Tales of Redemption: What's your story?

     What’s your story? You know, the one you don’t bring up by the punch bowl at parties. The one that doesn’t place you in the best light yet probably is one of the most significant things that has happened to you. The one involving a mistake you believe if others know, they might shun, resent or judge you – even though you’ve paid for, have learned from and never repeated. Are you willing to share it? All my close friends have a story. So do I. Like so many others, I’m not proud of mine, but it’s a part of me.

     Most folks don’t tell their story. Don’t want to. That’s their right and I don’t blame them. Compared to others, my story, while significant to me, is tame. Still, I used to dread people finding out. It isn’t easy to admit you’ve made poor choices.

     Recently I witnessed some exceptionally courageous story-telling. They were told by high schoolers from underserved backgrounds in a theater during an inspiring spoken word event, in front of hundreds of people. Spoken word is an oral art form in which people recite poetry and other intimate writings in a group setting. The event was part of a program conducted by Speak it Forward, Inc., a nonprofit whose mission is to ‘uplift youth and adults who have been silenced by helping them find and powerfully express their voice.’

     One by one, these at-risk kids took the stage and, quite literally in the spotlight, told their story. It was powerful. Topics ranged from bullying and selling drugs, to stealing and being expelled from school. A common theme was redemption, thanks in large part to the program’s personal transformation approach. I’ve heard that telling stories is also used in other redemptive work, such as recovery from addiction, compulsion and other behavioral issues.

     Most agree, sharing your story is one of the most liberating things a person can do. Perhaps the greatest thing I learned from telling my story to others is that the world didn’t end. Some people ask difficult questions; others make hard judgments. But by far, most folks just listen – like the audience did at the spoken word event. In fact, when I told my story, no listener’s reaction approached the vicious, self-administered mental beat-downs I’ve given myself over the years.

     My story is that I pay court-ordered child support. I’m in the system – a statistic. It didn’t have to be that way, but that’s how things turned out. And I own it. There’s more to my story. There always is. I love my kids. I work hard to nourish them mentally and spiritually. But the bottom line is I made some serious – no, stupid – missteps years ago and now I’m living out consequences that stretch beyond material things like money.

     That said, I’m no longer hesitant to discuss the matter openly should it come up. Actually, I’ve grown from it. And after years of not speaking on it openly, I’ve come to realize an even greater truth: everyone has a story.

     Lessons we learn can be life-affirming. Sharing them can be instructive. How many of us move through the world defining ourselves by a single grave mistake we’ve made? Telling my story (and still having friends and family who stick by me) has helped me finally start believing this: I am not such a bad person after all. Instead, I’m a human being who made a really bad choice.

     Do you believe in redemption?

Sticks & Stones and the R-Word

Retarded. How many of us have bounced that word around playfully in conversation, or directed it with malice toward someone? We know the adage: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” While this simple children’s rhyme might be right and appropriate in some situations, in others it falls woefully short.

For some, the R-word may not dig at our moral psyche as deeply as, say, the dreaded N-word. But in more cases than one might think, it can be just as injuring. In truth, words like ‘retard’ and ‘retarded’ can be hurtful – particularly when uttered in contempt or anger. Sometimes the words cut deep when simply used offhandedly or within the ‘schoolyard’ humor context. Perhaps more so. They can be particularly demoralizing when heard over and over again. Just ask someone who’s been on the receiving end.

“Just get over it,” some comment, when one who suffers the ‘unintended’ insult complains. Or, “Grow thicker skin.” Typically, these unsympathetic platitudes come from a person in a privileged position; that is, a person who was not born with or has not suffered disabling condition. Sometimes, offenders truly do not comprehend the magnitude of their slur; it’s for some reason beyond their boundaries of compassion. The mainstreaming of ever-devolving humor in our society and mean-spiritedness of TV celebrity talent show judges may be among the driving forces for growing insensitivity.

Local agencies like Community Inclusive Recreation (CIR) work tirelessly to beat back the stigma and perceptual discrimination associated with physical and mental disabilities. CIR’s efforts to reduce barriers to personal growth and opportunities for vulnerable populations do much to draw attention to and address this issue.

At the national level, lawmakers are putting forth bills that would banish ‘retard’ and ‘retarded’ from the legal lexicon, in favor of a more palatable term such as ‘intellectual disability.’ The movement is being spread across the country by Special Olympics, which is conducting an ‘R-word’ campaign and has been underway for about three years, according to reports. The jury is out on whether or not the R-word campaign will achieve its goal.

