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| ISBN-13: | 9781491871003 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 03/07/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 158 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
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The Rise from Poverty to Prosperity
By Kerwin Liverpool
AuthorHouse LLC
Copyright © 2014 Kerwin LiverpoolAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-7101-0
CHAPTER 1
Childhood Dreams
"A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes."
—Hugh Downs
On September 16, 1984, at The Triumphant Church of God in Toronto, Ontario, I was christened. Both my parents are devoted Pentecostal Christians who believe that when a child is born, it is important to have that child blessed as a sign of covering and protection from the Heavenly Father. Based on their childhood experiences, my parents knew that the world can be a scary place and that bad things can happen when least expected. My mother was born and raised in Westmoreland, Jamaica and my father was born and raised in Georgetown, Guyana. Not knowing what to expect in Canada, they made sure faith was central in our home and prayed that God would follow me throughout my life. Because of them, I've never forgotten the power of faith throughout my life's journey.
Growing up in Toronto's inner-city in the '90s, I called the community marked by Jane Street and Finch Avenue home. As a child, I believed all neighbourhoods were the same—we had schools, playgrounds, grocery stores, and family and friends nearby. It was only later that I realized that gang violence, poverty, and lack of opportunity were the elements that built the economic divide between the inner-city and the privileged communities. As a child, your only concerns are having friends to play with, a playground to play on, and food to eat. I was completely ignorant of the danger that surrounded me—the big kids who minded their own business, the people who were speeding down the street, and the flashing red and blue lights from the police cars that patrolled the area—because my parents did a great job at protecting me from becoming a product of the negativity of my environment. The only time I wouldn't be outside playing was on Sundays. Sunday was considered to be a holy day and my parents would always quip, "God doesn't play outside on Sundays, He takes the day to rest."
On weekdays, I would go to school, and after school I'd go to the babysitter. Saturdays were the most fun because I was able to hang out with my friends. What I didn't realize was that while I was hanging out and enjoying time with friends, my mother, who was later divorced and became a single parent, was working just above minimum wage and had to stretch her earnings to pay the monthly household bills, pay the babysitter, keep food on the table, put clothes on our backs, and keep her three boys happy. I can truly say that my mother was a superhero!
I attended Shoreham Public School from junior kindergarten to grade five, and though, during that time, I was beginning to understand the importance of going to school, education was not my main focus at that age. I enjoyed learning about science, language, and my favourite, math, but having recess was all I cared about, all I enjoyed, and all I can remember about elementary school.
My mother worked Monday to Friday from 3pm-11pm and every other weekend. On the occasional Tuesday that she had off, she was either doing the laundry or buying groceries for the house. Because my mother was busy ensuring we had a home to live in, I never had the support I needed to help me with my homework. Furthermore, at that age, school was not a priority for me and there were no goals or expectations set for me in terms of getting good grades. My mother would only remind me to "stay out of trouble."
Most of my friends also came from single-parent homes, so much so that there were no consistent father figures in the lives of my neighbourhood friends. It goes without saying that fatherlessness was something we considered a norm in our community. Fortunately, as children, we simply focused on being happy with what we had and enjoying the good times; until, of course, real life experiences started to creep up on us.
I was in the third grade when I had Ms. Campbell as my teacher. She was a great teacher because she took the time to ensure that I understood her math lessons. I had a friend named Chris who was also in Ms. Campbell's class. He was a new student from Somalia and he got picked on by the other students because he couldn't grasp the math concepts. His inability to understand the lesson frustrated him to the point where he started to bang on his desk. This was the first time I saw someone express this kind of anger. Another student named Mark started calling Chris "dumb" and "stupid," and somehow I knew a fight was going to break out. In the third grade, I had not yet been exposed to the idea of discrimination because I was always told that school was as easy as listening to the teacher and behaving in the classroom. That day, however, the idea of following such simple instructions became difficult. Chris had finally had enough of Mark's jeers and went to Ms. Campbell's desk, took the scissors and stabbed Mark in the hand for calling him stupid. I couldn't believe what I had just seen in my class! Mark's hand was bleeding and he started to cry while Chris yelled, 'Never call me stupid, again!' The teacher pulled Chris away from the other students because we were very scared. Little did I know that this was a sign of things to come.
