Speaking about Mentoring…

Tillamook Kiwanis Banquet Speech

Neal Lemery

September 30, 2015

Thank you. It is a pleasure to be with you on this special evening, as you honor your organization, and your service to our community. This is a sweet and special celebration of good works.

Kiwanians have always been known for your service and your dedication to improving the lives of others. You make a difference.

You bring about change, and you are people who change other people’s lives.

The famous anthropologist, Margaret Mead, said, “Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For indeed, that’s all who ever have.”

I believe that each one of us is a powerful instrument of change. When I worked as a judge, I saw that people were hungry to change their lives, but many people simply didn’t know where to begin. Life was too overwhelming, and they had been told throughout their life that they were failures, and weren’t good enough to achieve success and realize their dreams.

And, most people don’t have anyone to believe in them, who believe that a person can take those few hesitant steps forward in the right direction, and start changing their life.

You and I don’t accept that model of how the world works. We believe in making a difference, and bringing about change, one person at a time.

I’m a strong believer in teaching by example, and the power of mentoring.

Every one of us needs a strong person in our corner, someone who is our champion, our cheerleader — someone who believes in us, and where we are going.

When I was growing up, and, indeed, throughout my life, I had the benefit of strong, compassionate people — people who believed in me, and believed that I could achieve great things, and realize my dreams. My mentors weren’t Superman, and they didn’t have magical powers. But, they believed in me, and took the time to encourage me, to support me, and to give a nudge now and then, during the times when the going got tough, and the road ahead was rocky.

It is astonishing to me that there is such great power in a few kind words, and some time spent over a cup of coffee, offering the hand of friendship and a little push in the right direction.

I had the benefit of good parents, and growing up in times when there were strong families and vibrant, caring neighborhoods and communities. I grew up with a sense of optimism and hope, in a time when our nation’s leadership challenged us to travel to the Moon, and to “think not what our country can do for you, but what you can do for the country.”

Leaders challenged us to dream, and to declare war on poverty, racism, and ignorance.

Today, our country faces great challenges, and, once again, we are rising to the challenge of making a difference, and improving lives.

Our tasks are not easy.

I work with young men in prison who are fatherless. Most of my kids haven’t had a visit from family in over a year, and most of the time, its four or five years. In their world, anger and disappointment, and living without hope has been the norm.

The national statistics are shocking:

85% of youths in prison come from fatherless homes.

90% of homeless and runaway kids come from fatherless homes.

85% of the kids who have behavioral problems come from fatherless homes.

71% of high school dropouts come from fatherless homes.

And, 63% of kids committing suicide come from fatherless homes.

Not having a strong, healthy father figure in a young person’s life has a huge impact on their life. That’s not rocket science, by any means, but society in general doesn’t seem to get too worked up about that. But I know I can change those statistics.

I’m all about change. You’re all about change. How does each of us make that happen?

I believe it starts one person at a time. And, that means one cup of coffee at a time, one chat with a kid in your neighborhood, one handshake, a few kind words to someone who is struggling. Its taking on the work of a father or a mother with a kid who needs a healthy adult in their life, someone who takes an interest in them, someone who cares.

It truly takes a village to raise a child.

I go to prison every week, and visit some kids. I spend time in their garden, helping them with their plants, teaching them something they didn’t know about gardening. And, there are so many other lessons to learn there, not only for those young men, but for me.

I meet with young men one on one, too. I drink coffee and talk with some kids about their school work, and how they are changing their lives. I try to be a consistent, positive role model, someone who cares about their lives and where they are going.

I don’t do this work by showing up as Mr. Expert, or putting on the black robe of a judge and lecturing them about the law and responsibility. Instead, I show up as just me. I meet them on their own terms, and become their friend. I listen, I support them, I cheer them on. And, most importantly, I believe in them.

We are fortunate to have the Youth Authority in our community. It is a place of healing, and a place of great change. The teachers there set high standards, and, every week, I see young men getting their lives in order, and making the changes they need to make. It is a place of hope and a place of courage.

Most of the guys out there tell me that being in that prison is the best thing that’s ever happened to them. It’s a place where someone cares about them, and where they are safe, and can make the changes they need to make.

You do this work, too. You are out in the community, meeting kids and other folks on their own terms. You’re out there volunteering, doing service work. And, people see that. They see your example, and they know that you care. You are people of action, people who are changing the world, one person at a time.

You listen, you encourage, you help them light their candles, so that they can find their way in life. And, they find their way because they know you are there, that you care about them, and that you are willing to spend the time with them that they need.

