Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 54

“I was nineteen or twenty. I was becoming aware that I might be...

“I was nineteen or twenty. I was becoming aware that I might be gay. My parents were very religious, so they took me to ‘conversion-like’ stuff. It wasn’t full therapy, but I had to sit down with the pastor. And it left me convinced I was going to hell. It wasn’t until I left for college that I finally had the space to be myself. But since I was cut off from my parents, I needed a way to survive. So I applied for a job with the janitorial staff. The Head of Facilities was named George, and he was scary. He was the one who’d write you up for drinking alcohol. And he had this huge set of keys on his belt. So if you heard him coming, you ran the other way. He told me years later that when I asked for a job, he could tell I was going through something. So he gave me a chance. I followed him while he did his rounds. He showed me how to fix things around the dorm. And the whole time we’d talk. He was this conservative, blue-collar, white dude. But he saw me. We became so close that people teased me about our friendship. He’d ask about my day. He’d ask my opinions. He knew I was gay, but he didn’t care as long as I showed up on time. After work one day, when we were finished sweeping up, I sat down with George on a bench. I was feeling depressed, so I told him: ‘I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I’m dropping out to join the Army.’ That’s when he told me: ‘You’ve got some college under your belt. You should go to West Point instead.’ I’d never even heard of West Point. I began to research the school, but everyone else discouraged me. My basketball coach laughed at me. It began to seem impossible, especially because I was doing it alone. But George encouraged me. ‘You have a real shot,’ he said. ‘Just apply.’ So I did. And I was accepted. I went on to get an MBA from Wharton and now I’m working in finance. But George has fallen on tough times. The college closed down, so his job disappeared. And he recently lost his son. I know he’s in a lot of pain. He’s like a father to me. He calls me all the time. We say ‘I love you.’ So I need him in my life. I just want him to know that I see him. And that he matters. And he did a whole lot more than fix things. He fixed people.”

“A few years ago I was working the graveyard shift at a hotel in...

“A few years ago I was working the graveyard shift at a hotel in Orlando. It was ‘that’ hotel, the cheapest one in the area. The place where people go for an hour to do the things they need to do. And not only was I working there, but I was living there too. Because my wife was pregnant with our second child, and it was the only place we could afford. Late one night I’m sitting in the lobby with the owner’s son. It was just the two of us. He was from New York. He graduated from college and worked at a hedge fund. But I was still holding my own with him. I was able to challenge some of his beliefs. Because even though I’m working at a cheap hotel, I still know a lot of things. Then at one point he looks me dead in the eye, and says: ‘You know what? You’re probably right. You deserve more. But why would I ever give it to you, when I can get you for this?’ And that broke me. Because he knew. He knew what it all comes down to in the end. He knew he was going to drive away in his Tesla. And I was going to leave my desk, and go back to my room, in the hotel that he owned, which I couldn’t even afford with the money he paid me. He knew my wife was sick. And my child was about to be born. And that I had no other options. And it’s just so hard, man. It’s so hard to live in a world that wants you to be weak. That wants you to be an angry black man. Especially when you work your ass off every day. And you love people. And you tell your kids to be a good person. But I will say this, man. I’ve never buckled. A few weeks ago I lost my job. I just lost my home. It was just a room in some guy’s house, but it was where we lived. And we lost it. But I’m not going to fall down now. Because I’ve got to keep fighting for my family. Nothing else in this world matters man. They are god and my world. I’ve got a wife who treats me like a hero when we’re sleeping on the floor. And I’ve got the sweetest, most innocent kids man. They are just so sweet. And it’s so hard. Because they don’t deserve any of this. So I’ve got to keep fighting. I don’t need money or cars but they don’t deserve any of this. So whatever it takes. Oh shit, man. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But it’s just not right.”

“My mother passed away suddenly while I was studying in America....

“My mother passed away suddenly while I was studying in America. It was such a dark moment for me. She had been the most important person in my life, and I wasn’t even with her when she died. I needed to get home to Zimbabwe for the funeral, but it was right before Christmas so every flight was booked. The only ticket I could afford was a middle seat. It was so cramped. I couldn’t even move my legs. But I happened to notice an empty seat in the exit row behind me. The flight attendant allowed me to change places, and I sat down next to a white girl. I remember thinking: ‘She’s going to hate me for taking up her space.’ But instead she smiled and made a joke. She said: ‘Welcome to exit row paradise.’ There was an immediate connection. Right away we began talking about deep things. I told her about my mother. And she told me that her father had also died suddenly while she was working overseas. We started sharing stories of our parents. And before we landed, she ordered two whiskey drinks in celebration of my mom. I spent two weeks in Zimbabwe. I told all my friends that my mother had put an angel on my flight. My trip home wasn’t much easier. This time I had a long layover in London, so I sat down in the airport bar and ordered a beer. And in she walked. God had put us on the same flight once again. When we pulled out our tickets and looked at our seat numbers, we couldn’t believe it. She was seat 61. I was 60. I hadn’t even been looking to meet someone. I was determined to stay single and focus on my schoolwork. But it was like she had been brought to me. Everyone who meets Hannah tells me how lucky I am. She is so kind, and smart, and accomplished. We dated for almost two years before we got married. When I gave a speech at our reception, I didn’t need notes. Because I knew our story. I told everyone about that girl I met on a plane. And I was looking at her as I spoke, and she was now my wife, and it made me so emotional. It was so hard to know how to feel. I wanted my mom to meet her so bad. But if my mom was still here, I’d never have met her. Somehow I’d found the most important person in my life because I lost the most important person in my life.”