Playing sports was an outlet for most of the kids in my neighbourhood. Playing on the playground or simply watching the older boys play basketball on the court was very entertaining. I always wanted to be among the elite, but my size and skill couldn't match the fifth graders in my neighbourhood. Watching basketball on television and seeing many players going to college or university and then end up in the NBA made me wonder if I could achieve the same dream. Therefore, by the time I was in the fifth grade, I started watching basketball more often and hanging out at the Driftwood Community Centre basketball court just to watch the older boys dunk the ball. Joining the community leagues organized by the staff members at Driftwood made me feel as though I was walking in the direction of my dream of making it to the NBA. I believed that if Grant Hill or Michael Jordan could do it, then I could, too. What I didn't realize was that with that dream, came pain and adversity and the shattering of a reality.
I tried out for my Shoreham basketball team as well as the track and field team, but I didn't make the basketball team. However, I wasn't upset because I knew I wasn't that good yet and I was still comfortable just watching other kids who were better than me play the game. So I focused on track and field since I loved to run around my neighbourhood. I entered the 100m, 200m, and 400m races. One of my teachers also encouraged me to participate in the cross country race because the students had minimal interest in that event. During this time, our class had a pen pal program with another North York school and we exchanged letters back and forth. My pen pal's name was Tin Tin (he used this alias because his full legal name was difficult for students to pronounce) and he loved to read. I wrote to him explaining my love for basketball and was shocked to find out that not everyone loved basketball as much as I did. Tin Tin wrote to me explaining that he loved to go to the movies and travel to Pakistan, his home country. As a ten year old, I was convinced he was rich. Little did I know or understand that different environments allow for different experiences and opportunities.
Playing and watching sports was my main pastime and no one could get me away from the television on NFL Sundays when I was watching the Dallas Cowboys with Michael Irvin, Emmitt Smith, and Troy Aikman. These individuals were living the dream. And every time I watched the NBA or NFL, it made me want to put on a pair of shoes and work on my talent. But my fear made it look difficult.
CHAPTER 2Leaping in the Inner-City
"Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of Life"
—Burton Hills
Welcome to the sixth grade. Grade six was a fresh start for me because I'd graduated from Shoreham and started attending Brookview Middle School. By this point, I was not only a little older, but I had also gained more confidence in my basketball skills, enough to try out for the school team. This transition was one of the best I've had to date since I was able to experience many different changes, both good and bad—school dances, cute eighth grade girls, staying out later with friends, getting picked on, and the nerve-racking experience of trying out for the boys' basketball team. Then there were the intimidating fears of getting initiated by the older students, being bullied for lunch money, being stuffed into lockers, and facing the reality of having to do homework. Middle School had more rules, so the sixth grade was a time of adapting for me.
Every morning before class I would go to the basketball court to shoot hoops and, to my surprise, many of the other students were there, too. We started to play a game called Elimination. The game involved about twenty-five students playing on the court at the same time, every man for himself. The objective was to shoot the basketball into the net in order to get to the next round. The game was played on one side of the court, so there was only a single net for the players to shoot in. The rounds continued until there was only one student left or until the bell rang. It was difficult for me to continue beyond the first few rounds because I was never able to steal the ball and no one ever passed the ball for me to shoot it into the net. And if I happened to catch a rebound ball, the boys would usually steal it from me. Hence, no matter how hard I tried, I was always eliminated from the game early and so I would often end up just watching the older students play. Of course, I wasn't as strong or as skilled as they were, but I liked the fact that I was watching amazing talent.
Every morning, my mother would pray and ask the Lord to protect her three sons from danger. I thought my mother was crazy. I always thought to myself, "Who is this Jesus guy?" "Why is my mom on her knees?" "Why do we have to pray? I don't even know him!" My mother believed that teaching us to pray would eventually lead us to God and one day we would come to know Him as our "personal Saviour." Back then, I thought my mother was losing her mind because every time she prayed, she cried. Seeing her cry made me think Jesus was a bad person, since I believed people only cried when they were sad or upset. Moreover, it would seem as though the morals and values that my mother tried to instil in us didn't really stick because as soon as she finished praying for us, I would go to school and get into trouble. I was disrespectful and disobedient to the teacher, intentionally stored up all my energy for the lunch break, and was easily frustrated by being in a classroom for a whole hour at a time, doing work, when what I really wanted to do was go outside and play. At lunch time, a few of my friends and I would go to the neighbourhood arcade and billiards place to play video games and we wouldn't leave until the afternoon bell rang that signalled that classes were about to resume. We were always late, but it wasn't because we didn't care, it was mainly because we had a difficult time adjusting to the new rules and accepting responsibility for our actions. We thought that it was fun to break the rules, so we kept on doing it. But I soon learned there were consequences for my actions when the school decided to make a phone call to my mother advising her of my tardiness.