You are the builders of this community and you are the builders of the men and women of the next generation. I commend you for that, and I congratulate you on doing the hardest job there is to do. You care about someone, and motivate them to feel that they are worthwhile human beings.

In that, you change the world.

Thank you for all that you do.

Growing Our Garden

On Fridays, I garden. I drive down the road to a community garden, ready for a morning of planting, weeding and, often, harvesting.

I join a group of young men, and we set to work. Together, we tackle our list of chores and get the jobs done. I work up a good sweat, my muscles get tired, and we add a few smudges of dirt to our faces. We laugh, sharing the simple joys of a day in the garden.

We take a break and look at what we’ve accomplished. Every week brings new projects, and fresh results.

We surround ourselves with all the elements of a healthy garden. We make sure we use substantial and complex soil, rich fertilizer, fresh air, sunshine, water, and tender care. Each plant gets its own place in the garden, and is encouraged to flourish. If there is a need for water or fertilizer or a little pruning, we are quick to respond, doing our work in nurturing and care taking.

The plants look great, but we’ve really been growing healthy young men.

And these young men flourish. They get the attention and care they need. They find their place in our work, and are encouraged to send their roots down into the soil. They open themselves to the warmth and sunshine we all share. They are hungry for this work, and eagerly take on their roles in raising chickens, planting seeds, in the designing and building of raised beds, compost bins, and trellises. They learn to plan their projects, to plant and harvest. Over the fire, they cook a meal from the vegetables they have grown, tasting and savoring what their hands have grown in the dirt, nourishing themselves with what they have grown.

They become connected to the earth, and the food that they eat. The garden sunshine brightens their lives and feeds their souls. They build community in their work and by their conversations around the campfire.

For many of them, this is their first experience at growing things, and in being caretakers. They become gardeners, not just of their community garden, but of their own lives. In their work, they make the connection between this work and the work they are doing to rebuild their lives, growing into healthy young men.

We do this work behind a prison fence, yet there are freedoms here these young men have never had. They grow here, encouraged to find themselves, and to see themselves as more than men scarred by the traumas and poisons of troubled, directionless childhoods. This is a place of new beginnings, new opportunities. Old wounds are healed and they can move ahead, becoming healthy men.

I treasure the simple moments, the quiet, one-on-one time with a young man, as we plant a flower box, or weed the potatoes, slice some tomatoes, or pick and shell some beans. Just a couple of gardeners, but so much more goes on here, more than the eye can see.

Sometimes, we sit around the campfire, cooking some food, toasting a marshmallow or roasting a hot dog, or just reflecting on what we’ve done in the garden. Soon, stories are being told, experiences shared, observations made. Guys being their true selves, deepening their friendships, and talking about their growing strengths and talents. They are farmers talking about their crops, and how they are making some improvements, tending their crops, growing their lives.

I’m the old man in this crowd, the guy with the gray hair, who just shows up and offers a helping hand, maybe a word or two of advice. I like to be quiet, taking it all in, letting them take the lead in whatever we are working on, watching them ask their questions and talk out the solutions, finding answers.

They need to be in charge here, the gardeners of their own garden. Part of our harvest is growing strong leaders, people who can take charge of their own lives, and make their own way in life.

They come up to me, wanting me to notice their work. They ask me questions, seeking my advice, and not just about gardening.

They are hungry young men, hungry for attention, for someone to affirm them, and recognize them for the goodness they hold inside of themselves. I show up, say good morning, and ask them how they are doing. We work together, as farmers and as life long learners of how to live a good, productive life. The other adults at the garden do that too, and the young men respond with smiles, their eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

We take time to measure our harvest, counting and weighing our produce, admiring the beauty and abundance of what the boys have grown.

Yet, there is more to the harvest than all the tomatoes and corn, chicken eggs and dried herbs. I count the smiles and the looks of pride and confidence I see in their faces. These young men have grown this summer in so many ways than what we see in their vegetables and flowers.

Their strength and their resilience shine in their faces today, and their newfound abilities to grow their own lives is the real essence of the harvest of our garden.

–Neal Lemery 9/14/2015

Changing Times

Change is all around me. I look outside and there is more than a hint of Fall in the air. Leaves are changing color, my garden is in harvest mode, and the air is cool and damp.

After a summer of unusual warmth and dryness, we have had some rain, and plants are reviving, coming alive again.

I turn the calendar to a new month. Summer vacations are ending, and there is a flurry of activities. Classes, meetings, events are happening. Community life is coming alive again. There are things to do and opportunities to grow.

