Lenin Homer Silva crossed the stage at Hillsdale High School’s graduation on Thursday, May 28, beaming in a way his mother Sue Homer described as looking “like he made it.”
Just two days later, he was gone.
Silva was killed in the early hours of May 30 when the driver of the grey Chevrolet Camaro he was riding in made an illegal lane change on Interstate 80 near SoMa, struck a Recology truck, hit the sand barrels at the top of the Seventh Street off-ramp, and launched over the bridge railing, falling 25 feet into the city police department’s impound lot.
Silva was 17. He would’ve turned 18 on July 16.
On a cold and foggy June evening, hundreds gathered at Hummingbird Farm in San Francisco, most of them in black, to remember Silva. Coaches, classmates, teachers, friends and families each told a version of the same story: Silva had a way of making you feel seen and loved.
Lenin the sweet son
Homer and her wife, Paula Silva, had always wanted to adopt a second child. They first saw Lenin Homer Silva in a photograph. He was 6 at the time, wearing a little karate uniform. He had “the sweetest smile.” The couple knew right then: He was the one.
“He just looks funny and happy,” Homer said. “I used to say he looked like that kid on Modern Family, Manny.”
When they drove to Santa Rosa to meet Lenin at his foster home, the 6-year-old issued Homer a challenge soon after their arrival: One-on-one basketball in the backyard. Homer, a former college basketball coach, let him win.
“I never told him this,” she admitted with a laugh, “But of course I let him win on that first day! I wanted him to like me!”
Lenin came to live with Paula and Sue, arriving with a fierce, competitive spirit, a love of video games, and a deep fondness for baking cinnamon rolls, which is something his foster mom Natalie had taught him. He connected instantly with his new older sister, Lila, over Super Mario.
Lenin the city kid
As a kid growing up in the Excelsior neighborhood of San Francisco, Silva never had a driver’s license, and his mothers said he never really needed one.
Silva was a San Francisco kid through and through: Muni, BART, Caltrain and bikes could pretty much take him everywhere he needed to go.
When the family moved to San Mateo in his junior year, he’d hop on Caltrain to get his hair cut at his barber back in the city, to play soccer at Crocker Amazon Park, and to be wherever he wanted.
“He taught his friends in San Mateo how to get to the city on Caltrain and maneuver around on Muni,” his mother Paula Silva recalled. “They would say he was their San Francisco tour guide.”
Every now and then, he’d grumble to Paula about getting a license, and she’d remind him: Do you realize you’re the only kid in San Mateo who understands the importance of public transportation?
The cruel irony of his death is not lost on anyone who knew him.
Silva, the kid who could navigate every bus line in the two counties, who waited with his friend Alexis that night to make sure she got safely into her Uber before climbing into an acquaintance’s car himself, was killed as a passenger, riding in the backseat at a terrifyingly high speed.
Antoinette Chavez, one of Silva’s teachers at Hillsdale High, who lived near Abraham Lincoln High School, where Silva transferred from in junior year, said Silva would share with her his opinion on the best spots and best deals near Lincoln: $6 cheap sushi lunch, the Mediterranean deli that he was disappointed to hear had closed, and too many boba shops on Taraval Street.
Chavez last saw Silva on graduation day, when he walked into her classroom to say goodbye and thank her for her support.
“I reminded him that he had the ability to do anything he set his mind to,” Chavez said. “but he just needed to have the confidence.”
On his way out the door, Silva told Chavez that he would make a trip up to the city this summer so they could get that $6 sushi lunch together, and they both laughed.
“Little did he know that I was actually going to go,” Chavez said, at Silva’s memorial. “And I’m so sad that I will never have that opportunity.”
Lenin the ‘teddy bear‘
His close friend Siddharth remembered Silva as a big, gentle presence — a teddy bear, he called him.
Once Siddharth returned home from visiting friends and family in Oregon, he said, and Silva took him out to play basketball and then treated him to fried chicken at Wingstop.
At Wingstop, the two were filming their food when Silva spilled ranch all over his lap and “started laughing uncontrollably.”
That day, said Siddharth, he’d felt depressed and homesick after his trip. Looking back, Siddharth said he wondered whether Silva spilled the food on purpose, just to make Siddharth smile.
“That’s why Lenin is always going to be a brother to me,” Siddharth said at the memorial. “Always.”
Lenin the goalkeeper
At 6, Silva was dealing with health issues and couldn’t run very well. So when he joined his first soccer team at Monroe Elementary, the coaches put him in goal.
He went on to become one of the best young goalkeepers in San Francisco, according to his coaches and teammates at the memorial.
From Monroe Elementary he went on to the San Francisco Aztecs, a neighborhood club in the Excelsior, before being recruited to the San Francisco Glens’ MLS Next team, the highest competitive level in youth soccer.
By 16, Silva had played in Spain, Costa Rica, and Guadalajara in Mexico, where he got to visit his grandmother’s hometown. He trained with Alejandro Muñoz, a goalkeeper at USF who spotted Silva’s potential early.
When the San Francisco Seals came along, Silva found a new home with them, and ultimately three college offers followed. Silva chose Skyline College in San Bruno.
He had already enrolled in a fire science class, the first step to becoming a firefighter — his dream job, because it combines physical work, adventure and helping people.
“He saved all that sweetness and softness for the world,” Sue said of Silva.
Lenin the legacy
Last weekend, Silva’s Aztecs teammates played a beach soccer tournament in Santa Cruz with Lenin’s face on their shirts. The boys were emotional, but managed to not only get through the game, but win it.
In Silva’s memory, Paula and Sue launched a GoFundMe with the goal of raising money to help kids from the area access the kind of club soccer opportunities that shaped their son.
Silva often talked to his parents about other kids whose families couldn’t afford the cost of the fees, the travel, and the training.
“That kid is so good,” he would say, “but he doesn’t play anymore.”
Lately, Paula said, she’s been thinking about something her mom told her when Lila and Lenin were going through adolescence, as countless kind messages about Silva poured in since his passing.
“As long as they know how to be in the world, then you’ve done a good job,” she said. “Now I really see that.”
You can make a donation to the GoFundMe in Silva’s name here.
Thank you, Xueer, for capturing our so beautifully. We are grateful for the time and care you put into this article.
He seemed like a kind and promising young man. The irony isn’t that he used public transit a lot and was killed as a passenger in a car. It’s that he was so caring and thoughtful and yet was the only one not wearing a seat belt. And the only one who died.
The most important information was missing from this story. Was he using the seat belt? It may not have helped considering the severity of the crash, but it’s still critical information.