“It was just me and my son when I met Jojo. But he never...

“It was just me and my son when I met Jojo. But he never questioned that I had a child. He went with it. We got married in my grandparent’s living room. By that time we’d already given birth to our second son Isaiah. Now Jojo is very quiet, so when Isaiah wasn’t talking by the age of one, everyone said: ‘They’re the same!’ But at fifteen months Isaiah still wasn’t talking. And that’s when he was diagnosed with autism. It broke me, honestly. I didn’t know how far on the spectrum he was going to be. So I spiraled in my mind. I thought: ‘He’ll never talk, or go to college, or get married. He’ll never do any of the things I envisioned as a mother.’ But Jojo was very calm. He said: ‘This is not the end. It’s the beginning of something.’ He did all the research with me. We enrolled Isaiah in an early intervention program. We had three therapists coming to our place every week. I’d watch every session. Isaiah was like a turtle. He was moving so slowly, and I was trying to cheer him on. Sometimes he’d say a word. Or point at something. But there was never a big breakthrough. It was so hard. I’m home alone all day. He was having so many meltdowns. And I felt like a failure. Like it was something I did. I know it’s not true, but that’s how it felt. I kept praying for something to change. But nothing was happening. And then the pandemic happened. Our therapists stopped coming. We tried to do tele-sessions, but Isaiah wasn’t having it. He’d cry the entire time. I was also having to homeschool my older son, so it was too much. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Jojo wasn’t going to work, so he said: ‘Let me try.’ And for the past few weeks they’ve been doing the sessions together. They’re so cute. They’re like twins. Everything Jojo does, Isaiah mimics it. Sometimes Isaiah will cry for the entire two hours. But Jojo is calm. He pushes through. And you won’t believe what’s happened. Isaiah is pointing at things now. He knows his alphabet. He sings songs. It’s an answered prayer. And I’m just so proud of my husband. We’re struggling right now, but he’s been so calm. And because of him, miraculously, during this sad, sad time, our child is progressing. My baby is getting a voice.”

“She was sick a lot when I was younger. Whenever people came to...

“She was sick a lot when I was younger. Whenever people came to visit, they’d say: ‘Your mom loves you so much.’ But it never seemed that way. She wasn’t very affectionate. I did admire her though. I thought she was cool. She was president of a sailing club, and all these rough, leathery men would hang on her every word. But she never brought the same passion to being a mother. Our one bonding experience was watching Law and Order marathons. There was an episode when the main character called his friend a ‘hoe.’ And Mom thought that was hilarious, so it became a thing in our house. We’d call each other ‘hoes’ in a playful way. Things took a turn for the worse when the doctors prescribed her pain meds. Her personality disappeared. She couldn’t function anymore. I’d find her on the floor of her bedroom. Even after she went to rehab, she would never admit that she had a problem. Or apologize for the pain that she caused. In college my therapist had me write a letter, explaining how I felt. I read the whole thing to my mom over the phone. She listened quietly. I was sobbing the entire time. Mom wasn’t sobbing, but at the end she said: ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that.’ After that she tried her best. I think she knew she didn’t have long to live. She’d call and see how I was doing. She’d send me little packages. She began to initiate things. And that was new. My entire life I’d been the one to initiate. I never even liked sailing. But I always asked her to go because it was something she’d do with me. It’s lonely being the one who initiates. We had a couple good years together before her death. We were starting to improve, so her passing hit me especially hard. My aunt tried to tell me that every time I saw a butterfly, it was my mother. But that made no fucking sense. Because my mother would never choose to be a butterfly. So one day I’m telling all this to my therapist. And the whole time I’m staring at this magnetic letter board with the word ‘HOPE’ written on it. And just as I’m talking about missing my mom, the ‘P’ falls off the board. My therapist must have noticed my reaction. Because she laughed, and said: ‘Does that mean anything to you?’”

“Dad had been waiting on a heart transplant for three months,...

