Dr. James Whitfield

mental health

Evolve

by 1 Comment

Commitment coupled with feedback and accountability is a very powerful mechanism for growth. From the beginning of 2023, I’ve committed to writing this reflective blog. In such, I’ve tried to capture everything from feelings, life events, and various happenings across society. Truth be told, I was hesitant to make this commitment public, as I had deep concerns as to how much time I would have to devote to such an endeavor. 

But here we are. And you, the reader, have stood in the gap on so many occasions over the course of this year. Family, friends, and complete strangers, have been a strong source of encouragement and accountability throughout this journey. 

Accountability Can Actually Be a Good Thing

I’m in public education in Texas, so I know the word “accountability” tends to leave a bad taste in folk’s mouths. Over time, it has seemingly been used as a gotcha-type weapon. We won’t delve into the convoluted mess that is the testing and accountability system in Texas. Trust me, it would only make your head hurt. Conversely,  the accountability that you, the reader, have offered to me is something quite different.

Along this journey through life, our receptiveness to feedback, level of commitment to that which we hold dear, and willingness to embrace accountability is key to our growth. And, sometimes, we get in our own way when it comes to these different qualities. I know that’s been the case for me, especially in my younger days.

Guidance Beyond The Court

In my first year of high school, I had a very small, tight knit group of friends that I associated with. As the years passed on and I began to take on more of a leadership role within the basketball program at Midland High School, my circle expanded. This was not always for the better.

My basketball coach, Jack Stephenson, played such a huge role in my life as a young man. He was relational, receptive, and had his hand on the pulse of anything and everything that was going on with his players. He cared at a deep level. And as my circle grew, the conversations became more frequent. 

“James, you have to decide what you want to do and who you want to be. You’re as talented as they come, but you’ve gotta be careful about your circle – birds of a feather flock together”, he’d say on many occasions. Over time, I would find myself in the precarious situations that many young wayward teens often find themselves. And, as usual, Coach was spot-on. 

Among various family members and friends in the neighborhood there was plenty of opportunity to get caught up. He saw it and, without being preachy or judgmental, had deep guided conversations with me about my future. Coach Stephenson’s office door was always open to any and all who needed him. I remember more than one session in that office where he was trying to ensure I stayed on the right path. If I’m completely honest, on more than one occasion I left thinking “dude just doesn’t want me to have any fun.” But, over time, that time and wisdom he shared would show up in powerful ways.

He was offering feedback. Giving me a space to be, feel, and reflect. He knew my commitment to playing college basketball. He also knew that I was going to become a father in March of my senior year. And he was there to hold me accountable for that which I’d committed to.

Turn The Page

While I would go on to graduate and eventually fulfill that commitment, it was not without multiple failures. So many missed opportunities and hard lessons learned. Through it all, I could hear the countless conversations with Coach Stephenson ringing in my being. My grandmother, My Ma, was there to offer her love, unyielding support, encouragement, and willingness to hold me accountable to my commitments. My young son, Jordan, who was just a baby at the time, was there, looking back at me in a way that said “keep going, Pops”. 

Commitment, Accountability, and Feedback were determinant factors in my growth as a young man who had such high hopes, but such a chaotic scene to make sense of.

I truly do not know where I’d be today without these monumental figures in my life along the way. As I look back on the weekly words chosen over the course of this reflective blog journey it is clear that, much like my life, it has been filled with twists and turns, joys and pains, and unbelievable highs and devastating lows. But, yet, here I am. Writing these words. Living this life. Embracing every moment as it comes. And committed to continued growth and positive impact over the course of the time I have left here on this earth.

Gratitude and Growth 

As we head into the last several weeks of this journey I just want to thank you. Thanks for every comment, every share, every “like” and/or “love”. Thank you for all the emails where you shared your connection to the piece. Your feedback has been greatly appreciated and welcomed. And that feedback has been a strong, steady mechanism of accountability. Thank you for helping me grow. And, I hope that maybe even in some small way, I have been part of your growth, as well. Wishing you all the best this Christmas season as we round our 2023.

And to Coach Stephenson, I love you so much. I’m so grateful for your presence in my life. Merry Christmas, Coach!

 

Heroes

by Leave a Comment

As I walk out of the building, I hear cheers and see dozens of my students with signs of support. It’s the end of yet another long school board meeting where many of their classmates stood up and spoke on my behalf and for each other. It’s a dark, crisp night, it’s getting late and I know this will likely be the last time I get to address this group of students face-to-face. I step to the bullhorn and deliver a brief message of appreciation, love, pride, and support, then head home so we can put my 3rd grade son, Landon, to bed. 

