Transcriber: Delia Cohen Reviewer: Ellen Maloney
A message that I'm sure a lot of people can relate to.
I'm proud to introduce Mr. Rocky Thomas.
(Applause)
(Cheers)
I believe that personal experiences have the ability to transform lives.
This is the power of story.
So, I'm going to tell you a little bit about my story.
Once upon a time ... No, I'm kidding; it doesn't start like that.
(Laughter)
I was born to a white mother and to a black father,
but at two years old, my mother took me away from my father.
I would not see him again until I was 18.
At five years old, my mother married my stepfather,
a white man who had a white daughter.
I grew up in basically a predominantly white community,
and at first, the racial distinction really didn't mean that much to me.
But over time, it became the source of a great sense
of alienation and confusion.
I wrote a poem that kind of describes this reality.
It's called 'Gray Area':
I grew up with a white mother and with a white stepfather
but I was black
And at the door
where my friends' parents used to make me stand
I was black
And on the floor
where my friends assumed I could dance
I was black
See, when the girls thought my hair was peculiar
or my coaches thought my athleticism was overly familiar
or in the car
when my friends were playing Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Biggie or Tupac
I was black
Oh, and I was for sure black every time I got in trouble.
(Laughter)
But now, see, I was white when I spoke too proper
when I dared to believe that I could succeed -
you know, go to college, get those As and those Bs -
or even when I dated women who resembled my mother.
See, I was white when I preferred to listen to Metallica or Creed
or when I realized I couldn't dance because this ain't dancing
(Laughter)
See, when people seen my family, I was white.
And every time people saw my family, I was black
(End of poem)
As you can see, part of my story is that I struggled with my identity,
as well as with my father's absence,
my parents' divorce at 15,
and I had a set of progressively destructive behaviors.
And eventually,
two months after my 18th birthday,
I committed a horrible crime.
And eight months later, I was in a maximum security prison
with a life sentence.
Yet, even then I managed to make it worse,
when out of fear, shame, and self-pity, I attempted to kill myself.
Now, I made it through that time
because of the love, the unconditional love,
of a mother.
But it was at that time that I realized,
I needed to change.
I wanted to change.
I just didn't know how.
So, one day, a friend suggested that I attend a support group.
I went reluctantly.
I still recall the question that was asked:
What are you most ashamed of in your life?
And there was this one particular black gang member,
and he began to tell his story and he said,
"I'm most ashamed of the fact that I abandoned my family for my homies."
I thought to myself, "That's kind of deep."
And then he leaned forward,
and I could see the tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
And he said,
"I left my children out there on the streets without their father."
And he began to weep, like a man that was broken.
Norman's willingness to be vulnerable had challenged all of my misconceptions
about what it was to be a black man, and to just be a man in general.
This reality made me realize
I no longer needed to live in the fear
of what stereotypes and assumptions others may have had,
that I could be free to develop my own identity,
to figure out who I wanted to be.
As I continued to hear the stories of others,
men and women who came from various walks of life,
I would continue to be transformed by the power of story.
And this,
this is why I can stand here today
and tell you some of the more intimate details of my life.
It's why I believe that there's nothing greater
than just serving one another,
finding a way to help.
And finally, this is why I believe
that you should all tell your story.
I believe that you should tell what you can, when you can,
however you can, because you never know:
You may change somebody's life, thank you.