Your Story Matters
The power of witnessing another’s story.
When I was in my middle 30's, longing for more meaning in my life as an actress in Hollywood, I volunteered for HEART OF LOS ANGELES. HOLA a program designed to help kids at risk stay off the streets and out of gangs. Professional actors, writers, and directors were brought in to help these kids write and perform their stories publicly.
I got assigned the toughest kid. Jonathon. A hardened, flinty-eyed x-gang member. He was eighteen years old and in a wheelchair after being caught in gang crossfire. He seemed to glare at me. I was a little intimidated.
I secretly wondered if I could be reassigned.
I was also assigned David, from Belize, who at 13 was already skirting around the gangs to avoid a difficult home life and challenging school experiences due to crippling dyslexia. I immediately adored his bright spirit. His eyes were twinkly as if he was about to burst out a chuckle any minute.
I was a married, white, privileged woman from a loving, intact family, and there were times I wondered what the hell I could have to offer these kids. I secretly pondered how I could get out of this obligation, but I had committed. I was the director, expected to help them shine.
During our rehearsals, I did what I always do in challenging circumstances. I made them laugh. I played the fool. I laughed at myself. I brought a "we are all one" perspective. I encouraged curiosity and an attitude of possibility to the process of our creation.
And how we made magic! Somehow the three of us were able to conjure a script and performance that was both heart-lifting and had the audience howling in laughter. And just when their hearts were open and unawares, we banged the gong with our message of empowerment. YOU MATTER. The audience exploded as we took our bows.
The look of joy and awe on those two boys' faces while receiving the audience's love will be forever carved on my heart. I had helped them experience the power of creating their own stories! They saw that their stories mattered.
I felt like a Joyful Magicienne as I took my own bow. I had turned my talents into something purposeful, instead of selling cereal and playing Moms on T.V.
As is often the case with giving to others, we receive, in turn, gifts in multiples.
For instance, Jonathon, the hardened x-gang member, would later become a loving Father and husband. When we spoke after he recently published a book of his life, he told me I had been an inspiration to him. I didn't mention how intimidated I had once been by him.
Long after the performances ended, I continued to support David.
He had always touched my heart.
To be honest, sometimes open hearts can be highly inconvenient.
After he was involved in a drug-related murder, David, at 18, was put in prison. Life without parole.
Even though I was busy with my own child now, I occasionally wrote him letters. Once a year, around his birthday, I drove 3 hours to visit him in prison. After waiting for hours, being search scanned, and bussed to the highest security prison- you were allowed to see your inmate for a couple of hours. You were seated side-by-side at low tables and chairs, along with the other prisoners and their visitors. You could use your allowed 20 dollars in your ziplock bag to purchase from vending machines and share a plastic bagged meal together while the bored guards scanned the room. I was annoyed with the bureaucratic nonsense, but these simple visits meant so much to David.
Mostly I took David's collect calls. 15-minute check-ins, while a pre-recorded officious female voice interrupted us every 5 minutes.
"This call is from an inmate at Lancaster Prison. This call and your telephone number will be recorded."
"Oh, shut up, you old goat," I would say to David's amusement.
During our calls, I listened to his stories. Sometimes I challenged him, sometimes I encouraged him, but mostly I made him laugh. And then, just when his heart was open and unawares, I would bang that gong – a message of empowerment. I reminded him of the possibilities available to him, even behind bars.
Despite his dyslexia, he took advantage of the prison education programs. He got his G.E.D. and then went on to get 3 A.A. degrees, one in Theology. He volunteered for a program called DAWGS for training rescued dogs for veterans and later became the lead trainer for the trainers.
We stayed in touch every week. Every year on Christmas, my birthday, Mother's Day, he wrote beautiful messages in cards (showing continual improvement of dyslexia in his writing.) He expressed his appreciation for me always standing by his side. He called me magic.
When I think about it, I didn't do that much.
I just showed up with a loving heart and witnessed his life.
Maybe just that is medicine.
Last Friday, David was released from jail, having received a dispensation from the Governor. After 25 years behind bars, he walked into the arms of his sister, a free man at 43 years old.
When he called me from his sisters' cell phone, I asked him,
"So, what was it like?"
" Kris, I turned around and looked at the walls of the prison and said to myself, "It's all over now."
"No, bub. It's just beginning," I said as we chuckled.
Like the caged bird that sings,
This man had turned his cell into his growing place.
I can't wait to see what he makes now. It will be my honor to be a witness to his stories.
You can also read this post on Medium.