The Kids Are Alright

Before I go further I must note something that many may not have realized about the students who were leading protests and speaking out. Many in the crowd that night have just finished their early action applications to Harvard, Brown, MIT, Stanford, University of Texas Honors Program, and Rice. Most, if not all, of them are taking a full load of AP classes as high school seniors. They are students who have never skipped school a day in their life but quickly informed their parents that they would be walking out of school in protest because they believed so strongly in their cause. After many of them spoke on this night, they were chastised by another speaker saying “they should not get to speak – they don’t pay taxes.” 

On this day two years ago, November 17, 2021, I saw a group of young people who, despite the opposition, found their voice. A group of students who had no time to engage in protests and the likes, made time. Their courage, leadership, and conviction landed them in the headlines of The Washington Post, refusing to be silenced. They represented what so many people feared – an engaged, educated young citizen capable of critical thinking and forming their own conclusions. These young people refused to drink from the fire hydrant of what may have been traditional “community” norms, but rather, questioned it.

Winds of Change

My time had run its course in the district, yet my youngest son was still enrolled there. He’d joined me in the district years prior and it was nice to have him so close to me. I could pop over for lunch when I had a few minutes. He could come over after school and shoot hoops with me before we went home. He loved his teachers, principal, and friends. And we enjoyed our rides to and from school together. 

But at this, things have changed. For the last several months I would drive Landon to school, past my former school, drop him off, then head home where a whirlwind of media were chomping at the bits for their pound of flesh. Thankfully, I’d found a dear friend and PR Strategist throughout this process who helped screen out some of the sharks. But after the meeting on November 17, 2021, it was clear that I had to make the tough decision to withdraw Landon from the district at the Thanksgiving break and enroll him in our home district on the other side. He was sad. His friends and teachers were sad and they made him cool going away presents. We were all sad. But this was just the way it had to be.

Navigating Transitions

As I walk up to enroll Landon for his first day at his new school I’m met with the emotion that most every parent has felt at some point –

Am I doing the right thing?

Surely I could just suck it up and just make the drive, push down the emotional trigger of passing my former place of employment, and make it happen, right?

But through the mixed emotions I enrolled Landon in his new school, which is within walking distance from our house. Over the course of the next several weeks we created a new routine – walk to school, then at the end of the day pick up by the big oak tree, then walk home. We found rhythm and consistency. And, as luck would have it, one of Landon’s former teachers was good friends with one of his new teachers and they were able to discuss his progress. 

Not only was he experiencing a transition academically, but he was watching the world around him unravel. He clung closer and closer to my side. While I tried to shield him from all that was going on and hide the pain, disappointment, and frustration in his presence, he knew something was off. He knows how much his dad loves being a school principal and now dad is no longer doing that. He is now accustomed to cameras and journalists following us to school or setting up in our home. And he is thriving in his new school setting. 

I marveled at his resilience and growth, his capacity to adapt to change and pour out love. On many days where I felt my light begin to dim, he shared some of his with me to brighten the way. And over the course of the rest of the 21-22 school year and 22-23 school year it was much the same. This dude served as such an inspiration to me.

A Whole New World

As August came around, I was nearing the end of my required time outside of public education. But I knew where I would be on the first day of school for the 23-24 school year. I’d obtained my superintendent certification years ago and never thought I’d be using it. But God always has a way of making a way towards those things you once thought unattainable. For this school year I’d begin on the first day of school at a K-12 public charter school as superintendent. 

Look at God.

But now I had a decision to make. With my older two children, Jordan and Lauren, I had the opportunity to serve in a school they attended. I got to coach Jordan as a basketball player (he loved it). When Lauren went into middle school, good ole dad was starting as a first year assistant principal (and you know she loved that). And now an opportunity has presented itself for me to be at school with Landon as a 5th grader, should we choose to transfer him to the school I’m at.

Decisions

For weeks prior we went back and forth. He’d been through so much change over the last few years. Relationships were formed with friends and teachers in his current school. And this was his year to be the big dawg on campus as 5th grade is the final year in that school. With us now being at different schools I definitely couldn’t drop him off in the mornings. Sparingly I’d be able to pick him up from school. I’d still probably get to join him for lunch as much as any other year. But things would be changing, for sure. So many considerations.

I drove to school alone on August 16, 2023. This was to be Landon’s first day of school, as well. His school day was set to start several minutes after mine and we would no longer ride together. With each mile I inched in traffic closer to school my emotions were everywhere, much like the cars that zoomed around each other. We’d been so torn on whether or not I should bring Landon to my school, which promised to be an amazing place, or leave him at his current school that was also amazing.

In an instant, I asked Siri to call my wife, who I knew would be up with Landon, preparing for his first day. As she picked up the phone I said, 

“Honey, don’t send him to school today. I’m gonna bring him with me. What do you think?”

Yes. I know. I went from making a firm decision to asking a question in the same breath. That speaks to where my mind was at. But I just knew in my heart that this was the right move.

She went over to Landon with the phone on speaker and said “Hey bud, what do you think about going to school with Dad this year? Dad wants you to go with him.”