“Dad had been waiting on a heart transplant for three months, but he eventually got so sick that they took him off the waiting list. Mom wanted to spend one final night with him at the hospital. But she didn’t want me going home alone. So I think she was preoccupied with finding me a place to stay. There must have been a notice sent out on the church email list, because a bunch of people were coming by the hospital to say goodbye. One of them was a red headed lady named Sandy. I didn’t know her well. I knew she was married to the deacon who talks a lot. But I think she sensed I needed help, because she walked up to me and asked: ‘Do you have anywhere to go tonight?’ When I told her ‘not really,’ she said: ‘You’re coming with me.’ I hadn’t eaten all day, so she took me to Sonic and got me a grilled cheese sandwich. She asked how I was feeling. She asked about my plans for the future. And she told me to write down everything I could remember about my last conversation with my dad. When we got back to her house, she let me sleep in her daughter’s bedroom. The next morning she drove me back to the hospital. My whole family gathered around, and we prayed, and sang songs, and let my dad go. Sandy stayed through all of that. Then two days later she took me canoeing on the 4th of July. We watched fireworks together from the lake. Over the next few weeks, Sandy started hosting these bonfires at her house. She’d invite everyone from church who’d lost someone recently. It wasn’t a guided thing. You could talk about whatever you wanted. And leave whenever you got tired. But they were comforting. At some point I got a text message from Sandy’s son. He was away at the Naval Academy, but he sent me a short note saying: ‘I’m so sorry about your dad. And I’m praying for you.’ One year of talking, and three years of long distance later, we were married. On the night of our engagement, Sandy gave me a set of pearls. She said: ‘All the women in my family get a set of pearls when they turn sixteen. That’s around the age I got to know you. And I never told you, because I didn’t want to pressure things. But I knew you were perfect for my son. And I always hoped you’d be my daughter.”

My guiding philosophy over the past ten years has been to...

My guiding philosophy over the past ten years has been to ‘disappear’ as much as possible. Because I think the work is always strongest when it’s centered in other people’s voices. And that means HONY is at it’s best when I’m the most invisible. As a result, the name ‘Humans of New York’ is ten times more famous than the name ‘Brandon Stanton.’ I prefer it that way. It’s by design.  Even on Patreon, I generally prefer to keep my comments limited to the craft of creating HONY. Because I’ve always wanted the creation to outgrow the creator. I don’t want it to be weighed down by my opinions, or politics, or shortcomings. If I keep myself out of it, hopefully it can become bigger than me. And better than I am.        
But we’ve reached a moment when it just seems tone deaf to speak about anything beyond our present circumstances. I haven’t watched the video because I don’t want to watch a man being murdered. Instead I’ve watched some videos of George Floyd when he was alive. I’ve read about his life. And coupled with the descriptions of his death, it’s been enough for me to understand and share in the heartbreak.  I think the power of George Floyd’s life and the reason his death has shaken so many millions, comes from its symbolism. He died with his hands cuffed behind his back. With a white officer’s knee on his neck. His death was the most brutal possible symbol of the oppression felt by so many black Americans at the hands of our justice system, our court system, and our prison system. By all accounts, he was admired and loved by the people who knew him. But in his death, he also became a symbol of injustice. And symbols grow so much bigger, and carry a message so much farther, than any individual is capable of doing. His murder unleashed feelings of powerlessness that can only be understood if you live in a community that doesn’t have the resources to navigate our justice system. Or the power to push back against its abuses. The rest of us can only imagine those feelings. And imagination doesn’t come close to lived experience.
So I’ll end with an acknowledgment of the validity of the anger being felt. And a hope that our current upheaval will end with a more informed citizenry, a deeper understanding, and some sort of lasting change. I’d have loved to have interviewed George on the street. From the videos I’ve seen, and the stories I’ve read, I imagine he’d have chosen to tell me about his kids. Or his fiancée. Or his faith. Because he was more than a symbol. He was a person. And I’m sure that he’d have wanted to be remembered for his life much more than his death.

“My dad enrolled in college when he was twelve years old. He met...

