by Terrence J
I remember the feeling of defeat—we had come up with a plan, a real way to help, but even our best intentions couldn’t resolve this situation. I’d never felt so powerless in my life.
With our first plan of attack thwarted, we headed to the tent cities, to check out the conditions there and see how we could help.
The tent camps were horrifying. Many of the “tents” were makeshift structures of sticks, tarps, and pieces of plastic held together with string. Families of eight or nine were living in spaces no bigger than my closet at home. They were barely subsisting—living with very little food or without food or clean water, electricity, changes of clothing, or roofs over their heads. Women were afraid to visit the common showers for fear of rape. Without outhouses, people had to relieve themselves on the ground right next to where they slept. The torrential Haitian rain regularly turned the whole place into mud pits, destroying the few possessions that people still owned. Everywhere you looked, people were starving.
And more than a million people were living like this.
We desperately wanted to give these people things, but we hadn’t been allowed to bring anything but clothes with us. So we used what money we had to buy any supplies we could get our hands on: rice, bottled water, granola bars. We walked through the tent cities talking to the people we’d meet and handing out trail mix. One woman simply handed me her baby as she started grabbing all the supplies she could, then made me walk her back to her tent. I remember a pregnant woman who ran up to us, looking for food, and the look of anguish on her face when she found out we’d just given out the last of our granola bars. It was devastating.
There was construction going on everywhere as the country tried to rebuild, but the problems were overwhelming. They needed schools, roads, hospitals. The entire infrastructure of the country had been compromised. We began to realize that, as regular folks, our biggest objective was staying out of the way. What the country needed most was professionals: doctors, educators, construction workers.
It was frustrating: I wanted to help, but it was so complicated, so political, even dangerous. I wasn’t a doctor or a contractor, I was just an entertainer, but I did my best, gave my time, and put my money where my mouth was. I realized that what I could really do was go back to the States and use my profile to raise awareness and generate funds that could go to worthwhile projects.
I met a lot of incredible people during that first trip to Haiti, but the person who affected me the most was a fifteen-year-old earthquake survivor named Sophia. We were walking down a street in Port-au-Prince when I suddenly heard a sweet girl’s voice singing Justin Bieber’s “Baby.” It stopped me in my tracks. How on earth, in the middle of all this destruction and despair, could someone be singing?
The voice belonged to Sophia, who just a few months earlier had lost both her parents in the earthquake. She had been trapped under the rubble for three days, before she had finally been rescued. Now, this little girl was single-handedly taking care of her four-year-old brother, taking any odd job that might help her provide them both with food and shelter. It was an incredibly grown-up responsibility for such a young girl.
When we asked her what she wanted from life, she told us that what she really longed to do was go to school. “I want to be able to read books,” she told us. I remember how spoiled I suddenly felt. I thought of the shelves of books I had at home, books that I barely even looked at, and realized how much I took them for granted. How much I took everything for granted.
Then we asked her, what have you learned from being in this situation? She said, “I still believe in God, it’s all a part of His plan.”
Tiffany was quiet on the other end of the line. “She seriously said that? After her parents had died? Wow.”
I know—I couldn’t believe it. Her circumstances couldn’t have been worse, and yet she had an incredibly positive outlook on life. Witnessing her faith and optimism made me realize that I really needed to change my own tune.
I saw, with clear eyes, what my mom had been telling me: how blessed my life really was, how small my problems truly were. The people of Haiti were incredibly resilient. Despite living through conditions that would have most Americans believing it was the end of the world, these people weren’t giving up. Instead, they were singing and praying and figuring out how to make the best out of the hand they were dealt. They still had hope. They still had faith.
I had a lot to learn from them. That was when I realized that this wasn’t just about me giving to them. They were giving right back to me.
A few days later, we were on our way back home to the United States. Our flight had an overnight layover in Miami. We hadn’t taken a shower during our entire time in Haiti—relying instead on sponge baths and a lot of deodorant—and it seemed like a good idea to take a day to clean up and get “unwired” from our trip. So we checked in to a stylish hotel called the Mondrian.
It turned out to be a terrible mistake. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, we had been looking at people sleeping on pieces of cardboard, a few feet away from buckets of their own urine. Now, we were watching Americans in designer clothes eating steaks and spending obscene amounts of money on cocktails. It’s crazy to realize how much food people waste. I was totally repulsed.
Watching them, I suddenly understood—I was one of the people that I was seeing around me. I was the guy who bought bottles at the club, wore piles of jewelry, drove an obnoxious car. I had a gold chain around my neck, wore a fancy watch. I didn’t think twice about spending hundreds of dollars on clothes I’d only wear a few times.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” I thought as I looked around me. “I can’t believe I’ve been spending this kind of money on this stuff.”
My mind had opened. And from that moment on, my life began to change.
In the upcoming months, I began to really rethink my priorities. For the first time, I had a real sense of what’s important and what’s not. Now, instead of letting those superficial, material things consume me, I stopped being so frivolous, stopped buying fancy jewelry, and stopped whining about problems that, in the grand scheme of things, could be worked out.
