them, a lot of kids still believe they will be the next LeBron James or Odell Beckham and lead their families to a richer, safer life.

One of the most memorable conversations that sticks with me to this day is from a 2008 interview with former Oak Ridge High boys track coach Huey Leonard. He told me many of his track athletes, who also played football, would stop by his wife Marionette’s office — she was a dean — before practice.

She stashed chips, cookies and whatever snacks she could fit inside of her desk to give to student-athletes who dropped by. For some, those snacks were the only things they’d eat all day in the privacy of her office before heading to the track for a rigorous practice. Taking a free lunch around peers was just too embarrassing, even though several of their classmates were in similar situations.

Remember, for every athlete with a parent spending thousands on private schools with competitive athletic programs or funding expensive travel teams, there’s a kid struggling to make it out of a hood or a trailer park on an athletic scholarship.

Poverty cuts across all kinds of households, but minority families feel a greater burn.

In Florida, white families make up the largest number (1,075,800) of the 2.8 million families living in poverty according to the U.S. Census. But black families (655,600) and Hispanic families (912,000) have higher rates of poverty proportional to their population.

“Poverty and stress plays a major role in the development of young people,” said Pernell Bush, a clinically licensed social worker and therapist in Oviedo. “It’s hard for you to regulate emotion and study in the classroom and make connections with people when you’re dealing with poverty.”

That’s also why kids like Bryce are so special.

Despite the stress and uncertainty caused by poverty, he excelled. He set a positive example for his two young brothers, having graduated from high school a semester early. Bryce was recently recognized as one of the top students in Pompano Beach by the Rotary Club, according to the Sun Sentinel.

He ended up giving a speech about homelessness among black youth.

Now, it’s time for us to listen to Bryce’s silent cry.

When we talk about mental health challenges, we have to also talk about economics. Otherwise, we’re doing a disservice to a segment of adolescents who need help but can’t get it because they’re so consumed with surviving the day.

Thousands of teenagers across the state are under tremendous stress because they are unsure of where they will sleep and where their next meal is coming from outside of school.

Some of these kids are excelling, all while being a good student, friend, brother or sister, son or daughter and, often, provider for the household.

Some of these kids are cracking under the weight and are branded as bad students or athletes.

And some, like Bryce, have the world in front of them and the crushing weight of it on their shoulders. The pressure is killing them. They are not OK.

Shannon Green can be reached at sgreen@orlandosentinel.com and @iamshannongreen, or at 407-420-5063.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255, or text HOME to 741741 to reach the Crisis Text Line.