What's Your Story?

What’s Your Story?

As one of the organizers for the upcoming “Critical Conversations” conference in April, I began reflecting upon one of the topics of the conference, “Race and Poverty”.  I began thinking about how I would help others who struggle with issues surrounding race and poverty.  I must admit, even after being in Student Affairs for many years, I still struggle with this topic.  Thankfully, one of the keynote speakers for the conference, Inky Johnson (InkyJohnson.com) has created a firestorm across the nation with his powerful keynote on race and poverty.  After reading his bio and watching his promotional video about his story, the question I asked myself was, “How?” How did he overcome racism and poverty when the odds were certainly stacked against him? What is the story behind his comeback?

I watched his promo video several more times to see if I could find the answers. As I watched the video, I began asking myself, “How could I help spread the ideas Inky promotes?” I know I have privilege and I know I don’t look like I come from poverty. Though I never wanted to admit it, I do come from a background of poverty. 

Nobody likes to admit their shortcomings.  Maybe, this is the first step, admitting our shortcomings.  Like a lot of people, I don’t like sharing stories that are sad or depressing.  I don’t even like to admit my mistakes for fear of appearing inadequate or weak.  But, as I discovered overtime, it was sharing my story with others that seemed to provide true strength and inspiration for myself and others.  Like the Critical Conversations Diversity Conference boasts, we need to unify our voices through being willing to share our stories rather than hiding behind past shame or guilt. So, here’s a little snippet of my story.  I hope to someday hear yours as well; maybe at the Critical Conversations Diversity Conference at NDSU?

My Story- A Snippet

As an eight-year-old boy growing up in Hawaii, I thought growing up surrounded by the ocean was “cool”.  The ocean was always sky-blue and just the right temperature, day or night. While diving near the rocks, I would often see eels, sea urchins, and large sea turtles coming to rest on the enormous sandy shores.  Tourists were everywhere. I always found it quite amusing how my pale-white skin seemed to look like the tourist’s, sunburned and blistered.  Though I was born and raised on O’ahu, I always looked Caucasian.  Good and bad, I was always treated like a Caucasian.  Unfortunately, if you appear Caucasian/white in Hawaii, sometimes your skin color worked against you and not for you. I never knew the implications of this until much later in life (but that’s another story). 

The notion that I came from a poor family never hit me until I was 9-years old.  My brother had just come home from running away (the result of an abusive step-father), and my younger brother was only a year old. It was the weekend before Christmas.  I was over at a friend’s house and noticed that their Christmas tree was full of fake snow (the kind you spray, this is funny as I write this from Fargo, ND where it is currently 0 degrees and two inches of snow on the ground!) and the tasty smell of Kalua Pig (the Hawaiian version of Pot Roast, just much better tasting!) seemed to fill the house.  As I noticed dozens of presents under the tree, I couldn’t help but to think of my own house.  There was no tree and there were no presents.  Though I was invited to stay for dinner, I declined.  I did not want to admit to myself that my friend and his family we’re a lot better off financially than mine. I decided to head home with the lingering hope that Christmas might show up at my house after all.  It never did.

I woke up early the next morning and ventured into the living room.  Looking around, there was still no tree and no shiny presents. I didn’t know what to think.  Mom walked up behind me and laid two brand-new shirts on the couch and said, “We just didn’t have enough this year. But, we got you these.”  Holding back my sadness, I said, “thank you.”  I had enough sense to know there were others who didn’t even have a place to call home.  Being only nine, I didn’t sulk too long and went about playing in my room.

A Christmas Miracle

Later that morning, my step-father told my brothers and I to jump in the car so that we could go to visit grandpa. When we arrived, we visited grandpa for a few minutes and decided to play outside. Though Grandpa lived in an apartment on a busy street, there were very few cars outside due to Christmas morning.  My older brother, Charles, and I decided to walk up and down the street playfully kicking up the leaves near the curb.  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a dollar bill hiding in the leaves.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It wasn’t a dollar bill though; it was a hundred-dollar bill! Charles and I quickly began looking for another (it wasn’t as greedy as it seems, but we were kids!).  We found a second hundred-dollar bill and then a third!  We couldn’t believe our eyes.  Three one-hundred dollar bills!  We ran back to the apartment to show our family.  Though our parents were initially in shock, they soon decided to take my brother and I to the nearest open store.  Unfortunately, the only open store that day was a pharmacy.  But, that was good enough for us!  It was a true Christmas miracle for our family that day; one I will never forget. 

I have never forgotten the “miracle” that happened to our family that Christmas day.  Though I know now that money is not what makes a family “rich”, it certainly helps to pay the bills and provide a little brightness on a Christmas morning.   I share this story because I do know what it’s like to live in poverty; at least to a certain degree.  I know it could have been much worse.

Being in Student Affairs, I know that part of my life’s mission is to help others create their own miracles by overcoming obstacles.  However, if I am afraid to share part of my story because I’m afraid it would make me look bad, I could lose the opportunity to inspire and motivate others to create change.  I believe trying to appear perfect never seemed to help anyone.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for everything.  But, don’t be afraid to share your story.  Someone who needs it might be listening.  Won’t you share yours?

Join us for the Critical Conversations Conference, April 10-12, 2017 at North Dakota State University.  Come and share your story. Costs to attend are very low and we can arrange for you to stay with a host family. All students attend free! Learn more and register for the Critical Conversations Diversity Conference at:

https://www.naspa.org/events/critical-conversations-diversity-conference