Recently, I had an opportunity to rewind the tapes of my life and reexamine several events. The reason I did this is that for some odd reason, in my daily reflections, I wondered, if I could go back in time and change one thing in my life, what would it be? I thought that was an easy question to answer; I would rewind that fateful day in 1993 when my only daughter, 17 years old, died in a fiery car crash. I thought the answer was too easy, so I rewound the old eight-track tapes.
I was born and raised in Barbados, learned many things in engineering and, worked hard, studied well, and even got to sing for Queen Elizabeth II and her husband Prince Phillip close up as a child. Those were the good old days of colonialism. I immigrated to the US, 14 Sep 1972 and ended up in Brooklyn, where most West Indians went. I worked menial jobs in bitterly cold weather and decided there was a better life. But Brooklyn taught me about suffering and disenfranchisement in a way that forever changed my way of thinking about the system. I lived in Bedford- Stuyvesant, one of the worse ghettos in Brooklyn, a place that seemed abandoned and completely forgotten by everyone except the drug pushers and gangsters.
I would soon join the military to escape New York. As a country boy, that was not the place for me. I joined the US Air Force and early dated and married a Caucasian woman (Jeanne). When I came to America, I believed I had a fairly open mind about the coexistence of the races. I soon learned about racism in some of the ugliest ways while serving in the US Air Force. Around 1972, to get married in the military, I needed the permission of a chaplain. I decided to marry Jeanne and asked a Chaplain to marry us. Capt. John D. Singletary told us that he could not marry us because he was from the South and did not think blacks and whites should be married. Does this sound familiar?
I was denied civilian housing for my family in Homestead, FL, just because I was black. While living in Florida, we were evicted from other apartments and petitioned against when others found out my family was mixed. But I also had some exciting times while serving in the military. While serving in the UK at RAF Alconbury, I met face-to-face with Prince Phillip (Queen Elizabeth II husband) in a private meeting as an adult. I worked for NATO on some particular missions and visited the Berlin wall before its destruction. I walked the eerie paths of the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Korea. I had the privilege of meeting and shaking the hands of General Colin Powell when he was Chairman of the Joints Chief of Staff. I walked the hallowed halls of the Pentagon.
Later in life, as a civilian, I was tremendously blessed in my civilian career to work for some of the best companies in America. I worked for FedEx and met Fred Smith, worked for Enterprise Rent-A-Car, and met Jack and the Taylor family. I worked in many other large corporations like AAA National Headquarters, Cingular Wireless, and ATT. I taught University as an adjunct instructor for more than 15 years. Along the way, I met some great corporate leaders and coaches like my good friend Suda. But I was not sure, as I replayed the tapes, what the significance of all these experiences was until a few weeks ago.
As a military man, I now realized I influenced my sons, brother, and several nephews to also join the military. Today, my youngest son is an officer in the US Air Force and is a pilot flying the C5. Currently, I am using my corporate knowledge to mentor young people to become entrepreneurs and pursue their dreams. I have partnered with one of my sons and granddaughter to launch several businesses. But as I shared at the beginning of this article, I thought the one thing I would change was the untimely death of my daughter.
As it turned out over the last couple of weeks, Jeanne’s (my spouse) youngest sister lost her son 34 years old to flu and pneumonia. What I learned is that God does not make mistakes. Given all that I was able to experience in my colorful resume, God was preparing me to be a comforter to others and to have compassion for other parents who lose their children. It was a tremendous blessing to provide just a bit of empathy and understanding as she grieved the loss of her child. I would posit that it is doubtful that parents understand the ugliness of the premature death of their children, even if the child murdered in the street, or succumb to cancer. Unless parents have walked a quarter-mile in these moccasins, the answers do not come easily.
So what have I learned, and what would I change in my life? I have learned that the sum reflection of my story, yeah, my philosophical worldview can be summed up in a single word. Compassion.
What would I change? Nothing.
What would you change? And if you did change anything, would you be the same person? Why? Why not?
Stan Brooks, PhD