Principal Milton Collins is electrified to start the school day ahead, which was “Dependability Tuesday.” 

He recorded his daily morning video, which he posts on YouTube, to excite his Lincoln Elementary students for the day and motivate them toward academic excellence, kindness and accountability. 

“Are those eyes up, hearts up, minds sharp, compassion on full blast?” he announced, before standing to recite the pledge and the school motto. He then covered topics of safety, testing, the daily lunch menu, student campaigns, and, of course, the Tuesday theme of dependability. 

His final message in the video for students was, “Go out and make it a great day, or not—the choice is yours.”

His leadership and passion for education and for the students is intensely felt.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he says.

It’s a statement he first heard from LeBron James, and it resonated deeply. 

Like James, Collins grew up in poverty, to a single mother, and he didn’t know his father.

He was born and raised in Charleston, Mississippi. He speaks fondly of his small hometown, though he experienced the full complexities of Southern heritage, some of which he’s still coming to terms with.

There were obvious instances of racism he witnessed, such as the curious disappearance of a Black male friend, who to this day has never been found. But other instances were more nuanced.

Community leaders’ and family friends’ racist mentality he didn’t interpret firsthand, but only later recognized when seeing the same families in a documentary of his hometown, called “Prom Night in Mississippi,” a project facilitated by actor Morgan Freeman.

“I had no clue they were racist,” Collins said.

Educators were powerful influencers in his life.

His mother, best known as Ms. Scooter, was his first teacher. She, and now her memory, lessons and example hold preeminent status in his mind and heart and continue to fuel direction for his life.

“She was as real as they come,” he said. 

She didn’t let him get away with anything, and she pressed him on matters of respect and the importance of education.

His mom dropped out of school in the eighth grade. She had no formal education, but she was “the smartest woman I know,” Collins said.

He watched the sacrifices she made for him and his brother. They grew up poor and were teased by classmates. 

“We didn’t have nothing, man,” he said. “The kids see me now in a suit, and I tell them it wasn’t always like that.”

Collins paid close attention to life’s lessons and to the advice of role models in his life.

“I just think one of the biggest advantages I got growing up...when you grow up in poverty, there’s these things that life teaches you. I’ll give you an example. My mom never bought us a video game, which she considered a distraction. ‘I’d rather you be outside playing basketball as opposed to this game, unsupervised,’ she said. Those little things taught me how to prioritize.”

Basketball opened up opportunity for him.

His mom was his loudest cheerleader, attending all of his games. “It was like a production,” he said, when she showed up.

One day, the head basketball coach at Rust College visited his home and offered him a full scholarship.

His dream was to play for Mississippi State, but his mom wouldn’t hear it. She knew the value of the educational opportunity and signed the dotted line.

Shortly after, he learned his girlfriend, captain of the cheerleading team, was pregnant.

He was forthright with his mother, who knew before he spoke. Ms. Scooter and his girlfriend’s parents were supportive. They loved the couple and would see them through it.

At school, there was a knock on his high school classroom door. “Ms. Blackman would like to see Milton Collins,” he recalled hearing.

“Here’s the power of counselors,” he said. “I get to her office; she had all my paperwork laid out on her desk. She asked, ‘Milton, is it true Priscilla’s pregnant?’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She was like, ‘what are you going to do?’ I was talking to my mom and said, ‘I think I need to get a job…’”

He recalled the counselor pointing out his signed a letter of intent to go play college basketball at Rust College and how he said he wasn’t going to take that offer because “I think it’s more important to take care of my responsibilities.”

Collins recalled her words. “She said to me, ‘Son, do you know how many African American males from this town get the opportunity to go to college for free?’” 

Ms. Blackman assured him that his mom and his girlfriend’s parents would be responsible enough to care for his baby while he focused on getting his education. 

“I guarantee you a college education gets you better opportunities than a high school diploma,” Ms. Blackman told him. 

Being the first in his family to go to college, he didn’t know.

A week after his oldest daughter was born, he had his first day of freshman class. 

He spent the next four years in Holly Springs, Mississippi. 

“Going off to college, I had no clue about what I wanted to study. I had an opportunity to play college basketball. That’s going to be my lead to get into the NBA…and live the dream.”

Referring again to the power of educators, he explained the moment his coach called him in for individual meetings to discuss his plans for after graduation. When Collins expressed his vision for the NBA, his coach broke his heart with the facts.

He called his mom in tears.

She responded as clear-eyed as ever. “Boy, to this day, I have not received a bill from that school. You better stop your crying and go back to class.” 

Click, he heard.

His coach told him of an opportunity to stay on campus and coach basketball to underprivileged kids as part of the National Youth Sports Program. 

He did, and after he worked the program, his coach told him, “There’s a buzz about you on campus. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re a teacher. You’re a leader. You should go into education.” He highlighted the job opportunities in the field.

“I took his advice,” Collins said.

He graduated in June 1987. In August 1987, he was teaching third grade at Lorenzo R. Smith School in Hopkins Park, Illinois.

Every summer his daughter came and stayed with him. His kids are his top priority and they know it. 

His students are a priority too. He shared a story about a student’s family in Arizona he grew close with and showed the framed photos from then and now. They cried when he left for Utah.

He has been here for seven years and has won seven different awards, including Elementary School Principal of the Year, Instructional Leader of the Year and Principal Mentor of the Year.

“How’d I make it here? It’s through the love and guidance of my mom,” he said.

He returns to the lessons he learned as a child and applies the principles his mother instilled in him—kindness, respect, relationships—to his work, as in everything.

“I tell people all the time, if you don’t have a relationship with a kid, you’re not going to be able to teach them,” he said. “But when they find out you care...”  λ