MyTimeToBlog
My entire childhood I've been shy. Due to that fact, I've missed out on numerous opportunities because of it. The biggest reminder of that came when I was a child in New York. My teacher asked for me to read a few lines in a packed auditorium. A packed auditorium. The fear that grabbed hold of me, made me back down, at the cost of missing out on a participation party. I didn't care, I refused to get up on that stage. That one moment defined my life for a long time.
When I became incarcerated, I noticed the men I was around had their flaws as well. Seeing them struggle with theirs, I knew I had to work on mine. Why? I desired to become more than worse. That's why I took steps to stand up for myself and speak.
My first opportunity was at Sunday church service. We were asked if we wanted to come up to the podium and read a scripture. I raised my hand and said I'd do it. At that point moving forward, I was nervous...but I kept looking around me. I'm in prison. My flaws kept me from being the man I needed to be. So I went up to the front of the congregation and laid an egg. The microphone was to my lips, and I was mumbling the verses out. My brothers in faith were gesturing for me to speak up. It was horrible, but it was the first step in conquering my fears.
I received one more opportunity to speak to the congregation, and this time I was heading in the right direction. That stood out to me most: pushing ahead. Screw fear. I wanted more for myself than sitting back and watching life pass me by.
My wildest moment was at Wallen Ridge State Prison. A supermax prison that had me taking Thinking For A Change. This program changed me enough that upon completion, I became an aide. That led me to teach a class for thirty-plus men--while the administration from Richmond's Department of Corrections sat in. I didn't know any of the men. Not a single one. Nor did I know the material. I'm just using what I learned from the program, and bringing my smile along with me.
I'm in the center of a circle of men who were already upset that this program was taking their recreation time. They also didn't know me. Their usual aide was transferred, so they displayed their disdain by starting conversations with each other. The eyes of those from Richmond had my leg nervously bouncing like a rabbit. I couldn't run away. I couldn't do anything but stand there. The men were talking, and my mind drifted back to that time at school when I didn't get up to the podium. I started saying, "I was a kid then. I'm a man now." I looked at the men around me and commanded their attention by raising my voice: "How many of you are sick of being bullied by these COs?"
It was crazy of me to say it because of the history of brutality the COs did to us. Even so, I did, on a predominantly white institution with visitors from Richmond. Still, it had them wondering what I would say next. I smiled. I had them and I needed to follow up with something profound. I did. I gave them the chance to learn how to deal with their problems by being the bigger man. Meaning, they had a life outside of these walls, so focus on that. Did they, I'll never know? But I opened my mouth and they listened.
When I departed from Wallen Ridge, I ended up at Sussex One State Prison. This was where I was introduced to my mentor, Mr. Syed. He allowed me to take charge of men who had attitudes, superiority complexes, and abused so many drugs they couldn't think straight. I had to lead them. Me! Now in truth, I could've been aggressive in my way of making them listen. I had a reputation from my heydays in the mountains (supermax prisons at the edge of Virginia). But that only meant I couldn't do what I needed to. So, I did what I normally do when I'm stuck: ask for help.
Many men in prison are experienced in dealing with knuckleheads. Since I knew who was who, I presented my problem to Shakur. He was this old man that has worked as an aide on numerous facilities. His advice was that I give them the truth: "If you mess this opportunity up, then you will be showing everybody, even your family, that you're not ready to be a man." I said it, but then I had to live up to being a man as well.
I knew what I could be, but as I worked on myself, others around me wanted help as well. So, as I blossomed into this new version of myself, I was handed a chance to write a speech. One that would be read at the yearly graduation for completions of programs, and getting your GED. I had this kid named Soldier who desired to help me by reading what I wrote. I spoke on his behalf, getting him the chance of a lifetime. On the day of the graduation, Soldier headed up to the podium and tore the roof off the building...then he moved into a corner after the speech and closed himself off to everybody. There he was with people like the Warden, guest speakers who were formerly incarcerated, and those in other administrative positions. He didn't open a door with them, because he couldn't see what was around him: an opportunity to grow yourself beyond these walls.
I retreated to my cell and realized a lesson was there for me: speak up, and speak loud. Life happens fast. I'm much older, decades from that scared child who didn't want to step to the podium. I missed out on so many things from being afraid. Now, after witnessing what Soldier did, that told me to never retreat into myself again. I haven't from that moment, and never will.
So, what has held you back from your best self? Whatever it is, I want you to know, you can do it. Also, ask for help, please! People care when you do. Believe me, I know this personally.