By Dr. Kevin Lee, OD, CHS Class of 1982
January 15, 2026 – There’s something profoundly poetic about celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, not with speeches or sermons, but with conversation—real, heartfelt exchanges between generations. This morning began with a simple intention: to conduct mock interviews with CHS juniors to help them polish their answers, steady their voices, and walk into their futures with just a little more grace and confidence.
What I didn’t expect was to lose myself in the moment—so much so that I stayed for all three sessions, long after my hour was meant to end.
It was January, the kind of gray Seattle morning where the light filters through cloud cover like a hush, gentle but insistent. I walked the familiar halls of Cleveland High School—my high school—and felt a ripple of time travel.
Lockers still clang the same way. Students still rush between classes with backpacks slung over one shoulder, eyes glued to phones, with laughter bubbling between friends.
And there it was: the scent of industrial cleaner mixed with cafeteria pizza—unchanged in 44 years,
I stood in the library, where once I had sat—nervous, curious, full of questions about what came next. Now, instead of test papers, I held in my hands mock interview questions. But the energy was the same: restless potential, the electric hum of dreams not yet realized.
One student caught my attention immediately. Sharp-eyed, thoughtful in his responses, he mentioned Kimball Elementary, Asa Mercer Jr. High, and now CHS—the same path I walked over four decades ago. I smiled, not just at the coincidence, but at the continuity. Here was a young mind, walking in the same footsteps, asking questions I once scribbled in the margins of my planner: How do I answer “Tell me about yourself” without sounding rehearsed? What if they ask about my weaknesses? How do I show I’m ready?
As I answered, something shifted. I wasn’t just giving advice; I was remembering. Remembering the teacher who stayed after school to help me craft my college essay. The friend who practiced interview questions with me in the school courtyard. The pride I felt wearing my CHS colors, red and white, at UW orientation, knowing where my foundation had been laid.
Forty-four years have passed since I walked across that stage in 1982, diploma in hand, heart pounding with uncertainty and hope. And now, here I was—Dr. Kevin Lee, OD, with a B.S. in Microbiology from the University of Washington and a doctorate from Pacific University in Forest Grove—back where it all started, not to reminisce, but to give back.
One student asked me, “Did you ever feel like you didn’t belong in college interviews?”I didn’t hesitate. “Every single time,” I said. “But I learned that belonging isn’t about having all the right answers. It’s about showing up, being honest, and letting your curiosity shine through.”
In that moment, I thought of Dr. King—not just the icon, but the educator, the visionary who believed in the power of uplift, of mentorship, of lifting as we climb. Today, on his birthday, I wasn’t marching or giving a keynote. I was doing something quieter, perhaps more enduring: helping shape the voices of tomorrow, one practiced handshake, one eye contact, one genuine answer at a time.
As I packed up my things, a student handed me a thank-you note. On it, they’d written: “You made me feel like I can do this.”
I stood there, blinking back something warm behind my eyes.
Forty-four years ago, someone must have said that about me.
And now, the circle turns—full, faithful, and forward.