The NAACP attempted a similar campaign around the N-word. A few years ago, the civil rights organization conducted a much publicized ceremonial funeral in an attempt to ‘bury’ the word from the American vernacular. And while the move sparked short term conversation and nod of approval, the effort yielded little lasting results.

Regarding the R-word, replacing that objectionable word with one holding less of a stigma does not get at the root of the problem. Just decades ago, ‘retarded’ was in fact the favored term by experts who were attempting to move away from then-hurtful words of the day like ‘feeble-minded’ and ‘imbecile.’

The trouble is not the words themselves but the intent carried by the people who use them. And even if we’re just trying to be funny, until we understand that, words will continue to cause harm.

Friendship: How Far Will You Go?

Sometimes I wonder how far I’m willing you go for a friend. One Saturday afternoon I got my answer after receiving back to back phone messages. One was a text from an old college friend in Detroit. In his message he stated his son Daniel (whom I’d never met) got stopped by police near Battle Creek on his way back to Chicago, and asked me to call him. The other message was a voicemail from Daniel himself, who said he was at the police station, that his car had been impounded, and needed help. I left the house immediately. What happened next unsettled me.

On the way to the station, my mind became clouded by what help meant. I started feeling uncomfortable. In the years since graduating college, I only saw my friend a few times in the fall at Michigan State football tailgates, and I didn’t know his young adult son at all. What were my friend’s expectations about what I should/could do? What kind of person was Daniel? Why was he stopped and his car impounded?

I began calculating the potential cost to me for this ‘rescue’ mission – in terms of both money and reputation. Should I post his bail and pay the impound fee to get him back home? Then there was the unknown ‘price’ of getting involved, not to mention all the time it might take.

Then I remembered a few things: a person I call friend asked for help; the help was for his son. I have a son too. This young man was alone, in a strange place, in trouble, and I had the ability to help. Things became clear again. I stopped speculating, decided to get the facts and then work the problem. And I would do whatever I could to help. But things took a turn when I arrived.

Daniel was gone. He had taken a taxi to an impound yard in nearby Marshall. About 15 minutes later I met him there for the first time. There I learned he was not the vehicle’s registered owner, so Daniel could not get the car back. However, with a bit of coaxing and some paperwork that included receiving a faxed letter from the car’s owner, we were allowed to retrieve Daniel’s book bag, which he was desperate for since it contained an important paper that was due the next day in class.

I also learned Daniel was a second year law student. He had not been arrested. The vehicle had been impounded for unpaid tickets and not contraband, as I dreaded. Why he was pulled over in the first place remained fuzzy; he said the deputy told him he was driving too long in the fast lane and that his brake lights were going on and off, or something like that.

Because of the red tape involved in retrieving his book bag, I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon with Daniel. And before he departed by bus to Chicago, we enjoyed talking across a range of topics. Helping Daniel was one of my most enriching experiences this year and it didn’t cost me a dime. (Well, the gas to Marshall and bill for lunch.)

The unsettling part about that day was my second-guessing the decision to help my friend. Although it had been brief, why had I let doubt creep into my mind about helping my friend? Was it merely a matter of me being on guard against people using you or something else? What would you have done?

What’s the Big Deal about Race?

Why is it so doggone hard to talk about issues relating to race? After all, it’s 2012, the second decade of the 21^st century. In my lifetime alone, we’ve done everything from putting men on the moon and toppling the Berlin Wall, to inventing flat screen TVs. Yet we still aren’t having authentic, action-oriented conversations about race as a community. What’s more, in some sectors, there’s no conversation at all. The silence is deafening, and there are many reasons for it.

Some say, “There’s no problem. Race doesn’t matter anymore; we have an African-American president. Doesn’t that prove something?” It does. It demonstrates we’ve come a long way from the lynch-filled days of the Jim Crow era. But putting Barack Obama in the White House doesn’t remove racially discriminating practices still embedded in our court systems and education institutions – practices so entrenched we often can’t even discern them. Nor does it negate things more readily visible and equally damaging, like disapproving looks a couple might receive as they wait with their biracial child in a grocery checkout line.

Last summer, a vandal spray-painted racist and other hateful epithets on abandoned houses for the neighborhood to see. That fall, students at a high school assembly carried out what they described as ‘harmless teasing’ when they engaged in what many adults might regard as racial stereotyping. Just a few weeks ago, at another school, several white students reportedly taunted a group of African American students with a noose. In each case, there was little community dialog regarding the occurrences.