All of a sudden, the phone momentarily went silent. I thought “oh crap. Did I just mess this up? The first day of school is already stressful and now I’ve gone and made it extra stressful.”

Before I got too far along the downward spiral of my thoughts I heard Kerrie’s voice exclaim, “Oh my gosh, he’s smiling so big. Yes. He’s shaking his head, yes.”

The decision was made. Landon would join me at school for 5th grade. Our rides to and from school together would continue. He’d be in a place where he gets to learn in a small setting and enjoy the outdoors afforded at our beautiful, expansive campus.

A Day to Trot

Over the last few months we’ve both gone through transition – him, as a new student in a new space; me, in a new role in a new place. And it has been one heck of a journey navigating the winds of change. 

Today was our annual Turkey Trot at our school. For the last several weeks, students were given the opportunity to sign up by grade level clusters to run in it. The winners of each race received a turkey to take home. Over the course of that time I’ve asked Landon every day if he wanted to run in the race. The dude is a strong, fast runner. But every day, the answer was, “no dad, I’m good.” 

This morning we began as we do most Fridays with our Donuts with Dad at our favorite donut shop. Then, we had a conversation about everything from the upcoming anniversary of the JFK assassination to the conflict in the middle east. As we got to school and entered my office Landon looked at me and said, “Dad, I think I want to do the Turkey Trot”, to which I responded, “then let’s do it!”. Quickly, we went over to the sign up sheet to add his name. 

After adding his name he said, “Dad, if I win the Turkey Trot, I want to give the turkey I win to someone who needs it.”

With my heart beaming with pride I said, “that sounds like a fantastic idea son. I’m sure there is someone who needs it.”

We had a great day today at our school. I was pied in the face by those who won the drawing from our canned food drive. Families feasted on wide food spreads, picnic style, with their children on the grounds. And the races were intense. 

As I watched Landon round the last turn towards the finish line with no one in front of him I couldn’t help but smile. After so much hesitation about even running, he’d not only run the race, but won first place, thus securing that turkey to give away. After a great big hug, he was off to take his picture with the first place sign and a huge turkey in his arms. I could see the happiness in his face – the pride in his stance. He’d won the turkey he set out to win to donate to someone in need.

I stood there watching this young man with so much pride in my heart. To think about where we were two years ago on this very day. So much uncertainty, pain, grief, disappointment, and fear. Then the transitions over the course of the time from then to now. And now, this moment. Only by the grace of God.

Our Young People, Our Heroes

So often, we reserve the title of “hero” for adults or celebrities, but I know better. Heroes are the young folks I’ve described above. Youth who sacrificed so much of their time and energy to stand up for not only me, but their community. They were harassed online and in person, but never buckled under the pressure. They shook up things and made folks aware of what was going on in their community. 

And my son, Landon. He is truly one of my heroes. He inspires me with his courage and resilience. The last couple years have been tough but he mets every challenge, head-on, and conquering them. I’m proud of his huge heart, empathy, and sense of compassion for others. His compassion knows no bounds, a beacon of light in a world that sometimes feels dim. I’m uplifted by his constant encouragement and love. 

Landon. My son. Our little champion. My heart. My hero.

Weekly With Whitfield – Legacy

by Leave a Comment

I love my kids. The impact they’ve made on my life can’t be quantified. Daily, I’m reminded of the great privilege it is to be their father. I feel the deep pride that comes with looking at all the great things they’re each doing in the various stages of their lives. There is a profound power that rises up in my soul when I think of the lengths I would go to protect them. My love for them knows no bounds.

With this week encompassing National Daughter’s Day and National Son’s Day, I couldn’t help but scroll through old photos. It’s crazy how technology has changed this aspect of reminiscing for me. Not too long ago, I would’ve been pouring over physical photo albums. Now, I have them on my phone. The process of selecting a handful of photos to share on a Happy National Daughter’s/Son’s Day was quite complex. Years upon years of so many beautiful memories. 

A Precious Stroll Down Memory Lane

During my stroll down memory lane, I came across a picture of my mother holding my oldest son, Jordan. And I sit with this photo, in deep thought, for a good while. Nearly two years before this photo, she’d been diagnosed with Leukemia. From the moment of diagnosis to the time of this picture (July of 1996) she’d undergone several rounds of chemotherapy, a bone marrow transplant at M.D. Anderson in Houston, TX, gone in and out of remission, watched her eldest son (me) graduate high school, and, now, was able to hold her first grandchild.

This would be the only time she ever got to hold him. And it was as if she knew that this would be her final opportunity. My mother was not feeling well, at all, but was able to leave M.D. Anderson and she return to my grandmother’s house in Itasca, TX to celebrate my 18th birthday. My mother was one of the strongest women I’ve ever known, if not the strongest. But Leukemia doesn’t care how strong you are…neither does the chemo…it devours and denies.

