Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 53

“I grew up in a high rise across from Coney Island. It was a...

“I grew up in a high rise across from Coney Island. It was a great childhood, but the neighborhood started to change, and my dad didn’t like it. So he bought us a house in Long Island. It had a big backyard, and a porch. I was finally going to have my own room. We were so excited. But the day after we moved in, someone painted a message on our house. It said: ‘KKK, Niggers Move Away.’ I remember my mother started crying. But my father got angry. He said: ‘We’re not moving anywhere.’ And that same day he repainted the wall. There was one other black family on the block. And I think they had a better sense of what was going on, because they never let their kids go outside. But both my parents worked. So my sister and I hung out. Some of the kids were nice. But I started noticing the way their parents looked at me. It was a look that all black people know. The ‘what are you doing here?’ look. We lived on a canal, so a lot of the families had boats. And sometimes the kids would play in them while they were tied to the dock. But one day my friend Donna got called into her house. And when she came back, she told me I needed to leave. Because black people weren’t allowed in the boat. I was only eight years old. I cried the whole way home. Things got even worse when school started. Two boys named Dante and Michael would follow me to the bus stop. It was a quarter mile walk, but it felt like an eternity. They’d kick, and move away. Kick, and move away. Dante had corrective shoes with heavy soles, so his kicks hurt the most. The whole time they’d call me ‘monkey’ and ‘tar baby.’ There was nothing I could say to them. Nothing I could change. These kids were kicking me for no reason, and that’s what hurt the most. Deep down I knew I was a good person, but nobody saw that. And when you’re a kid, you don’t know enough to be mad about it. You just think that’s the way things are. And you sorta move on with your life. But you can’t move on completely. Recently my company held a George Floyd memorial. And my boss asked me to share my story during the video conference. When I told about those kicks, I started crying. So I guess that little girl is still in there somewhere.”

“He wasn’t exactly the straight and narrow type. He dropped out...

“He wasn’t exactly the straight and narrow type. He dropped out of high school and joined the Navy. He met my mom while watching the Stanley Cup in a midtown bar. Both of them were pretty big partiers at the time. But when I came along, my dad said: ‘We’re going to settle down. And we’re going to start a family.’ But my mom wasn’t ready to leave it all behind. So I was born into what would become a very turbulent home. It was a two-bedroom apartment next to a busy road in New Jersey. I think it was always meant to be a starter home. But my dad ended up raising three children there. For ten years he slept on a pullout couch in the living room, so that the rest of us could have our own bedroom. He always held multiple jobs to make ends meet. We didn’t get fancy things. But we never went hungry. And even though he dropped out of high school, he always insisted on education. When I was a little girl, he’d squeeze next to me at the kitchen table every Thursday night, still in his mailman’s uniform, so he could prepare me for my spelling test on Friday. He’d treat it like a courtroom cross-examination. He’d go down the list of words, and any time I struggled, he’d say: ‘Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?’ He wouldn’t stop until I had every one correct. Then I’d ask if we could move on to the next subject. But he’d always suggest we take a break first. He’d go off to cook dinner, and somehow we never got back to it. I’d finish the rest of my homework alone. But I was a motivated student. I got accepted into one of the best high schools in the state. And all three of us ended up graduating college. To this day, my dad says: ‘The best thing I ever had was you.’ He was the only one of his siblings who never bought a house. But no house could be worth what he gave us. A few years ago, I was sitting next to him at Thanksgiving dinner. We started talking about childhood memories, and I asked him: ‘What was the deal with the spelling? Why were so intense about it?’ He laughed, and said: ‘I chose spelling because the answers were right in front of me. It’s the only subject I could help you with. But I knew if I pushed you on that, you’d take care of the rest.’”

“It was a rough time for me. I’d been planning on going to law...

