Mentoring is a tricky thing. Most of us are lucky if we have someone that’s down to help us grow as people and professionals. But we’re only lucky if that person does that for us, not for themselves. Martin Luther King once said that, “without love, benevolence becomes egotism.”
And that’s real as steel.
There are a few younger cats–and a couple older ones, too–that look to me for help and advice on handling their careers. What I feel best about, though, is that those cats also ask me questions about life. I could be wrong, but they appear to respect my opinion on the world and understand that I’ll only tell them things to help them out. I’ve got a nephew, godson and lots of other folks in my circle that I help out with various things. I would tell them the same things I tell young writers that hit me up because I have nothing to gain from helping them than helping them. Doesn’t really make me feel good about myself to do that. I just know a lot of people have gone out of their ways to help me, and I’d be wrong not to do that for other people.
So who are the people that helped me get here? Quite a few, actually. I’ll list them here and the things they’ve done to help me get to this little place I’m in. The big thing I hope younger folks can take from that is recognizing certain things to look for when hearing an older head talk. Ain’t all them cats out to do good for people. Many stroke their egos while they claim to be building yours.
So listen close when they talk.
The Parental Unit. I don’t even know where to start on this one. The biggest thing I learned–it is possible to be successful without compromising your principles. But the biggest thing–I saw how the house always seemed to have a former or present student hanging around. Those folks would just be glad to be around the parents, and the parents were glad to be around them. They were selfless in helping them, and the love they got back showed how important that was to people.
But how did they help me, aside from three hots and a nice roof? They managed to make sure I handled my business without pressuring me with their considerable reputations. In fact, I didn’t know how big people thought they were until I got older. They just wanted me to get better at things because getting better helped me. That’s beautiful.
The Big Brother. Here’s the coolest thing about my brother–he’s straight with me all the time. If something’s good, he’ll say it. If not, he’ll say it. If good with bad parts and vice versa, he’ll say it. Even if I don’t agree with what he says, I always listen because I know it’s sincere. It is from him that I learned a very important part of this world–game.
Mrs. Turlington. I actually need to find out if she’s still alive and, if so, thank her. She taught my 5th grade English class. The most demanding teacher I’ve ever had. Super old-school, which drove me batty when I was 9. And man, I wouldn’t be doing this were it not for her. Came out of her class with a fantastic foundation for writing, and I really need to thank her for that.
Coach Hendrix. Did a little too much screaming, but that’s what basketball coaches do. And even though I never turned into much of a basketball players, I sure as hell know the game. And that’s come in handy in my line of work.
Mrs. Moore. I’d say a lot, but she reads this. I ain’t about to blow her head up.
R-Dub. If you read this page frequently, you know how I feel about the Dub. He put me down with ESPN.com and I didn’t even ask him to. But most importantly, he actually took the time to read my earlier pieces, tell me what to fix, and really helped make me better. I have no idea where he got the time for that, but it really took me a long way.
Hughes and Hasan. In the black folks office in Claremont. Met them in Cali, my first try at adulthood. And they told me how I needed to kick it. Still live by that stuff, too. Good looks, fellas.
Dr. Jenkins and Mrs. Morgan. College professors that took the time to put their arms around me when things got bad in college. Didn’t have a lot of people able to do that and get through to me, but they did. They’re the reason I don’t live at the bottom of a bottle.
Sandy Darity y Familia. In my academic life, I had the privilege of studying under a foremost authority on the economic issues I found important. Most important–he treated me like family. But he also schooled me on the academic hustle, introduced me to good looking women, and helped me deal with some intermittent issues that have come up since I got here. That’s a good man, married to a woman that he has no business with. And he knows that, making him an even smarter man.
Ralph Byrns. Kept me sane in graduate school when I could feel my soul slipping away. The amazing thing was that of all the people I met at Carolina, I was most similar to a 60+-year old white man from West Texas that wrote a textbook with the father of one of the South Park creators. Learned a lot from him.
And it wasn’t just me. Post up in front of Gardner Hall and you’ll see him doing that for a million different people.
Editors, damn near all of you. Particularly Kate Tuttle, Phillippe Wamba (RIP), Gary Dauphin, Ken Gibbs, Zakia Carter, David Cole and Michael Knisley. Each made me a much, much better writer. They did that largely for themselves–their jobs depended on me doing good work–but I remain cool with those I no longer work with and love working with those I still write for. I don’t think other people feel that way, but that might be because they don’t like being edited. Tricky one that is.
You know, I’m realizing this is a really long list. I’m a really lucky sumbitch, lemme tell ya. If you got folks that look out for you like that, appreciate it. Most people aren’t that fortunate. Just take notes when they talk and say thank you when they’re finished. And do the same thing the next time they talk.
But if they ain’t got you at heart, leave ’em be. Just being older means nothing when it comes to being a mentor.