We have a powerful potential in out youth, and we must have the

Host: The school gymnasium smelled faintly of chalk, old wood, and hope. The long afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting diagonal beams across rows of folding chairs. On stage, a banner hung crookedly: "Youth Empowerment Week – Voices of Tomorrow."

The room hummed with quiet energy — young people shifting in seats, the rustle of notebooks, the soft crackle of a microphone being tested. Jack, in his worn blazer and unshaven patience, stood by the podium. He wasn’t a teacher, not exactly — more like a reluctant mentor pulled from his solitude to speak to kids who still believed the world could be changed.

In the front row, Jeeny sat cross-legged on a folding chair, a small notebook open on her lap, her pen poised but still. She had that kind of gaze — steady, intelligent, full of warmth that could coax life from even the most jaded heart.

The principal introduced Jack with too much enthusiasm, and a polite round of applause followed. Jack approached the microphone, cleared his throat, and glanced toward Jeeny before speaking.

Jack: half-smiling “Mary McLeod Bethune once said — ‘We have a powerful potential in our youth, and we must have the courage to change old ideas and practices so that we may direct their power toward good ends.’”

He paused, scanning the crowd of young faces.

Jack: quietly “She was right. The problem is, most of us — the so-called adults — we forget that potential doesn’t grow in obedience. It grows in defiance.”

Host: The students leaned forward slightly. Some crossed their arms. Some smiled. Some looked like they were waiting for a test they hadn’t studied for.

Jeeny watched him with quiet pride. She could sense that Jack’s words weren’t rehearsed — they came from a place deeper, older, a place where memory met regret.

Jeeny: calling out softly from her seat “So what are you defying, Jack?”

Jack: grinning faintly “My own cynicism, mostly.”

Host: The room laughed — softly, nervously — but they were listening now.

Jack: “See, we were raised to think change comes from big moments — elections, revolutions, speeches that end up in textbooks. But Bethune… she was talking about something quieter. The courage to change habits, ideas, practices. To admit that maybe our way — the old way — isn’t working anymore.”

Jeeny: nodding “That kind of courage doesn’t come from age. It comes from imagination. And youth has more of that than anyone else.”

Jack: glancing at her, smiling “Exactly. But we — the adults — spend so much time taming it. Teaching conformity, not creativity. We reward silence. We punish wild questions.”

Host: He moved from behind the podium now, walking toward the students, the sunlight hitting his face, turning the wrinkles at his eyes into lines of light.

Jack: quietly “But what if the questions are the revolution? What if the point of being young isn’t to learn how to fit in — but to learn how to rebuild?”

Jeeny: leaning forward, her voice steady “Bethune knew that. She built schools when women weren’t supposed to lead them. She taught when society said her students didn’t deserve education. Every lesson she gave was an act of rebellion wrapped in love.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Love — the most radical kind. The kind that sees potential before the world does.”

Host: A girl in the back row raised her hand — hesitant, uncertain.

Girl: “But what if no one listens? What if we try to change things and no one cares?”

Jack turned toward her.

Jack: softly “Then you try again. And again. Because history doesn’t remember the first ‘no.’ It remembers the persistence that came after.”

Jeeny: smiling “And every movement — every real change — started with someone your age asking a question that made adults uncomfortable.”

Host: The girl lowered her hand slowly, her face thoughtful. Around her, the others were quiet now, their attention locked like sunlight through glass.

Jack: looking out at them “The thing about potential is — it’s volatile. It’s energy without direction. And energy can build or destroy, depending on who guides it. That’s what Bethune meant when she said ‘direct it toward good ends.’ Not control it. Not smother it. Guide it.”

Jeeny: gently “And to guide, we have to listen. Not just talk at them.”

Jack: grinning faintly “Careful, Jeeny. You’re making sense. The system doesn’t like that.”

Host: A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd — the kind that comes when truth hits, but softly.

Jack: serious now “Listen, you’re going to hear a lot of people tell you to ‘wait your turn.’ But the truth is — there is no turn. There’s just now. And if you wait for permission to make the world better, you’ll grow old before it ever changes.”

Jeeny: adding quietly “Bethune didn’t wait. She saw brokenness and built from it. Not for fame, not for credit — but because she knew her generation couldn’t afford to lose yours.”

Host: The room fell still again. The sunlight had shifted, turning the windows gold. Dust floated lazily in the air — a kind of visible silence.

Jack: softer now “When I was your age, I thought change was impossible. That one person couldn’t make a dent in the world’s iron walls. But then I read about people like her — teachers, dreamers, builders — and I realized: they weren’t superheroes. They were just people who refused to quit. They saw injustice, and instead of tweeting about it, they started teaching against it.”

Jeeny: smiling “They changed the world by changing one classroom, one child, one mind at a time.”

Host: The principal, standing near the back, looked suddenly small — like a spectator at something he didn’t entirely understand.

Jack: glancing at the students again “So if you want to honor your potential — don’t just get angry. Get active. Don’t just inherit ideas. Question them. The world doesn’t need your obedience. It needs your courage.”

Jeeny: quietly, almost like a prayer “Because courage is the seed of every new generation.”

Host: The applause that followed wasn’t loud or wild — it was steady, rhythmic, sincere. The kind that carries weight instead of volume.

Jack stepped back, exhaling, his expression softer now — not pride, exactly, but hope. Jeeny stood beside him, her smile small but full.

Outside, the bell rang. The students rose, the murmur of conversation swelling like wind through grass.

Jeeny turned to Jack.

Jeeny: smiling “You sounded almost optimistic back there.”

Jack: grinning faintly “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

Jeeny: “You think they’ll remember what you said?”

Jack: looking toward the door, where students were laughing and talking, carrying their notebooks like torches “If even one of them does… that’s enough.”

Host: The sunlight had shifted again — lower now, gentler — stretching long golden lines across the wooden floor. The stage banner flapped slightly in the breeze, its edges curling like pages turning.

And as the sound of footsteps faded into the hallway, Mary McLeod Bethune’s words lingered in the quiet like a promise:

“We have a powerful potential in our youth, and we must have the courage to change old ideas and practices so that we may direct their power toward good ends.”

Because potential without courage is only energy —
but potential with courage
is creation.

And the future, fragile and fierce as sunlight through glass,
will always belong
to those brave enough
to reimagine the old,
and dare the new.