I started getting treatment for my vitiligo. The visible conditions fluctuate due to the sun, but in my case, my skin was also affected by stress, diet, and my lifestyle. It is a condition that I may live with for the rest of my life, but it is manageable with special treatments. I can conceal the major outbreaks with makeup while I’m on TV, but I’ve also come to accept myself and my skin, and learned to embrace what God has given me. Having vitiligo has taught me a valuable lesson about vanity and helped me move beyond it. It has truly allowed me to see the beauty in all people—regardless of their shape, size, or color.
I started getting other aspects of my life in order: I refinanced my mortgage, got a financial manager, and—most important—took a genuine interest in understanding finance. I may have blown everything during the first few years of my career, but because of the mistakes I’d made, I now had a vast understanding of how everything worked. I needed that lump to the head to realize what I’d really been doing.
Don’t get me wrong: I still like the finer things in life. I’d be hypocritical if I pretended to turn my nose up at nice cars, jewelry, or having a good night out. But now, when I do, it’s for different motives: out of an appreciation for life, not because I need to impress other people or feel validated in some way.
I had a new perspective, and a new lease on life. I was finally turning from a boy into a man.
And it turned out to be just the beginning of a new relationship with the world around me. Not long after I returned, we posted our video “The Haiti Project” on YouTube, and did everything we could to get national coverage for our endeavor. To raise awareness, we spoke to TV news outlets, magazines, blogs, and online forums—anywhere I could encourage people to get involved with helping Haiti. We also started raising funds for Project Medishare, a nonprofit that was providing health services to Haitian
s and operating a clinic to treat the cholera epidemic.
IT WAS THE FIRST time that I had used my celebrity to give back; and now that I’d had an epiphany about the good that I could do, I couldn’t wait to do more.
As I wrote to my fans in an online diary on my website:
I challenge you to try to make a difference in your own communities. With a roof, food, clean water, and clothes on our backs, we are more fortunate than millions. If you are reading this online, you are one of the privileged. Please ask yourself, What am I giving back to the world for my blessings? You don’t have to be Obama, Oprah, or Angelina Jolie to make a positive impact on others. If it’s making an extra sandwich and giving it to the homeless person you always see on the subway, or volunteering with children whose parents can’t afford tutoring, you and your friends can create your own personal missions if you just try.
And take my word for it, whatever you give, whatever you donate, your interaction with people less fortunate than you will make your life that much richer. I went on this trip to help the people of Haiti, but it was the people of Haiti who helped me.
And I truly did begin to live by that credo. After that trip, volunteer missions became part of my DNA. Not only did I return to Haiti three times, but I also began to work with other nonprofit organizations. I became the face of the McDonald’s African American Scholarship program—giving out a half-million dollars of scholarships every year. I worked with Steve Harvey’s Disney Dream Academy, visiting high schools and giving presentations to kids about going to college and chasing their dreams. I set up education workshops and helped high school seniors fill out college applications. I became a director of responsibility for Crown Royal, talking to young people about alcohol abuse at shelters and AA meetings. We implemented the Crown Life Safe Rides Initiative, a program built to make sure people got home safe from the clubs. (I’d learned from my mistakes.) And I donated thousands of dollars in clothing and sneakers—everything I wore on TV—to benefit foster homes and kids in need.
And of course, there’s still the Boys & Girls Club.
I often think of my mom’s words: “The more you give, and the more God sees you giving, the more He will bestow upon you.” My life has never been richer, and I know that’s because of what she inspired me to give away. I’m not doing this to make myself look good. Helping others makes me feel good.
* * *
In Her Own Words: Lisa on the Importance of Giving to Others
I have a favorite picture of Terrence, from when he went to Haiti. He’s holding a tiny baby in his arms, looking out at the horizon with such concern. It’s such a great juxtaposition of the strong male and the innocent helpless baby.
Putting others first builds a strong foundation, strong communities. It’s important for young men to think about the world as a whole, and not just focus on themselves. When you see men acting responsible and as positive role models working to help better their communities and the world, then the world feels like a better place. There is less crime, less fear, less violence.
It’s like if you’re in a burning building and you see a big strapping man coming to get you out, you feel good! Save us!
Giving to others helps you channel your positive energy. Someone is always in a worse situation than you are. Sometimes what you’re complaining about is not that important. There are people who need your help more than you need anyone else’s. Sometimes giving to others just a little bit—it doesn’t have to be a lot—can help you take your mind off the petty things that you’re consumed with.
Young men need to go to their local soup kitchen, homeless shelter, Boys & Girls Clubs; they need to see what’s going on in their community and try to get involved. There’s more to the world than what’s happening in your little backyard. When you go out in the world and see what others are facing—not having clean water to drink, when you’re out drinking fancy bottled water, for example—you realize that what you might be complaining about doesn’t really matter.
It’s a kind of grace.