Driving by my neighborhood school, I see it coming alive after the summer break. The parking lot is crowded, and families are heading inside to an evening welcoming, celebrating the opening of school. Excited, nervous little kids break into an enthusiastic skip as they walk into the school, parents smiling with pride.

Their child is starting school, and opportunity awaits. Anything is possible. I see that in their faces, in how they walk, and hold their kids’ hands.

At the store, I navigate through the hordes of tourists and weekenders, and I run into old friends. We reconnect, realizing we haven’t seen each other all summer. We pause to catch up, and reconnect, reweaving the fabric of community. This weekend marks the end of the high season, the wave after wave of visitors who crowd our roads, and walk our beaches and trails. Soon, it will be quieter here, and we locals will breathe big sighs of relief, and reclaim our peaceful moments in the places we treasure.

They, too, are caught up in this sense of change and transformation. It is a new season, a new beginning.

Before yesterday’s rain, I planted a new crop of peas, beets, and radishes. My new lettuce rows are already up. I harvest more broccoli for our dinner, knowing that my work will bring on yet another feast in another month.

A friend is soon off to college, and we pause for coffee, and share his excitement for his new adventure. He’s ordered his textbooks, and is already packing for his move to a new city, and a new school. Excitement is in the air and in his eyes. His future is happening, and he’s ready to grow.

All this newness and excitement. I feel alive and invigorated. Anything is possible. Anything can happen. I am part of that, and I am all of that.

Change. It is in the air, and I am ready to take a deep breath, and move ahead.

Neal Lemery

9/7/15

Separation

Growing up, older, maybe wiser, they part ways with me. On their own, finding their path, going their own way, I see them fly.

Perhaps they stumble, perhaps they fall. Sometimes, I pick them up and hug them, offering words of encouragement, maybe direction. They wobble, then stand again on their own, and move forward, leaving me, once again behind them, watching them go.

They are on their own, even though I want to pick them up and save them from their scrapes and tumbles.

I am not their rescuer, though that is what I want to do. I am not their protector, though that is the job I willingly seek.

I am that old number on their phone, that place where there will be a cheerful voice, full of encouragement and support. I am the voice that will say “I believe in you” whenever they want to hear it.

Time moves on. They are no longer my babies. At least, that is what I say when I’m asked about them. Deep inside, they still are my kids, my little ones, needing me to hold their hands, and kiss their boo boos, and give them the love that they need. Yet, I must let them fly, go out into the world and be who they are becoming, and find their own wings.

I am, now, their believer.

Watch My Video

See me talk about my book, how I was inspired to share my thoughts about mentoring and write my book. My video.

First Smush

Smoke swirled
Flames hot across fresh wood
We sat, ash floating
Between us.

Marshmallow on a wooden stick,
Passed around, until we all had one,
Until all the sticks were over the coals
Except

His —- he whispering to me,
I don’t know how to do this—
No one else noticed, when I took two
Graham crackers, two squares of
Chocolate, and waited
Until our marshmallows caught fire, until
I helped him blow his out and heat blackened white

Again, until I asked him to slide white lava
On the chocolate, scooping it off the
Stick with the other cracker
Half, and asked him to smush it—-
Like this —- just
Smush it down.

Smush, he
Whispered to
Himself.

Now what? looking at me,
Lost still, around the circle, around his first
Fire, until I, nodding, smushed, then
Stuffed mine into my mouth.

Good? I asked, seeing his mouth
Full, he — finally nodding —
Smushed wonderment in his eyes, new melted
Goo
Dripping out of his sweet mouth.

—-Neal Lemery 7/11/2015

Thornbush or Juniper, Brier or Myrtle (Isaiah 55:13)

vignettesofmyheart

This is a sermon I preached today. The text is based in Isaiah Chapter 55. I know that many will not agree with what I say here. This is where the Holy Spirit has led me over the past 45 years, by allowing me to see the pain that Christians and society have inflicted on people of color and my gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgender brothers and sisters, and by leading me to information that has informed my childhood homophobia and blessed me with many beautiful people in my life. Having been silent for too long, I now offer my experience.

The past two weeks have been both wonderful and terrible. We have seen the power of love that has moved mountains in the lives of our gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgender brothers and sisters.

We have seen the power of hate that brought death to innocents,an occurrence that happens…

View original post 1,912 more words

Taking Up Again, At Our Fortieth Reunion

It was that class we took together, both out of our element. A business class, way outside our academic path, but it was really about what we we both passionate about, human interaction. The psychology major and the political science major, finding the “juice” of our college experience.