And, while that is so true, on this day I saw my mother transcend the pain and absolutely glow as she held this beautiful baby boy in her arms. Most will agree that, rarely, do pictures fully capture the beauty of these moments. But as I look back on this picture it’s about as close to a true reflection as I’ve ever seen. The way she held him. My arm around her. My baby brother, Michael, just over her right shoulder with a bright smile. One would never guess that poison was running through her body. The immense pride in her smile still speaks to me. She was glowing.

Cherish the Day

I remember never wanting that moment to end. I sat by her side the whole time. Although weak from treatment, she did not want to let Jordan go. She held him. And held him. And sang to him. And played the piano for him. And sang to him some more. Soon, it was time to gather in my grandmother’s kitchen for them to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. Time stood still. It seemed like those candles were lit forever. I didn’t want to blow them out. Not for any dramatic symbolism or anything like that. I just didn’t want that moment to end. Eventually, I blew them out. My family did that ceremonial applause. And then we enjoyed the chocolate cake my grandmother had baked and enjoyed the rest of our visit. I’m so very grateful God gave us that day.

A Painful Farewell

Over the next 5 months my mother’s condition would worsen. We spent Christmas down in Houston at my grandmother’s apartment, as she’d refinanced her house to relocate to be with my mother throughout this time. This visit would not be as joyous. My dad, brother, put on our hospital gowns and face coverings and entered my mother’s room. She lay there, resting, her eyes closed, as they’d given her medication to ease the pain. As we approached, her eyes slowly began to open. While I fully knew the pain she was in, I still felt as though she was going to jump out of the bed. 

But this is not the movies – that didn’t happen. Instead, she slowly began to try to nudge her way up in her bed to sit up. She was alert and coherent, and that made me smile. I grabbed her frail hand and just sat by her side. We talked and tried to sing a few Christmas carols, as Christmas was my mother’s favorite time of the year. Through the pain, she smiled and even cracked a few jokes. The prognosis was looking worse than it had before, but I didn’t want to believe it. 

Heartbroken

I can’t describe the feeling that came over me when I left that hospital room that December evening. My mom, Beverly Jan Whitfield, turned 40 on December 30, 1996. Then on January 17, 1997, she passed from this earth. To this day, I remember, vividly, each detail of that day. My whole world flipped upside down. I lost my best friend, my everything, on that day. And it would take me years to see past the anger and pain and towards the possibility of brighter days.

Over time it started to hit me, just how lucky I was to have her as an example of how a parent should love their kids. As I sit here at 45 years old – a whole 5 years older than my mother was when she passed away – I’m reminded of just how strong my mother was in those final years and in that final Christmas with my brother and I. To look out into your children’s eyes and love them so deeply, yet know that you will likely miss all the key moments of their lives. While I know my mother knew she’d be with her Heavenly Father when she left this earth, I also know that she was a human and that must have caused such pain deep in her soul. But she never let it show. I cannot begin to imagine such pain.

An Enduring Legacy

The journey from then to now has been quite an adventure. And that adventure has included the three amazing young people I’m so proud to call my own. It’s hard to imagine what life would be like without each of their unique presence in my life. I praise God for each day I get to be with them. I know, all too well, that every single day is a special gift and I do my best to cherish it. Not a day passes that I don’t think about my mother and what life would be like with her physical presence.

But her powerful presence lives within me. She nudges me in moments of uncertainty or fear. I can feel her pride when I accomplish something I set out to do. Her strength props me up when I’m faced with things that seem impossible. I feel her in moments of joy. She is my ultimate guide along this journey of parenthood, as she left such an amazing blueprint. Throughout the days of my life I commit to building upon the legacy my beloved mother left us.

Weekly With Whitfield – Paris

by Leave a Comment

I’ll be real with y’all – I’ve never understood people’s obsession with their pets. I had two puppies over the course of my crazy childhood. And, much like a tragic plot twist of a play, they’re were ripped from me before I ever really got a chance to feel the power of their presence.

Losing them just brought on more hurt. And I had enough of that, already. So, from an early age, I threw in the towel on pet ownership.Then I met Kerrie back in 2003.

I know what you’re saying…“wait, Kerrie’s you’re wife, not a pet”…hang in there with me, y’all!In her I knew I had found someone who I could spend my life with. The feeling was instantaneous. But there was one very big issue. I was very allergic to cats. And she had two of them. You’ve gotta be kidding me, I thought!

Whether it was just placebo or the fact that Kerrie didn’t play around with having cat dander everywhere, something worked. Over time I’d come to embrace Panther and Precious as my fur babies, and loved them so much, but it still wasn’t that particular obsession I’m taking about.

Panther and Precious passed on after two good, long lives spoiled by the best cat mom ever and we would go on to adopt two more, Toby and Tyson, as kittens. Without question, a deep love formed for them both, but not that “talk to em like they a real human” type of love, ya know?