“It was a rough time for me. I’d been planning on going to law school, but I wasn’t accepted anywhere I applied. I think I needed some kind of lifeboat, so I ended up filling out an application for Peace Corps. They offered me a teaching position in a small Ukrainian mining town. It felt like a huge chance to start over. During my first day on the job, I became an instant celebrity. Not only was I American, I was black. All the kids were staring with their mouths open. One seventh grader ran up to me and gave me a Star Wars pencil. His name was Pasha, and we immediately became friends. He followed me everywhere. He showed an amazing amount of empathy for a thirteen year old. He’d stay after class and ask me questions. Not only about school, but also about how I was doing. Being a black male in Ukraine could be difficult. People would stare, or laugh, or point. During my training some kids followed me on bikes, screaming the ‘N’ word. But I’m a tough New Yorker, so I could handle it. But whenever I tried to discuss it with the administration, it seemed like people were doubting my experience. And that weighed heaviest on me. It felt like I had nowhere to turn. But occasionally I’d share my experiences on Instagram Stories, and Pasha would stay after class to ask me about them. There was one time I was approached by two men on the street. They were hurling racial slurs at me. They followed me all the way home. I was so shaken that I was ready to quit. I even emailed Peace Corps. But the next day we were having our weekly English Club meeting, and Pasha asked me to tell the story. When I was finished, my coworker asked: ‘What should we do with racists?’ And I’ll never forget Pasha’s response. He said: ‘execute them.’ I couldn’t stop laughing. I’d never encourage violence, but it was such a relief to hear. All I’d ever gotten from the adults was: ‘I’m sorry.’ And ‘we hear you.’ This child had given me a stronger show of support than any of them. It gave me the strength to stay for the entire 21 months. Now I look back on the experience with love. Some difficult things happened. But what I remember most are the people who listened, and who spoke up for me.”

“Even though my dad is six-foot-seven, he’s not scary at all. He...

“Even though my dad is six-foot-seven, he’s not scary at all. He listens to a lot of Reggae music. And I don’t think I can ever remember him yelling. When I was really young, he used to get on the ground and play Barbies with me. And every morning he’d lift me out of bed, and insist that I carry out my duties as princess. He’d carry me downstairs and make me wave to my ‘royal subjects’, which was nobody, because it was just an empty living room. He’s always been a really mellow guy. I know his life hasn’t been easy. His brother passed away when he was fourteen. His father drowned at the beach while he stood on the shore. So he’s seen a lot of tragedy, but he’s always been really strong. Growing up I never saw him cry. I was the emotional one. I’d cry during arguments. Or when something sad came on the news. Or during sad movies. But he never lost his composure. I think he enjoyed being the strong one so that he could comfort me. During my senior year of high school, my mom had to work in another state. So it was just me and Dad for awhile. And we became very close. Our bond became more of a friendship. We cooked our meals together. We went shopping together. His mother passed away that year, so I helped him with all the funeral arrangements. I know it was really hard for him, but during the entire process, I never saw him cry. At the end of the summer I left for college at Florida State. My whole family came down for the weekend to help me move in. We set up my entire apartment. Then Sunday night came around, and it was time for everyone to go. Mom went out to the parking lot first because she didn’t want to get emotional. Dad stayed behind to help me hang some final décor. Then, when everything was in place, he gave me one last hug and started walking down the stairs. I was right behind him. And something about seeing him walk down those stairs felt so final. And everything hit me at once. I stopped and began to cry. He turned around, walked back up the stairs, and gave me the biggest hug. He told me that he loved me. I didn’t look at his face. And we never talked about it. But I could feel his shoulders shaking. And I knew that he was crying too.”

“Every night we’d say a prayer for her. I was too little to...

“Every night we’d say a prayer for her. I was too little to understand. My dad just told me that Mom was sick and couldn’t be with me, but that she loved me. She’d fallen into a deep depression after I was born, and had run away from home. She’d been gone my entire life. But one day when I was six years old, my father learned that she was staying at a homeless shelter in the city, so we went to pick her up. The doctors put her on Lithium and it was like this person inside of her came to life again. She immediately began to make up for lost time. Our family became the center of her world again. She loved to cook our meals. She’d make all my Halloween costumes. She was so crafty. Whenever there were clothes that we couldn’t afford, she’d make them herself. Back in the 80’s there were floral shorts called Jams that everyone was wearing, but they were expensive. So Mom made Jams for the entire neighborhood. You just had to bring her a yard of fabric. All the kids loved her. But she was most famous for her handwritten letters. She’d send them to everyone she knew, and she’d always decorate the envelopes. They’d be covered in drawings, and inspirational quotes, and stickers. Each envelope was catered to the recipient, like a caricature at a fair. Mom became a legend at the post office. If the envelopes were too heavy to mail, the workers would add extra postage from their own pocket. Recently I presented my mother with all the envelopes that she’d ever sent me. But she couldn’t even remember making them. Her memory is completely gone. Sometimes it feels like I’m six years old, and I’m losing her all over again. On Mother’s Day I started a blog called Ruby Tuesday, which was one of her nicknames. I’ve been asking people to write a post or share their memories. I couldn’t believe how many envelopes people had kept. I don’t know how long I’ll keep the blog going. Or why I’m doing it. It’s just that when somebody is so special to you, you want everybody else to know. She wasn’t like she is now. She’s just a shell of who she used to be. My mom was larger than life. And I just want people to know that she’s so much more than the person who sits in the chair.”

