I like to get out of the clinic and walk over lunch break. But when winter arrived early in Milwaukee this year, with the first snow on Halloween in a hundred years, I took it indoors. My next birthday will be my 60th, and a pleasant lunchtime walk in the crisp fall air is one thing, but leaning into a bone-chilling north wind is another. So, it’s official: I’m a mall walker now.
I was passing by the food court at Mayfair Mall a few days ago, arching wide around the jewelry kiosk so as to avoid making eye contact again with the stressed-out salesman stationed there, when someone else caught my attention. A young African American man was coming towards me.
You know how we form instant impressions of people? Well this guy seemed a little scary and angry. Do you, like me, catch yourself with such thoughts and feelings, judging someone, forming an impression without knowing anything about them except how they look right now? I noticed my reaction to him. Looking back, I find that funny and interesting now, because I must have passed many hundreds of people walking in the mall that day, but it was this guy who I had a reaction to.
We passed each other.
Now, I do believe in trusting my instincts. But I also believe in becoming aware of and owning the thoughts and feelings beyond my control that wash over me, thoughts and feelings that aren’t my best self, thoughts and feelings given to me by the world, the media, my peers, and my DNA, thoughts and feelings that place me in a “tribe” or group of some type, and therefore in opposition to other tribes.
L>h is deliberately a non-religious and non-political organization, because male on female violence is everywhere, and we must appeal to everyone to accomplish our mission. But I am a person of faith. So, as I notice the reaction I just had to this young black man, I lean on scripture that helps me be who I want to be. “If you don’t judge and condemn, you won’t be judged and condemned. By the measure you use, so is it measured to you. Love one another as I loved you.”
Anyway, I’m walking along, reciting scriptures to re-center, when I hear a whisper behind me.
“Excuse me sir” the whisper says.
I ignore it and keep walking.
“Excuse me sir”, a bit louder and clearer this time, and aimed at me it seemed.
I stop and turn. Standing face to face with me is the young African American man I just passed, the scary angry guy, the guy who somehow stood out to me, the guy I caught myself forming a negative impression of for no substantial reason other than on some gut level I apparently was threatened by him. He had turned after we passed, doubled back, and caught up to me again about a hundred feet further down the mall.
“Hi, you’re Buck, right?”
“Who is this guy?”, I think to myself.
He points to the tattoo on my right arm and smiles. “And that’s Jessie.”
“Do I know this guy, and how does he know me?”
“Hey, you were just at Lambeau getting a grant from the Packers. That’s so great.”
He was obviously following us on Facebook. We had just the day before posted a photo of Jessie’s image on the big screen at the Atrium at Lambeau Field.
“I’m Devon”, he says. “I was in Chippewa Valley Correctional two years ago when you came and did A Message from Jessie.”
He put out his hand. I pulled him in for a hug. Devon went on to say that he’d been following Jessie’s project ever since he got out of jail. I felt that pang in your heart when the universe blesses you. We chatted awhile. I asked how he was doing. I asked if he was playing full out, like we talk about in the prison presentation. He lit up in a smile and told me he had two jobs, and he was here at Mayfair today applying for a third. He added proudly that he had a girlfriend. He really wanted me to meet her, but she was working in a store on the other end of the mall. I thanked him for stopping to talk, we said goodbye, hugged again, and parted ways.
The second half of my lunch time walk at the mall was totally different than the first. There was a spring in my step and a twinkle in my eye. My gratitude for life and everything it brings, good and bad, was present again.
Devon and I are from different worlds. I don’t know the circumstances of his incarceration, and I make excuses for no one, including myself, and even people I’ve forgiven, like Dan, the young man who murdered my daughter. But I do know that Wisconsin has one of the nation’s highest incarceration rates per capita for young black men. And I know I’m an old white guy. I know nothing about Devon’s story. But he knows mine. This young black man heard an old white man’s story in jail two years ago, and he so took it to heart that he remembered my face, my tattoo, my daughter, and her mission ever since.
Who says one and done presentations can’t change the world?
Is L>h working to create a proven effective new school model that measurably decreases dating violence, sexual assault, domestic violence, human trafficking, and bullying experienced by students? Yes. Are measurable results and replicable, transferable programs important? Yes. Do we need such a model in schools everywhere in today’s world? Yes. But never underestimate the power of a simple story.
We all have a story. I have one, Jessie has one, Devon has one, and you have one. Ever think your story is nothing special, or doesn’t matter? Me too. Well don’t tell that to Devon. He thinks my story matters. Whenever I get resigned or down or cynical about the difference I make, the universe has a way of blessing me. It always has; I just missed it for the first 53 years of my life, until I lost Jess, opened my eyes, and saw that though the world was the same, everything had changed.
Your story matters too, whether or not you see it or know it. Maybe it isn’t as dramatic as Jessie’s story, but your courageous struggle to move forward in life despite all that’s happened to you is every bit as important to the universe as mine and Jessie’s story. And if a young black man and an old white guy from different worlds can bond, inspire each other, and show each other love and respect, tell me, what is not possible for us?
Heading for the exit at a packed, holiday season Mayfair Mall that day, fifteen minutes or so after the “chance” meeting with Devon, who comes walking in the entrance, right towards me? Devon again, this time with Jennifer, the girl he wanted me to meet, his girl. His face lights up again. Now the universe was blessing Devon, giving him a chance to show her to me, giving him the chance to show me he had a commitment to being the kind of man we talked about two years ago at Chippewa Valley Correctional. And the universe was blessing me again too, because a young man wanted me to be proud of him.
I am proud of you Devon. Grateful to meet you. And pleased to know you.
Sincerely,
Buck Blodgett, Executive Director