An Unexpected Birthday Surprise

Then, just after Thanksgiving last year, we travelled out to east Texas to celebrate a rad little two year old (love you, Jaggy). It was a cold and rainy day, but all was bright inside as we celebrated his birthday. Towards the end of the party, in walked someone with this little kitten who’d lost her way from the rest of litter. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two old. Enter, Kerrie. Within minutes it was decided (against my vehement denial) that we’d inherited one more kitten.

In a matter of hours, as we traversed the highway back home with this kitten in Kerrie’s lap, something felt different about this pet. But I was still kind of in my feelings about not wanting ANOTHER cat.

Kerrie woke up many times throughout that first night to feed her. The next morning she whispered “honey, we don’t have to keep her if you don’t want. We can find her a good home.” In an instant I responded, “no ma’am. She is home.” I could go on and on about all the adventures with the little girl we affectionately named “Paris” (Paris, TX, ya dig?).

Who Rescued Whom?

But, most importantly, I just want to say to all the obsessive, over-the-top, pet lovers out there – I GET IT, now. You’ll have to check her out over on Instagram (Paris_Kitty_Whitfield), where you can get a glimpse of what the journey with her has been like. She’s brought so much joy to our lives.

Some would say we saved her but, truthfully, she’s the one that did the saving. I can’t imagine life without my girl!

Weekly With Whitfield – Unscripted

by 1 Comment

As the days of 2023 dwindle down, only 16 weeks remain in this calendar year. To those who have faithfully followed my weekly reflections, thank you for being a part of this introspective journey. For those joining for the first time, a warm welcome. Regardless of where you stand, know that your presence is valued, and I’m genuinely delighted that you’re here. My wish is that this year has unfolded just as you’d hoped it would.

The Weekly Reflection Challenge

Writing this weekly blog has brought with it a unique and beautiful challenge. I have always been a deeply reflective person. But I cannot think of a time in my life where I dedicated time at the end of each week to reflect on what that time had presented me. There have been many weeks where I’ve struggled to find a word that truly captured my thoughts and feelings. But, every time, God laid something on my heart to share.

This journey has been an unscripted one. But such is life. I have no earthly idea what I’m going to write about at the beginning of each week. I won’t lie, early on, I tried to force it. But it never fit. The things I felt I needed to talk about or wanted to talk about never seemed to be what I actually wrote about, in the end. And this has made the journey more genuine, authentic, and therapeutic for me.

Unscripted Lessons

Life’s unscripted moments often hold the most profound lessons. While plans have their place, they can sometimes pale in comparison to the grand design that the universe, or in my case, God, has in store for us. We may attempt to force our personal narratives into the script, but more often than not, they fail to fit. Life’s greatest surprises, blessings, and revelations emerge when we relinquish control and embrace the unscripted. 

Reflecting on these past weeks, I am reminded that the most impactful adventures often arise when we surrender the pen that drafts our life’s script. I’ve gazed up in awe at the grace, mercy, and provision that God has bestowed upon me.

An Unforeseen Journey

This past holiday weekend I had the opportunity to visit Seaside, Florida with my family and good friends. This trip was not something we planned, but a generous opportunity was extended by some good friends. Completely unforeseen, all of a sudden, we were loading up the Expedition, headed to the Florida panhandle. 

Though brief in duration, those three days were filled with unforgettable moments, too numerous to recount in this humble blog post. What we lacked in time, we made up for in moments.

Finding Joy Amidst the Challenges

The trip was an absolute blast, not because everything unfolded perfectly – quite the contrary. We encountered our fair share of unexpected challenges, from navigating a busted golf cart in the dark to a tangle with jellyfish, and even a near mishap with a stop sign. Yet, in these seemingly exasperating moments, we found joy in these “you’ve gotta be kidding me” moments that popped up. 

This trip served as a vivid reminder of the beauty inherent in an unscripted life. Had I known about the golf cart’s sudden breakdown on our way to dinner, I might have opted for the car and missed out on the deep belly laughs and crazy commentary that filled that peculiar ride. There’s so much more to share, but some experiences defy adequate description – you truly had to be there. What I can attest to is that, despite the chaos, it was so much fun!

Navigating the Unchartered Waters of Life

As I reflect on the past week and the broader journey of my life, I’m so grateful that I’ve not held the script in my own hands. Many of the trying moments, pains, and frustrations I’ve endured would likely have been edited out in a quest to construct a “perfect” life. In doing so, I might have overlooked the remarkable treasures hidden just beyond the curtain of despair.

I don’t possess all the answers, and I’m content with that uncertainty. My path is one of faith, a willingness to embrace challenges, and an unwavering commitment to celebrating the moments of joy that grace my journey. I will continue to navigate the uncharted territory of this unscripted life, knowing that it is in these unanticipated moments where the true essence of existence thrives. And I hope you will, too.

