tennessean.comVandy commitment driven by older brother's death

By BRYAN MULLEN
Staff Writer


TAMPA, Fla. — Unfortunately.

Jermaine Doster hated the word. Just hated it. He cringed every time he heard it, sometimes got angry, sometimes cried.It may be five syllables, but it's a four-letter word to him.

"Even now that word bothers me," Doster, 17, said Sunday, sitting in his family's Tampa home, pinching a tear from his left eye.

This is what happens when you're in a hospital waiting room with your family, see the doctor come in, then hear him start the sentence with "Unfortunately. …."

It's been 18 months since a deadly crime was committed on Jermaine's big brother, Kwane Doster, a junior running back at Vanderbilt.

Now Jermaine has committed to play football at Vanderbilt.

Grab a tissue.

Kwane Doster was a likeable, lovable and legit football player for the Commodores. He returned here, to his hometown of Tampa, during Christmas break in 2004 to spend time with family and friends. Late Christmas night he kissed his mother, Kelly, on the cheek, said, "I love you," and headed out with some buddies.

They went down to Ybor City, a party district outside of Tampa, similar to Nashville's 2nd Avenue or Demonbreun Street.

After leaving a club, a man named Rodney Roman threatened Doster and his two friends and said he could take their car if he wanted to, according to police.

Later, as Doster ate in the backseat of his buddy's Oldsmobile, Roman's orange Infiniti showed up again. Doster's friends told police that shots were fired from the Infiniti into the Oldsmobile.

One fatally hit Kwane Doster.

All hell broke lose. Police were called, sirens flashed, police tape was strewn about, orange paint was sprayed on the parking lot to mark where slugs were found.

Back in Port Tampa, a half hour away, Jermaine Doster slept in his uncle's humble home.

Jermaine was beat. Christmas Day was fun, the family was all around, and his big brother, the big football star from Vanderbilt, was home from Nashville. There were smiles and laughs and food.

Then the tapping began.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jermaine woke up. Someone was knocking on his window. What the hell? Groggy and confused, he saw his two best friends standing outside. They were waving for him to come outside.

Jermaine threw on clothes and went into the main room.

"Go with them," Robert Doster, Jermaine's uncle, said. He didn't make eye contact. He'd already heard the news. "Go with your friends."

Jermaine left with his friends. No words were spoken in the car. His friends didn't have the heart either.

The friends took Jermaine to the hospital. Family was all around. Someone told him his brother had been shot.

"I didn't know how bad it was at the time," Jermaine said.

Unfortunately, it was worse than he could have imagined.

He walked away when the doctor said, "Unfortunately. …"

Jermaine went outside, alone. And this is when things get blurry for Jermaine.

The next thing he knew he was back in bed at his uncle's home.

"I wasn't going to go outside," Jermaine said. "I was just going to stay in bed all the time. But my uncle told me to get up, to move around and see my family."

He did. He went to his mother's home just down the block, spent time with aunts and cousins and friends, but he had this blank look on his face. It was a mix of shock and disbelief, but there was a tinge of responsibility. Jermaine Doster, now the only son of a single mother, was now the man of the house.

"I was concerned about him, and I still am," his mother, Kelly Doster, said.

Even after 18 months, Jermaine rarely talks about "it." His tears outnumber the words he's spoken about his brother. His greatest showing of emotion came a week after his brother was killed. Jermaine sat on the floor of his brother's childhood bedroom and wept. For two hours.

His mother teared up when she walked in on him. But she was happy, too.

"Finally," she recalls saying.

Her happiest moment came a month ago. Jermaine called her, told her Vanderbilt Coach Bobby Johnson had just offered him a scholarship.

Fittingly, it was Memorial Day.

"I've seen him happy on several occasions after Kwane's death, but not as happy as I saw him that day," Kelly Doster said.

Jermaine Doster, a rising senior at Tampa Robinson, the same school his brother played for, will play football at Vanderbilt. He will play running back, just like his brother did.

"Kwane took his little brother everywhere he went, and he's doing it again," Kelly Doster said.

It's the storybook ending of all storybook endings. But it's not that simple. Jermaine knows he'll see his brother's image, name and jersey number all over the place at Vanderbilt. On the Star Walk, the No. 1 jersey retired up in the football offices, the enclosed locker he'll walk by after every practice that has his brother's gloves and equipment.

Jermaine is OK with this, he said. He knows what's in store, the comparisons on the field, off the field, all the things that come with the Doster surname ...

"Oh, you're Kwane's little brother?"

"God, you look so much like Kwane."

"God, you run so much like Kwane."

"My god, you are so much like Kwane."

The saddest part? Kwane Doster protected his brother from everything, but he can't protect him from this.

"My mom said there will be a lot of memories, good bad or whatever," Jermaine said. "My mom told me if I have a problem, not to keep it in and to try and talk to someone about it. If I do have a problem, I know I'll deal with it the best way I can."

He will call his mom often. She'll be back here in Port Tampa in her cozy home, cooking meatloaf and cabbage, like she always did for her two sons.

And she'll in Nashville when Jermaine pulls on his pads for his first Vanderbilt game in 2007.

"My first gift to Vanderbilt was Kwane," she said. "Now my gift to them is Jermaine."

Fortunately for Vanderbilt.