“My dad enrolled in college when he was twelve years old. He met my mother during his junior year. He was fifteen at the time, and she wanted nothing to do with him. But he was determined in his pursuit. He accompanied her one day to collect millipedes for a biology project. He wasn’t very good at it. He found nothing but spiders. But he took his collection back to the lab and put one of the spiders under a microscope. Then he did it again. And again. Until he eventually became the world’s leading arachnologist. People always ask me if there were spiders around our house growing up. And there weren’t. His job mainly consisted of research. He published hundreds of books and papers. He wrote so much that I always fell asleep to the sound of his keyboard. If you look at the arc of his work, it’s clear that his true passion was classification. He loved to collect and synthesize information. Spiders were just his entry into that world. But I’m not sure how much that examination extended to his own emotions. We never talked about feelings in our house. So when my mother passed way, I was surprised to receive a letter from my dad. He said that he loved me. And that he felt like the worst father ever, because he’d spent too much time on his work. That’s not at all how I viewed him. But clearly it was a belief that he’d been living with. It was the first time he’d ever been vulnerable with me. Dad suffered a fatal fall a few weeks ago. And it’s been really hard. Because ever since he’d written that letter, we’d become best friends. We didn’t just talk about events anymore. He was sharing his feelings. It wasn’t perfect. It was still spotty. But Dad was beginning to understand that emotions aren’t just an inconvenience that get in the way of truth. They have a life of their own. They’re part of the fullness of life. They’re what make us different than spiders. I remember the year after Mom passed away. We’d grown much closer. And we were eating dinner together at a seaside restaurant. I remember Dad got really quiet, and said: ‘I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m feeling lately. And I’ve decided that I’m happy.’ It was the first time that I’d ever heard him say it.”

#quarantinestories

“It’s not that Chris isn’t an animal person. He just had no idea...

“It’s not that Chris isn’t an animal person. He just had no idea what was coming. We met in college. Both of us were working at the student newspaper. And at the time I was focused on journalism, so I don’t think he fully processed my love for animals. I did volunteer at the local shelter while we were dating. And I was working at a barn, so I rode horses quite a bit. But there was a ‘no pet’ policy in our dorm, so I only had a hermit crab named Holden. It was a little bit deceiving. It wasn’t until we moved into our own apartment that we got our first dog together. His name was Snoopy, and Chris got pretty attached to him. So that’s when I suggested we register for a foster program. Chris seemed a little hesitant at first, but I told him: ‘Let’s just get approved, and we’ll take it from there.’ The next day we were fostering a puppy. And that was that. We’ve been married for eight years, and over four hundred animals have come through our home. There have been a lot of cats. And a ton of dogs. Terminally ill dogs. And nervous dogs. And rowdy, jumpy, bitey dogs. We’ve had several litters of puppies that needed to be tube fed. And three pot bellied pigs. And six rats. Chris did try to stop the rats. He said: ‘We’re not doing rats.’ But then we got the rats. And now they have a whole big condo in our bathroom. One of them has breathing problems so Chris has to help her with a nebulizer.  He’s very, very tolerant. He works from home, so he’s always with the animals. There’s always barking in the background of his podcast.  Or when he’s trying to do video interviews.  And he’s had a few ‘I can’t take it anymore’ moments. We’ve had shut down the fostering for a few weeks at a time. But then I’ll always find an animal that really needs a place to go. And Chris will look at the picture, and ask the same thing: ‘Is there nowhere else they can go? Is it life or death?’ And I’ll exaggerate a little bit, and say: ‘We’re their only hope.’ And then he’ll grudgingly allow it,  just one more time.”

“I was five when he became a person in my world. I didn’t know...

“I was five when he became a person in my world. I didn’t know exactly who he was. I just knew that there was someone around that was making my mother smile. I had to look way up to see him. I’d never met someone so strong. He’d tell me to hold onto his wrist, and he’d lift me into the sky with one hand. He worked at an auto shop, airbrushing designs onto the side of vans. I think he dreamed of being an artist. But he needed something more stable. So after he decided to marry my mom, he became a cop. He never lost touch with his creative side. He was always building things around the house, making things look fancier than we could afford. He built my first bike from scraps. He encouraged me to read. He encouraged me to write. He loved giving me little assignments. He’d give me a quarter every time I wrote a story. Fifty cents if it was a good one. Whenever I asked a question, he’d make me look it up in the encyclopedia. One day he built a little art studio at the back of our house. And he painted a single painting, a portrait of Sting that he copied from an album cover. But he got busy with work and never used the studio again. He was always saying: ‘when I retire.’ ‘I’ll go back to art, when I retire.’ ‘I’ll show in a gallery, when I retire.’ But that time never came. Dad was a cop for twenty years. He was one of the good ones. The kind of cop you see dancing on the street corner. Or skateboarding with kids. But in 1998 he was diagnosed with MS. First there was a little weakness. Then there was a cane. Then there was a wheelchair. It got to the point where he couldn’t even hold a paintbrush. We did his hospice at home. He seemed to have no regrets. He’d been a wonderful provider. He’d raised his daughters. He’d walked me down the aisle. During his final days, we were going through his possessions, one by one.  He was telling me who to give them to. I pulled the Sting painting out of an old box, and asked: ‘What should I do with this?’ His response was immediate. ‘Give it to Sting,’ he said. All of us started laughing. But Dad grew very serious. His eyes narrowed. He looked right at me, and said: ‘Give it to Sting.’ So I guess that’s my final assignment.”
#quarantinestories