“Chris was working as a caddy when we met. It was the summer of...

“Chris was working as a caddy when we met. It was the summer of the US Open, so it was a lot of fun. We were hanging out at the bar every night. I did notice that he loved to party, but he’d never get abusive or angry. He’d just drink too much. Some nights he’d fall asleep in the back seat of the car. Or pass out on the floor of my apartment. But he’d always apologize the next morning and everything would be fine. But the drinking seemed to get worse as the summer went on. One time I took a trip to Florida, and my apartment was trashed when I came home. That was my breaking point. I dropped all his stuff off at his parents’ house and blocked his number. But three nights later he sent me an email. It said: ‘You’re right. I need help.’ So I made some calls and helped him get a bed in a rehab facility. The next morning I took him to the treatment center, and I assumed that was the end of it. But he kept calling. Every single day he’d call from the payphone in the lobby. He acted like a little baby at first. He wanted me to take him back. He wanted to know how long before people starting trusting him again. Then he’d get mad, and hang up on me. But he got more serious about sobriety as time went on. When he left rehab, he chose to live in a halfway house. He found a good program. He went to 90 meetings in 90 days. The whole time he kept calling to give me updates, and I kept answering the phone. My friends and family thought I was crazy. They’d ask me why I was still talking to him. And I wasn’t sure myself, but he never gave me a reason not to. For seven years he just kept doing what he said he was going to do, day by day. He got a job at Target. Then he moved on to a call center. Then he got a sales job. The entire time he saved his money so that we could buy our first house together. And he’s an unbelievable father. He makes breakfast every morning. Dinner every night. And he earned his Masters’ degree online while we had a newborn baby. This whole thing began with me trying to help him get his life together. But now he’s the one who inspires me. I look at him, and his sobriety, and everything he’s accomplished, and it makes me want to be a better person.”

“It’s not that my dad has a problem talking about his past. He’s...

“It’s not that my dad has a problem talking about his past. He’s just naturally very reserved. So if the topic doesn’t come up in conversation, it doesn’t come up. I learned about his history in bits and pieces. He grew up under Apartheid in Namibia. He rebelled against the leadership and spent most of his twenties in refugee camps, until an NGO gave him a scholarship to study in America. By the time I was born he was a software engineer. And that’s how I always knew him. I was more intimidated by him than anything. He was an African dad, so he was very strict about certain things. He’d make me practice piano. And go to robotics camp. He used to take me to these enrichment courses after school. Most of my friends would be playing outside, and I’d be doing extra math problems. And he didn’t care how I felt about it. He’d explain that it was an investment in my future, and that one day I’d be thankful. On the drive home I’d put my Taylor Swift CD in the player, and play the song ‘Mean’, because I never had the courage to call him that directly. I always compared him to my mom. She was the more emotive of the two. She’d listen to my frustrations. And ever since I was a little girl, she was the one I gravitated toward. But halfway through high school she suffered some mental health issues. She became vindictive and angry, until eventually she decided to leave. And ever since then it’s just been me and Dad. At first we got in a lot of fights. We had to go to therapy to learn how to communicate. We talked through our guilt, and anger, and sadness. And we grew closer. We became a tag team. He started showing interest in the more mundane parts of my life. My friendships. My crushes. I know he loved going on my college tours with me. And I’ve let go of the need for him to be emotional. I’ve stopped looking for that in him. Because he’s the same that he’s always been. And even when I thought he was being ‘mean,’ he was thinking about my future. He might have been strict, but he was showing up. He was unshakable. He was my sense of continuity. And after all the heartbreak we’ve been through, he’s the one that’s still here.”

“I think she started to realize that it wasn’t going to happen...

“I think she started to realize that it wasn’t going to happen for her. She was in her forties. She hadn’t met the right person to start a family with. And after her third failed insemination, she had enough money to try one more time, or adopt. So she chose to adopt. This was the 90’s, and China had just begun to loosen their restrictions on international adoption. So she travelled there with a group of eight other families. The adoption lawyer gathered everyone in the hotel restaurant. Then he walked in a circle, and handed each family a small piece of rice paper. On the paper was written a name, a birth date, and a date of abandonment. My mother describes that piece of paper as the first time she ever met me. She gave me three names. My first name is Zoe, which means ‘life.’ She kept my Chinese name FuMian as my middle name. And my third name is Suni, which means ‘long awaited little darling.’ Ever since that day it’s just been the two of us. As a young child I wasn’t able to fully understand the concept of adoption, but I knew we didn’t look alike. And my children’s books had titles like Families Are Different and The Color Of Us. But Mom was very open about my history. She always did her best to incorporate Chinese elements in my upbringing. We celebrated Chinese New Year. I took Mandarin classes. There was Chinese artwork hanging in our house. As I grew a little older, I started to ask a lot of questions about my birth mother. But Mom never felt threatened by it. She encouraged it. She told me to write letters and keep them in my journal, to let my birth mother know that I was doing OK, and that I was happy. We even invented a name for her, so that she would seem more real. We called her Mei. Whenever we talked about Mei, my mother would show me that original piece of rice paper. It shows my birthday as March 7th, but my abandonment was two weeks later on March 21st. Mom always made a big deal out of those two weeks. She told me that it proved how much Mei loved me. And how she knew she couldn’t keep me, but she wanted to care for me as long as possible. So that I would be strong enough to move on.”