What is it about race and racism that makes it so hard to discuss, even among sensible, well-meaning folks? You think at least it’d be easy for people of the same race to talk among themselves about it. But more often than not it isn’t; at any rate, not in ways that propel conversation toward tangible solutions. Instead, when the subject is brought up, we wade into depressingly familiar refrains that sound like what used to be known in the 20^th century as a ‘broken record.’

Something is indeed broken. Hopefully, it isn’t our spirit to face what truly is among one of the most neglected issues of our day. We’re better than that. I’ve met and worked with too many amazing and committed people (of all races) here and know it to be true. Yet in many parts of our community, race is the elephant in the room. It’s a topic that can dominate a conversation without a word being uttered.

Young people seem better able to cope with the issue but even they can be confused by its complexity. What’s worse, so many of them have little historic perspective of what happened in this country, which I learned firsthand last year as a volunteer docent when the Jim Crow exhibit visited the Art Center. Many youth I spoke to there had little to no understanding of what Jim Crow was, let alone the discriminating laws and actions associated with it.

It’s time this community came out of the closet to talk and do something about issues relating to race and racism. Clearly the head-in-the-sand approach isn’t working. I welcome comments on the matter; particularly those that forward the conversation about race, racism, and what we as a community can do about it – now, in the second decade of the 21^st century.

Chin National Day and ‘American Family’ Values

Ever go to an event hosted by a culture different from your own but feel out of place because of the way people looked (or didn’t look) at you? Well, the Chin National Day celebration is definitely not one of those events. Chin National Day (CND) is an annual holiday among the Chin people from Burma and Burmese-Americans that celebrates democracy, unity and cultural identity. As I understand it, CND initially focused solely on the political aspect of the Chin people but over the years has broadened to emphasize the cultural aspect of being Chin.

The CND celebration I attended was marked by prayer, commentary, entertainment and lots of food. It’s a family-oriented affair attended by young and old alike. The evening’s festivities were simple in production yet culturally rich and colorful – with many folks dressed in traditional Chin attire. Think ‘family reunion’ with a fashion theme, except that several hundred folks you don’t even know are there. As an outsider, it was enlightening to observe the ethnic traditions presented in the form of music, dancing and other performances.

Despite the large audience, the event held a uniquely intimate feel. Since I arrived late and theater seating was limited, I made my way to the rear of the auditorium where dining tables were set up. The atmosphere back there was less formal and from where I sat, not only could I enjoy the program on stage, I was able to immerse myself in the Burmese-American community. What I took away from it all was most instructive.

For instance, you know how gatherings comprised of relatives that relaxed and comfortable feeling (that is, before the black sheep of the family arrives), and how even the smallest kids roam wild and free and parents tend not to fret about where they are or what they’re doing? That same spirit was present at CND. Adults watched over and interacted with youngsters doing their high-energy thing. Not out of control; just exploring and discovering.

As I observed the warm and inclusive scene, absent was that, ‘keep-your-distance-I-don’t-know-you’ posture found at other social affairs. In its place was more of a, ‘you felt our culture was significant enough to be here? Thanks for coming!’.

As one might expect, some of the teenagers were brash and rambunctious. There also were the obligatory babies crying. Still, the underpinnings of the event were rooted along a common thread of unity – among human beings as much as Burmese-Americans in harmony. This is not to suggest these particular folks lead a quixotic existence. Far from it. I am told that, as with most communities, Burmese-Americans are steeped in their share of internal discord. But all of it was absent (at least from an outsider perspective) from this event, and it felt nourishing to be a part of this festive and engaging energy.

By contrast, more than a few local events I go to tend to be standoffish – including some that I am host to. And although most participating folks work hard to be polite, a person still can come away feeling like an outsider. It’s as if folks are avoiding really getting to know each other by ironically being as polite as possible.

After experiencing the good will ‘family’ feeling associated with the CND celebration, I wonder what’s happened to those of us born here to have acquired or adopted a posture in which we tend to regard each other with such suspicion these days. Or has it always been like this?

How Do You ‘Travel’ Through Town?

Which is most true regarding efforts to strengthen our community? a.) Great work is happening. b.) Bad work is happening. c.) Nothing’s happening.

I have a theory. It’s by no means scientific and frankly rather whimsical. Yet, I believe it helps explain why we sometimes have a hard time understanding what others perceive as ‘truth’ about work going on in our community. It’s called the Hometown Traveler theory and goes like this:

As we ‘travel’ the community, going about our daily lives, we do it from one of five symbolic viewpoints. Each holds its own truth and sometimes more than one can be right.

1. Airline Travelers. This ‘10,000 feet’ view of the community offers the broadest perspective. You get the big picture of how the all parts and pieces fit together. The problem is from way up there, you can’t see much detail. So emerging projects, activities and other work that is (or isn’t) making a difference may not be easily noticed.