Weekly With Whitfield – I’m Back

by 2 Comments

On March 18th, 1995, a 16 year-old basketball junkie, would hear two words that sent him through the roof with excitement.

On October 6th, 1993, his favorite player walked away from the game of basketball in the prime of his career. Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player to ever grace the hardwood – I said it – announced his retirement from the NBA.

That kid was me. My mother and I had just watched his Chicago Bulls secure a three-peat just months earlier and all was well in the world. And I was completely devastated. But while my childhood hero was no longer in the game, my love for the game continued to grow. I was determined, like so many kids of that day, to be “Like Mike” (sorry, not sorry, for that jingle ringing in your head the rest of the day).

Wanna Be a Baller

Over the span of those two years I watched my game grow in ways I’d never imagined. I was putting in work. Everywhere I went, I had a basketball in my hand. If there was a good run going on somewhere, I was there.

I wore out the VHS tapes – Come Fly With Me, Michael Jordan’s Playground, Air Time, Above & Beyond! I’d watch a little bit, press pause, go out in the yard and try to emulate those moves, then come back in and watch some more; then do it all again…for hours.

When I wasn’t watching those tapes I was doing various leaping exercises. I was a small, scrawny runt, but I wanted to fly. I wanted to know the air up there. One of the things I did was alternating one legged jumps, working on my form, scraping my hand against the roof shingles. I was gauging how high based on where the scrape was. I had to get about half way up my arm before I could even consider attempting to dunk a basketball. 

I’d also wear ankle weights everywhere I walked. I remember when I’d take them off to hoop I felt like I was free. I was flying. And, while I was just a mighty 5’7”, pretty quickly those scrapes began to get higher and higher on my arm. And I did a horrible job of hiding them. So much so that one of my school counselors called me in for a well-check to make sure I was ok. When I explained to her how I’d come by those scapes she was a bit perplexed. I just smiled and said “come watch me play basketball. I’ll show you what I’ve been up to.”

It was over the course of this time that a spark was lit inside my soul. I know that, for some, this may sound silly. How on earth does a game have such an impact on one’s life? Well, for me it was much more than a game – it was a way out. And with each passing day I poured everything I had into being the best basketball player I could be.

I was still an average student in the classroom. But I was never one to speak up in class. If I could sit in your class and just get by without saying a word, I was good. My teachers and many of my peers I went to high school with didn’t hear me say too much. I was fairly quiet and a bit shy.

But when I stepped foot on that court it all changed. In an instant I transformed into something different. I like to call it passion. But I will be totally honest, that “passion” got me in plenty of trouble, as I was competitive as hell. I was driven to win and had a desire to completely destroy the person in front of me. By no means did I get the better of everyone that I faced. While I definitely tried, me getting the better of someone is not what I’m getting at here. 

The transformation that took place on that court came from an extreme confidence. Over the course of a couple years I’d gone from a relatively non-athletic, scrawny kid, to a dude that was dunking on guys that were over a foot taller than me. And that confidence and ability to do some pretty athletic things came from hard work, dedication, a desire to change my circumstances, and the devastation that came with Michael Jordan being away from the game.

While he may have stepped away, he never really did in my world, as I had him on repeat every single day. But then, on that day in March of 1995, something hit me differently when I heard wind of those two magical words “I’m Back” – the fax heard round the world. 

Transformation

Over the course of two years my whole world changed. In the midst of the chaos that surrounded me, I found a way to focus on where I wanted to be. I set goals. I was disciplined in my approach – no days off. And I was determined to use that round, orange ball to find a way out.

I never made the NBA, as I dreamed. But I did go on to fulfill a goal of playing collegiate basketball – something I always promised my mother I would do. 

But, as I reflect on those times – all the sweat, pain, soreness, mental and physical exhaustion, fighting poverty…you name it – I see how God was using basketball as a conduit to prepare me for the uncertain seasons of life. It’s why basketball has always been more than a game to me. God used a game to prepare me for the many “I’m Back” moments that would undoubtedly unfold on the other side of the mountain.

I’m Back

It has been a long road over the course of the last two years. I’ve been attacked by folks with nefarious agendas. We’ve received hate mail and death threats. I’ve been told by many folks who I’d held in high esteem that I’d never work in public education again in this area due to the media firestorm that accompanied my trials. Believe me, the book is coming. It has been one heck of a ride.

But I’ve also received support and encouragement from so many, near and far. I’ve connected with wonderful educators and advocates across the country along this journey. I’ve partnered with national organizations who are committed to supporting educators in their work. I’ve had the opportunity to testify before the House Subcommittee on Civil Rights and Civil Liberties with regard to classroom censorship. I’ve spoken to thousands of people in various keynotes, workshops, and panels. I’ve worked with preservice teachers to help prepare them for the climate they’re jumping into.