* * *
Gary Owen Talks About His Mom
Gary Owen is a comedian and actor who got his big break at BET just like I did. He’s headlined comedy tours, starred on Tyler Perry’s hit TV show House of Payne, and costarred with me in Think Like a Man. Gary’s talent is a force to be reckoned with. He was kind enough to share some stories about his mom, as he treated me to some all-you-can-eat sushi (don’t ask).
My mom is literally the nicest person I’ve ever met. No one ever says anything bad about her. To this day, all the kids go to her: You’re short on rent, she slides you the extra money. She’s the epitome of the word “mother”: She works, she cooks, she cleans the house. If something happened to her, the rest of my family wouldn’t know how to function. She has that kind of hold on everybody.
Anything I did, she was behind me, even if she probably thought it was a pipe dream. When I became a comedian, I was in the military. I made the call and said, “Mom, I’m getting out of the military to be a comic.” And she was all, “Oh, that’s great! That’s good.” Any other mom would have been, “What???”
She’s like that with all her kids—she never has anything negative to say. Even if one of her kids isn’t doing as well as another, she makes us all feel like we’re progressing in life. One kid’s on drugs, and is going to rehab: “You’re doing good, taking steps! You’re going to rehab!” She makes you feel good about that!
She puts everyone before herself, almost to a fault. My mom had me when she was in high school. It was just me and her. We had a bond that was special. But we didn’t have a lot, growing up. I remember living in an apartment with one living room and one bedroom, and at age four she asked me if I wanted the bedroom or the living room. I chose the living room, because of the TV—but if I’d wanted the bedroom, she would have taken the couch. That’s her most endearing quality—she’s more concerned about what you want.
One day, when I was seven or so, we were driving on the highway, and the car broke down. We were hot, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Ohio. I remember popping the hood, and the engine was smoking everywhere. I looked at it and told her, “Mom, when I grow up I’m going to buy you an engine.” Not a car! An engine! I always remembered her laughter.
So last year, I bought her a new car for Mother’s Day. I said, “Mom, remember when I said I was going to buy you a new engine?” And I walked her into the front yard, where there was a new car waiting for her. It was a great moment.
9
My Mother’s Words of Wisdom About Patience & Humility
Christmas in New York is unparalleled, and I was glad to be back. I’d flown into town for a few days for work, and while I was there, I decided to drop in on the Boys & Girls Club. I missed everyone, and I particularly wanted to check in on Tiffany, who I hadn’t spoken with since our last conversation, six weeks earlier.
She wasn’t there, so I sent her a text—Hey, I’m at the B&G Club, come by if you’re around.
Forty-five minutes later, while I was in the middle of a pickup basketball game with some of the boys, I noticed Tiffany sitting over on the sidelines, with Tyler in her lap playing with a toy car, her sketchbook open next to her as she tried to draw with her free hand. I was glad to see that notebook again.
When the game was over, I wandered over and sat next to her. She looked great—she’d dressed up in jeans and a cute striped top that looked like she’d made it herself, and little Tyler was in a perfectly matching outfit, also homemade. He was squirming all over her lap, dying to get onto the court and crawl after the basketball.
“Before you start getting that worried look on your face, I’m okay,” she said. “I’m moving back down to Atlanta. My mom’s sister offered to let me move in with her. She has a spare bedroom in her apartment now that my cousin got married and moved out.”
“That’s great,” I said tentatively.
She put Tyler down on the floor and watched him immediately crawl away, looking f
or trouble. “He’s such a boy. It’s all about balls and music already.” She smiled and looked back at me. “Anyway, yeah. Atlanta makes a lot of sense. It’s cheaper there. And my cousin offered to watch Tyler with her own kids.”
“What about work?”
“I’m going to work at my uncle’s restaurant.” She looked abashed. “I know. It’s not fashion. But I did find a school that has night classes in fashion design, so I’m going to try to do that, too.”
She jumped up and ran after Tyler, who was in danger of being trampled by the ballplayers. When she came back, with him wriggling under her arm, she sat down next to me and continued, “Remember how we talked about The Alchemist, and the whole personal legend thing? Well, I decided that I needed to keep dreaming. And I was just spinning my wheels here in New York. So I thought maybe I’d mix things up.”
I smiled. “I think it’s the right move. Small steps.”
“More like baby steps.” She grimaced. “At this rate I’ll be a hundred before I ever get there.”
But life doesn’t always happen all at once. I knew a little bit about how being patient and humble can help you get where you want to go. If you aren’t ashamed to start small, you can end up somewhere very big.
GROWING UP IN NEW York City, we couldn’t afford a car. When we went anywhere, it was on the bus. The bus system, however, wasn’t particularly reliable. Sometimes my mom and I would sit at the bus stop for what felt like hours, waiting for a bus to come along.
It drove me absolutely nuts. I would be tearing my hair out, dying to run around, whining at the top of my lungs. But my mom would just sit there quietly, with her hands in her lap, never complaining.
“Have patience,” she’d remind me. “Patience is key. People who don’t have patience never amount to anything.”