By Thomas Gerbasi

The smiles are hard earned in the Boys & Girls Club of Newark, but they eventually appear, a testament to the personality of Shakur Stevenson, who has shown up on this day with the Powerade crew that has enlisted him as part of their “Just a Kid” campaign.

A member of the United States Olympic boxing team that will compete in Rio de Janeiro this summer, Stevenson is 18 years old but can pass for much younger, a sharp contrast to the talent that has him fighting and beating top competition both here and abroad.

Another contrast is the ear-to-ear smile that can light up an arena, and that’s what broke down the hardened group of kids that showed up to learn some boxing moves and talk to that rarest of rarities in Newark – a young man who has transcended the streets that have devastated so many lives.

The stories of Newark are not exaggerated, and the crime rate – one of the highest in the country- hits the youngest members of the community the hardest. Stevenson, the oldest of nine children, was put into boxing at the age of five by his grandfather Willie “Wali” Moses, ensuring that he would spend his free time after school in the gym and not on the streets.

“It's everything,” said Stevenson’s mother Malikah, of the importance of keeping her children in activities and off the street. “I keep them busy and they all do something, so if they stay in stuff, it keeps them from running around.”

She laughs.

“I'm a little overprotective.”

Most kids in New Jersey’s most populated city aren’t as lucky.

“We have kids who are ten years old that take care of their mom, their dad and two siblings,” said Chris Crockett, a counselor at the Boys & Girls Club. “At ten. How is that possible?”

Crockett introduces me to Jalal, a young man with a basketball player’s height and frame, but a baby face.

“This kid,” Crockett said. “I don't see him unless I can take him home. He's a basketball player, he's a kid in uniform, so they're coming for him first. He's not small, but they're got guns, so they'll walk right up to him and take everything from him.”

Jalal talks of a recent basketball game that resulted in a fatal shooting on the court. Incidents like these have him spending as much after-school time as he can at the Boys & Girls Club.

“It's a place to get away,” he said. “When you come here, it's an outlet from all the violence. I feel safer here.”

In this environment, kids can be kids, even if only for a couple hours, and while they do all the things every pre-teen and teen does, there is a hardened shell around many of them.

shakur

“A lot of kids got that pride,” Crockett said. “They can't enjoy it. They can't show you that they're happy.”

But Stevenson was one of their own. And as he showed them how to show jabs and hooks, he broke that shell. Soon, they were asking questions about growing up in Newark, boxing, and making the Olympic team.

What is it like to get punched and still come back every day to the gym?

“I can’t say I get punched much,” Stevenson smiled.

What do you do if someone runs up on you and wants to fight?

“If I fight, I don’t go to Rio.”

Then came a question from Stevenson’s sister…

Who was your hardest fight?

Stevenson laughed.

“I know you want me to say you.”

Later, I asked Stevenson if having eight siblings made learning how to fight a requirement.

“Of course, you've got to,” he said. “You can't let one of your younger brothers or sisters run up on you and beat you up, so you gotta know how to fight. And they're a little harsh on me. When I lose, they'll rub it in. So I don't want to come home to my brothers and sisters with a loss.”

He is still the big brother though, a responsibility he takes seriously.

“He loves having brothers and sisters and he wants to be a positive role model for him,” said Malikah Stevenson, beaming as she watched her son work the room.

“It's kind of surreal,” she said. “It wasn't expected. He's been boxing for a long time, and I don't think I've seen it as far as he's seen it.”

Few did, but with each passing win, Stevenson went from promising newcomer to prospect to legitimate medal threat. And not just any medal, but a gold one. If he pulls it off, he would be the first American male to do that since his fistic hero, Andre Ward.

“That's a moment I've been dreaming about since I was a little kid,” Stevenson said. “The 2012 Olympics, seeing Claressa (Shields) on the podium with the National Anthem being played, I can't wait for that moment.”

It won’t be easy, but Stevenson doesn’t mind taking the hard road to glory. In fact, while a mere mention of fighting a Cuban in the Olympics could produce shudders, Stevenson – you guessed it – smiles.

“I already scoped out the big names. One of them was an Olympic Gold medalist, Robeisy Ramirez from Cuba. He won the gold medal in 2012 and I can't wait to fight him. Honestly, he saw me fight in Argentina and I can't wait to show him that I'm the man. It's my turn.”

But what about that smile?

“I'm tough too,” he said. “They say the Cubans or these other international guys are the best boxers, but we're all human, we all put our pants on the same way, we all bleed the same way. If I get in the ring with a Cuban, the Cuban's getting in the ring with Shakur Stevenson too. And he's got to realize that.”

He may look like he’s about to star in a Disney Channel sitcom, but Stevenson is all fighter. And when he talks about this special day in his hometown, it’s clear that he’s mature beyond his years.

“It's an amazing feeling that I can inspire some of these kids here and help them want to do something in life or want to be great,” he said. “They can think about something more than our city, more than hard times.”

This was no promotional appearance. It wasn’t a photo op or media session. It was so much more.

“He's here with us, we can interact with him,” said Crockett. “This means the world. The quick fly-through, nah. But this is intimate, and it's amazing.”