I reached back to the lessons learned by that young boy. I didn’t wallow in pity of devastation. While I was hurting and definitely had my share of challenging days, the strength of my faith refused to allow the obstacles to block my purpose. I got straight to work. I honed my craft, stayed true to my beliefs, and since Wednesday of this week…I’M BACK!!!

Weekly With Whitfield – Faith

by 4 Comments

Life will always present challenges. Without fail, difficult days are sure to come as we navigate our lives. They come in many forms – from losing a job to facing a serious illness to coping with the death of a loved one, life can seem overwhelming at times. When faced with challenges, it’s easy to feel lost, alone, and afraid. This is where faith kicks in. But, let’s not pretend that faith is some magical potion. Sometimes, it’s hard to find.

Why Faith Escapes Us, At Times

While faith isn’t necessarily magical, it is a powerful thing. Standing in faith gives us hope, strength, and peace in the midst of our struggles. But, at times, faith can seem out of reach for many reasons:

  • Life can be hard. We can become overwhelmed by the moment and lose faith. We question why God would allow us to suffer in such a way. This allows our mind to play tricks on us, making us feel like we are all alone. Then, as we give in to isolation, faith diminishes and despair sets in.
  • We live in a world that is full of confusion and doubt. Whether it’s the news, social media, or even some of our own friends and family, we are often bombarded with messages of doubt. Over time, this toxicity and pessimism can make it hard to have faith in anything.
  • Many of us may have had bad experiences with religion. As I watch the Christian faith become more and more hijacked and weaponized, I’m reminded of so many friends who want nothing to do with religion. Many of them have been hurt by people who claim to be religious. It saddens me to see my faith used as a tool of exclusion, bigotry, and hate. 

A Disclaimer

I’ll start by saying this – I’m a Christian, and I find my strength in Jesus Christ and the promises made in the Bible. I understand that not everyone reading this may be Christian, and that’s ok. It still remains my hope that you are able to use these words, in some way, as you navigate your faith journey. 

Through The Fire

The Bible is full of examples of how faith brings forth the power to overcome. But one that always stands out to me is that of brother Job. He was a righteous man who devoted his life to the service of god. Job held great wealth and had a large family. But one day, his life got flipped upside down.

Satan proposed a challenge to God, saying that Job would only serve Him because he was living a good life. Surely, if Job saw days of strife he’d turn his back on God. But God knew better. So he accepted the challenge and allowed Satan to test Job’s faith by causing him to suffer.

Throughout his trials, our dear brother Job lost everything: his livestock, his servants, his children, and even his health. He was covered in boils and was so sick that he could barely move.

Seeing Job suffering, his friend’s came to visit him – something was terribly off. But instead of extending comfort and grace, many accused him of sinning. Surely Job must have done something wrong to deserve such pain and suffering.

This left Job angry and confused. He could not reconcile or understand why God was allowing such grim days. But through his anger, Job never gave up his faith in God.

Faith Carries

Job’s faith was tested to the limit, but it never broke. He knew that, ultimately, God was still in control, even though he couldn’t answer the question of “why?”. 

His extreme faith offered hope in the midst of despair. That faith gave him the fortitude to press on, even when things seemed at their worst. And, armed with that strong faith, Job had the peace of mind needed to know that everything was gonna be alright in the end. 

Ultimately, God restored Job’s fortunes. He gave him back everything he had lost…and more. And Job went on to live a long and prosperous life.

Job’s story is a reminder that faith can carry us through even the most difficult challenges. When we face suffering, it is easy to lose our way – but we must never forget to face those challenges with an unrelenting faith.

Reflections 

As I think back on life, I’m reminded of so many times where I definitely didn’t understand the struggle I was faced with. Throughout my journey, I faced numerous challenges, starting with trying to break free from an impoverished environment. Then, tragically, losing my mother to leukemia at the age of 19. And, if all those lumps were not enough, the path to enter the education profession was arduous, but I persevered. Then, as I rose in my career, I encountered opposition from individuals with questionable motives, putting my faith to the test repeatedly.

But, through it all, I found solace in the promise of God’s word and provision. While it may have been hard to see in some of those moments, I always knew there was something greater on the other side of the challenges I faced.

Saying Goodbye

This week we faced another great test of faith as we laid one of our dear friends to rest. When something as tragic as this happens we’re left with all sorts of questions and even feelings of anger. As we try to wrap our minds around the senselessness of it all it can become all-consuming. 

But, in the end, I choose to turn to faith. Knowing that our dear friend is at rest in the arms of our Heavenly Father and will see no more pain. I have faith that, one precious day, we will be united with her, and so many of our dear loved ones, when we’re called home. And I have faith that, while she may be gone from this earth, her legacy of protection and advocacy for others will live on in the lives of so many. Our faith has carried us through yet another dark and tragic moment in our lives, and will propel us forward in our unique purpose in the days ahead.