2. Subway Travelers. Moving in this way may be necessary but also somewhat limiting. Time is mostly spent apart from and uninvolved in community action. You’re randomly surfacing in this neighborhood and that one, catching brief glimpses of what’s going on; then going back ‘underground.’ The result can be a jigsaw puzzle with lots of missing pieces; one moment, the community looks attractive and prosperous, the next it feels like doom and gloom.

3. Cruise Ship Travelers. You see more parts of the community since you visit lots of neighborhoods. To be efficient, you participate in short, to-the-point stops (power lunches, site visits, orchestrated meetings, etc.). Here’s the rub: your time spent in each place is so brief, these ‘excursions’ can lull you into believing you ‘understand’ situations when you really only have snapshots.

4. On-Foot Travelers. Since it’s a slower means of getting around, quality time can be spent in a particular place. That creates expertise as to what’s going on. But it’s a double-edge sword: the time you spend up close and personal in one neighborhood keeps you from learning what’s happening elsewhere. This limited scope can lead to incomplete conclusions about may be happening just around the corner.

5. Flying Saucer Travelers. These Hometown Travelers are looking at things from outer space, which is also where their ideas often originate. And way out there, where the air is thin, things become distorted really quickly. So it can be hard to have a grip on what is referred to on Earth as reality.

(Note: omitted is the sixth category, Time Travelers, who spend most of their time living in the past or visioning a future so far flung that it often resembles the Flying Saucer aspect of the theory.)

Kidding aside, each of us hold jobs, roles and responsibilities that cause us to look at the community through a particular lens. Volunteers, educators, elected officials, administrators, service providers, philanthropic funders, factory workers, business executives – the list of who we are is rich in its diversity. And through them all, common, unifying threads exist. Try and see the community from other people’s perspective. Don’t let job titles cloud opportunities for collaboration. Be sensitive to another person’s possible state of mind and open yours to the notion that sometimes it may only be our way of looking at something that keeps us from seeing and understanding that, in truth, we share mutual points of view.

The Only One in the Room

     It can be one of the most uncomfortable things a person can experience being ‘the only one in the room.’ In this case, the only one in the room refers not to a person walking into a space empty of others. Rather, it’s being in a place filled with folks who are different from you.

     Last Sunday, I was the only one in the room. At least it felt like that. I was invited to church service by a close colleague. We both serve on the board of an agency he wanted to strengthen awareness of among his congregation. But something else was going on in my mind as I pulled into the church parking lot: I would most likely be the only one of my kind at the service. My anxiety grew when I exited my vehicle and approached the entry way.

     I was pretty sure there’d be a person or two there that I’d know, which helped some. But I still felt apprehensive. I knew I was being irrational. After all, I was entering a place of worship; a sanctuary. Nevertheless, the nervousness was present.

     What made me different from the rest of the people that morning was that I am of the Episcopal faith and the church I was entering was Methodist. And aside from being in a room full of strangers, my concern was this: at my church I know when to stand, when to sit, when to pray – in short, what to expect. No surprises. But here, there were nine way to Sunday that I could embarrass myself. Or worse, unintentionally offend someone.

     As it turned out, the only thing I had to fear was if I had left my cell phone on or not. When I reached the church doors, two little kids with big smiles swung open the doors to greet me. The adult ushers welcomed me, handed me a program and, well, ushered me into the beautiful sanctuary. Still worried about making mistakes, I selected a seat in a row well toward the rear of the church. Within seconds I was welcomed by a stranger, then another. Then a colleague welcomed me warmly. And although I was ‘forced’ closer to the front, I felt ‘held’ by parishioners. Choir members smiled. Behind me was a woman in a wheelchair. As far as I could tell, she was the only one in the room too.

     Long story short, I was made to feel welcome. And although there were some who ‘kept their distance,’ I reflected on how many times when somebody else was the only one in the room, how I held my own distance. Not intentionally, mind you; I might have been too involved in my thoughts or ‘just not in the mood’ that day to reach out.

     My relatively mild anxiety as the lone Episcopalian that Sunday morning pales in comparison to situations in which more significant social situations might exist within the mind of the only one in the room: a poor person among the well-to-do; a blind person in a crowded room of the sighted; a white person in a space filled with persons of color. For some, the experience can be traumatic.

     Short of making direct contact, offering a smile or nod can go a long way in making someone feel welcome. Simply having an awareness of another person’s situation can often make the difference between fellowship and fear.