“Anthony knew exactly what he was going to do. Nobody else in...

“Anthony knew exactly what he was going to do. Nobody else in our school was talking about being a CEO, or starting a company, but those were his goals. And he was always networking. He’d walk straight into our principal’s office, sit on the couch, and just start talking. I was like: ‘Wow. How does he gain all that confidence?’ Especially coming from where we came from. He was like a brother to me. He pushed me. He’d get mad if I was late for school. He wanted both of us to graduate top ten in our class. He was someone who told me: ‘You’re capable of X, Y, and Z.’ I never had a strong support system, so nobody else was speaking that stuff to me. On the day we graduated, he was so excited for me. He kept shaking my shoulders, screaming: ‘We did it! We did it!’ During college he’d visit me on the weekends. He really helped me through that first year. I’d never been to school with white people before. My whole life I’d been focused on survival. But these kids had studied abroad. They’d taken college placement courses. My whole idea of normal was turned upside down. Of course Anthony fit right in. He could show up anywhere, so I took a lot of inspiration from that. One night he invited me to a party on his campus. But I decided to stay in. The next morning I woke up to a phone call telling me that he’d been stabbed. I logged onto social media and saw posts saying ‘Rest In Peace.’ It was completely random. He’d jumped in to defend a friend. Even the media couldn’t find a way to blame him. Anthony was a good kid, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It’s been really tough without him. I’ve had to learn to be proud of myself without him in my ear saying: ‘I’m proud of you.” But I’ve thought about him every time I’ve reached a milestone, like when I finally studied abroad in Spain. On the day of my graduation, his college was holding its ceremony at the same time, and Anthony was given an honorary degree. His little nephew accepted it on his behalf. Right as I was finishing my commencement, his sister texted me the pictures. And that’s when the tears came down. Somehow we’d graduated together again. I couldn’t help but scream at the sky: ‘We did it, Ant! We did it!’”

“She’d always say: ‘My guardian angel is getting tired.’ There...

“She’d always say: ‘My guardian angel is getting tired.’ There were so many close calls. She’d go skydiving, and scuba diving, and ski double black diamonds. Once she got lost in subzero temperatures while cross country skiing.  Another time she missed her landing zone while skydiving, and got tangled in a tree above an angry bull. My friends used to joke that I was a ‘mama’s boy,’ but it never bothered me. I was proud of it. And my friends loved her too because she had so many stories. But more importantly to me, she was always there. I was such a sensitive kid. I felt things really deeply, and I still do. If I have an argument with someone, it sits with me for awhile. I’ll withdraw. And brew. But Mom could walk into a room and know exactly what I was feeling. She was my entire world growing up. And she became my best friend. That’s why it’s been so hard to process. I was in the living room when I got the call. It was my Dad, and he said: ‘Your mom has been missing for eight hours.’ She’d been scuba diving in Mexico, and apparently she never came back to the boat. I told my dad not to worry.  I said: ‘We’ve been here before.’ But my mouth went dry. My heart dropped into my stomach. And the moment I hung up, I turned to my wife and started crying. That night I woke up out of my sleep, and I knew that she was gone. A few weeks later my wife gave birth to our first child. It was the most exciting day of my life, but it was bittersweet. Because Mom wasn’t there to share it. But I try to parent the same way she did. I feel her presence in the day-to-day stuff. And she still comes to visit me sometimes. Some people don’t believe in that, but I have these dreams. Sometimes I’ll kinda see her, but usually it’s more of a sense. And I’ll wake up so heartbroken that it wasn’t real, and I’ll start crying. But I’m grateful for the dreams. Even though they’re hard to deal with, I’m grateful that I can still feel her presence in some way. When I was a little kid, and I was having a real hard time, she used to come lie down next to me. She’d say: ‘How’s it going bud?’ Or something simple like that. But mostly she’d just lie there. And that was the only thing I needed.”