Pam Burrell - My Unlikely Brothers

 

I didn't know what I wanted to do after high school, but my mother did. [audience laughter] She decided that I was going to attend a prestigious college, study pre-med, and become a doctor. I didn't have the courage to tell her that I lacked the self-confidence to make life and death decisions for other people. I also lacked the courage to resist her plan. [audience laughter] But I did draw one non-negotiable line in the sand. If I had to go to college, it was going to be a traditional black college in a large city.

 

On my first day as a scholarship student at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Washington, [audience laughter] I discovered that I was the only black woman in entering class. [audience laughter] I also discovered that my dorm room had been reconfigured, so that my roommate and I wouldn't share a bedroom. I asked the residence manager, “Why ours was the only room that had been changed around?” And she said, "Well, we thought you'd feel more comfortable with that arrangement." So, from my very first day, I was made to feel that I was an outsider who needed to be treated differently from my peers. I didn't know how to navigate that situation, and I spent the next four years trying to break a code I didn't understand.

 

In my sophomore year, I volunteered with 11 other students at the Washington State Penitentiary, a maximum-security prison. The main goal of the program was to help soon-to-be-released prisoners adapt to life on the outside. I had found my people. I have never felt more at home or more appreciated than I did with those men. They had lost control of their destiny. They were anxious scared and confused, but they were determined to succeed. They had each other's backs and supported each other through addictions, and through helplessness, and rage. Talking to them was the highlight of my week for almost two years. 

 

I never missed a meeting. Then one night, I drove to our designated meeting place on campus, and no one was there. I immediately recognized what had happened. The Ohio Players, one of the biggest things to hit campus in years, were performing that night. I passed streams of concertgoers, as I drove the empty van to the prison. I was surprised by the intensity of my affection for these men. Looking back, I think I realized that they were where they were, because they had acted on their feelings, and I was where I was because I had not.

 

When I got to the prison, I decided to seat all of the men together in one group. As the 30 men settled in, one of the men said, "Where is everybody? I told them about the concert.” And another man said, "Don't you like the Ohio Players?" [audience chuckles] I said, "They're one of my favorite bands." And he said, "Then what you doing here, fool?" [audience chuckles] And we all laughed. I said, "Well, I'd rather be here. I love you, guys. I care about you, and I want to do everything I can to help you succeed." 

 

The room went deathly still, no one spoke. Finally, I asked the group what was wrong. One of the men began to cry and said, "In my whole life, no one has ever told me that they loved me or that they cared about me." Then, one by one, every man began to cry. After a while, one of the men pointed to the guard who was monitoring our group and said, "Look, even old baldy is crying." [audience laughter]

 

Eventually they went their way and I went mine. I don't know if that program helped those men, but I know it helped me. I still lack courage and self-confidence. But when I'm afraid or feeling challenged by the world, I think back to that special group of foster brothers of mine, and I tell myself, "Hey guys, we can get through this together." Thank you.