Keep The Faith

If you are facing a challenge in your life, I encourage you to put your faith in God. He is with you, and He will help you to overcome whatever you are facing. Surround yourself with positive people. Spend time in prayer. Refuse to give up. And, remember…this is a team game – you’re not in this alone. I’m rooting for you! Keep the FAITH!

Weekly With Whitfield – Devastated

by 1 Comment

Most days I try to keep it moving in gratitude. I am so very grateful for the many blessings in my life – my wife, kids, friends, profession, health – amongst a host of other things. But living in gratitude does not make you immune to the ills of society. Our relationship between gratitude and the blows that life deals is, well…let’s just say it’s complicated.

Gratitude Amidst Devastation

So often, when things go awry in our society, someone comes along with the “it could be worse” line. And, while I believe this comes from a good place (most of the time), I can’t help but feel like it diminishes the very real tragedies and struggles folks are going through in real time. 

Yes, it could “always be worse”…but stating such isn’t a meaningful way of dealing with chaos. We can still practice gratitude while being in a state of disappointment, disgust, anger, and/or frustration. But we operate in such a “grind it out” and “push through” society that often urges people towards feeling as we want them to feel (good) rather than the way they may need to feel at the time.

So this week, while I am so grateful for my many blessings, it has also been devastating.

Devastated

Devastation sets in with each passing evening this week. I turn on the news to hear of the latest shooting here in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. 

Shooting. 

Another Shooting.

Another Shooting.

Weather.

Sports.

A horrid pattern that makes one question humanity. Senseless acts that change the trajectory of so many lives.

Paola Nunez Linares, a loving wife, daughter, and step-mom, was shot and killed – taken from her family, in an act of road rage – an innocent passenger.

Kyrie Barnes, a 7 year-old boy, was shot and killed – taken from his mother and family by “celebratory gunfire” while playing video games. 

So many lives upended as 11 people were shot while celebrating the 4th of July at ComoFest. Paul Willis (18), Cynthia Santos (22), and Gabriella Navarrete (18) were all victims of this senseless, vile act. 

Do Not Honk in Texas

I’ve told my wife a million times – I’m not honkin’ at anyone here in Texas. I’m moving over when folks are driving crazy. I’m not engaging with anyone on these streets because there are far too many people running around strapped – not only with firearms, but erratic emotions.

It’s really wild to think you can’t even use your horn here in Texas. We use the horn for a variety of reasons but, most importantly, safety. There was a day, honking your horn at someone could mean a variety of things. 

You could give them the two-honks, which is like “hello”. You could give them the brief honk, which is like “I see ya”, or you could give them the full-on, blaring “I need you to realize you’re about to hit me” honk, and all would be well with the world. At most, you’d be told you’re “numero uno”. But not today. You better not honk at someone out in these Texas streets. Chances are, that person is armed. And, as evidenced by recent incidents – they aren’t in an emotional space to handle it.

To Be Clear

Let me be clear – my intention is not to advocate for the confiscation of all firearms. I firmly believe in responsible gun ownership and respect the rights of individuals who adhere to proper protocols. However, we must reckon with the fact that none of the tragedies mentioned above align with the concept of responsible gun ownership. We find ourselves with a grave, devastating problem. And it concerns me that, with each passing day and news cycle, we seem to be growing increasingly desensitized to it all. 

As we witness these repeated acts of violence and tragedy, it becomes easy to slip into a state of indifference or numbness. This constant exposure to distressing news and images, slowly erodes our sensitivities and emotional response. And this creates a perilous detachment from the magnitude of the predicament we find ourselves in.

When we lose touch with the pain and suffering brought on by these events, we risk losing our sense of humanity. As our ability to empathize and take action diminishes, the cycle of violence continues to ravage our communities. All of this perpetuates a dangerous norm where we accept tragedy as an unavoidable part of our existence, rather than striving to prevent it or even attempt to make things better.

From Fixation to Transformation

Our fascination with firearms is terrifying. But, perhaps, what’s more deeply troubling is our unwillingness and/or inability to engage in meaningful dialogue, especially when the influence of social media algorithms pushes us further apart.

I implore you to open your hearts. May we care enough to strive for justice for these grieving families. Let’s care enough to foster safer communities. Communities where children can enjoy playing video games in their homes without the constant fear of losing their lives. Let’s care enough to take action instead of dismissing these tragedies as mere “misfortune” or claiming that “things could be worse.”

While it is true that circumstances could always be worse, it is essential to work towards the possibility of something better. What if we could foster a culture that values human life above all else, where empathy and understanding guide our interactions? What if we could bridge the gaps that divide us, engaging in meaningful conversations that promote unity and mutual respect? Somewhere, deep down, I believe we hold the power to see past that which divides us and into our commonalities. There is far more we have in common than what we’ve been led to believe for so long. 

Because, yes, while it could definitely “be worse” – my goodness…what if we could make it better?

***Prayers of peace, comfort, strength, and love for each of these families as they navigate the trying days ahead.***