Our big assignment for the term was to get together every week, for a day, maybe a weekend, and spend time together, interacting, observing each other. And, most importantly, observing ourselves observing others and how we behaved, inwardly, within a group. We had to write about it all, without any real direction on what the professor wanted, how we were going to be graded.

It was, we agreed, standing outside in the hot evening after our class reunion dinner, the best experience of our undergraduate years, studying how people related with each other, how that really was the gist of becoming a better person, how we used those skills, those observations, in growing our lives, in making a real difference in the world.

We took our experiences together, all those late night conversations, the four years of living on campus during the social upheaval of the Vietnam War years, and went our separate ways. We kept in touch, sharing news of our careers, our marriages, our kids, and how our lives were enriched by what we learned at college, and in navigating our lives in the world.

The best things in our lives, we realized, weren’t the things we thought we’d do, once we graduated and moved on. Life happens, and we used our skills and brains to do unexpected things, growing ourselves and learning even more about life, and who we are.

One of the reunion organizers asked us to ponder whether or not we had changed the world, like we’d all talked about in those late night gatherings, and if we’d made a difference in our lives.

“Yes, indeed,” we answered, but not in the ways we had thought, back in the days of Watergate, and the week we staged a sit-in in the college president’s office, angry at Nixon bombing Cambodia.

The conversations that night were about good relationships, connecting with people, making a difference about how people felt about themselves, how we could make their lives better, simply by being who we were. No one showed their bank statements, their stock portfolios, their photos of their real estate or talked about their job titles, or the cars we drove to get here that night. We didn’t wear any fancy clothes. We laughed at the photos of our days on campus, the wild hair, how much beer we could drink back then, and the times when Angela Davis and Anais Nin spoke on campus.

We talked about the people we had become, how that one class, that one professor made all the difference to us as we went on about our lives, how we became better people, how forty years gives you a perspective on life and the world that we may not have had back during our days as eager, curious college students. And, who we are today is still about who we were then, curious, looking inward, and figuring out how we can connect with someone, and change their lives.

—Neal Lemery 6/27/15

Fathers’ Day — Shifting The Sun

Fathers’ Day raises a wide range of emotions and reflections for me, giving me a rollercoaster ride of thoughts. This poem helps me sort all of that out, and make some sense out of being a son of a number of men who were dads to me.

Today, I was a dad to a young man in prison. We were out in the garden, admiring his gazebo he had built. It is his first experience with wood, hammers, nails, and drills. He has struggled with its design and construction, but has accepted the help of others, and has applied his own talents, and his own eye for beauty and simplicity.

His gazebo is a work of art, and his very own creation. It looks good, and fits well with the rest of the garden.

I expressed to him my thoughts on its stability, its beauty. He tried to put himself and his creativity down, but I kept at him, praising him and his talents. He told me he wanted his dad to be happy with it and tell him he liked it, but he was afraid of letting his dad know what he had built.

I saw that familiar fear of rejection, that sense of “I am not good enough” in his face.

I became his dad for a few precious moments, letting him hear words of praise and adulation fill his ears. I let him know he was a good man, a man of talent and ability.

He smiled, and shook my hand. And, perhaps, in all of those few minutes, there was a feeling that he was, indeed, a man of worth, a man of value and talent. And, there was a dad in his life who thought he was worth something after all.

Shifting the Sun

When your father dies, say the Irish,
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Welsh,
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Canadians,
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the French,
you become your own father.
May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians.

When you father dies, say the Indians,
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the English,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever.
And you walk in his light.
~ Diana Der-Hovanessian ~

Fathering Time

Fathering occurs unexpectedly, often in the richest, most productive ways.
Undefined, unlimited by the clock and the calendar, those moments of rich, intense interaction suddenly come into our lives, without us often being aware until it comes upon us. In the moment, space opens up between us, and the energy, the love, flows.
Wisdom comes out of our heart and, often unspoken, shared. Emotions pass between us, and the gifts of the moment are exchanged.

The refrigerator calendar announces that Fathers’ Day is coming, but the fathering moments don’t pay attention to that, nor do these heart to heart conversations need to have a Hallmark card or a boxed up tie to get the juices flowing, to say what is deep inside of us, as we reach out to someone we love, and just be a dad.

This work we do, being the dad, a small moment of reaching out, giving a compliment, a hug, sharing a few words of wisdom, comes at unexpected moments. The phone rings, there is a welcoming silence in the car, or time to put your arm around someone and give a squeeze, and then, the moment is gone.

Life gets busy, and the daily to do list is calling. But, I try to find those moments to do my real work, the important work, of just being there, listening and speaking with my heart, just being a dad.

—Neal Lemery 6/16/2015