Then, there was one day at school that quickly turned into a not-so-good experience. My teacher, Mr. Lewis, was teaching the class and I had a bad attitude that day because another student, Oliver, was teasing me. Due to a lack of understanding and what I'd experienced in my environment, I felt it was okay to lash out at Oliver. So, I flipped over my desk and stormed out of the classroom and chased him down the hall. Mr. Lewis told me he was going to call my mother, which made me scared since my mother always told me to be on my best behaviour. But I couldn't help it this time because Oliver had really upset me. That night, my mother reprimanded me, which made me even angrier; not only was I in trouble at school, but I was now in trouble at home.
Day after day, my mother beseeched me to be obedient at school and follow the rules, but I felt it was so hard to heed her words when I had so much energy. After a few weeks of starting the sixth grade, I was labelled as "the student who doesn't listen," and the school placed me in the Literacy Enrichment Academic Program (L.E.A.P.). This class had approximately ten to twelve students, far less than a regular classroom, which usually contained between eighteen and twenty-five students. By the time I entered grade seven, I realized that the other students in the school were of the belief that the students in the L.E.A.P. class were dunces. As this perspective spread around the school, I became upset and my self-esteem plummeted. The other students looked at us differently, but most of my friends were in the same class as I was, so the segregation only made our friendship stronger, especially since we all played basketball. I remember there being two distinct groups of students on the basketball court every day—regular students and L.E.A.P. students—but we never cared about the perception the other students had of us when we were on the court because we loved to play.
As friends, we played basketball together at the community centre and at the arcade, and when we went to class, we had fun knowing that the other students thought we were troublemakers. Unfortunately, we also embraced the false perception they held concerning us. As a result, our misconduct grew increasingly worse throughout the seventh and eighth grade, and we began to engage in activities that were less than admirable. We embraced the role of the school's troublemakers because, for some unknown reason, it built our confidence. And even though I was always reprimanded at home by my mother, it didn't faze me because inside I knew I was going back to school the next day to do it all over again. I never cared about the consequences, until one night.
There was another school nearby—Oakdale Middle School—that had a similar reputation for basketball as Brookview did. By that point, I had decided that basketball was all I needed. My conviction was further strengthened by the fact that I was getting more and more recognized for my developing basketball skills due to my dedication to practice, both at school and at Driftwood Community Centre. One of my close friends, Shane, decided that we should play at Oakdale's afterschool basketball program just so we could practice with fresh competition.
The first evening we played with the Oakdale students, we had a great time. And even though it was raining on our way home, it didn't bother us at all because Shane and I were too busy bragging on the number 35 Jane Street bus about our upcoming season playing against Oakdale. In my community, there was always a friendly rivalry between Brookview and Oakdale because, despite our talent at Brookview, Oakdale somehow always found a way to beat our team. Shane arrived at his stop before I did, so for the few minutes I had on the bus by myself all I could think about was getting home. It continued to rain and I was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, so not only was I hungry, but I was also feeling cold. When I arrived at my bus stop, I got off the bus quickly and started to run across the street in front of the bus since I knew it was still loading new passengers. I could hear the bus driver yelling at me from his opened window saying, "Kid! What are you doing?" As I paused in the middle of the street to look up at the bus driver, I saw bright lights coming towards me. I froze for a moment, contemplating whether I could make it across to the other side of the street with oncoming traffic or if I should run back towards the bus. I looked up, wrapped my arms around my body, and prayed for help ... then I blacked out.
I woke up in the hospital with my mother and father beside me, both thankful that I had woken up from my unconscious state. As I laid there, unaware of the severity of the situation, I wondered about the location of my school bag, which had my Tim Hardaway shoes inside. Finally, I asked my mother what happened and she explained that I was hit by a minivan and the impact of the collision threw me across the street. I was found unconscious due to the concussion I suffered upon landing. She also told me that my Hardaway shoes had been picked up by the ambulance when they found my bag, which had also been hurled in the accident. This traumatic event was my first real-life encounter with tragedy and the power of faith. I realized then that all the praying my mother did daily had really worked. After a few days, I was released from the hospital and sent home. When I arrived, my I was released from the hospital and sent home. When I arrived, my mother had me explain to my younger brothers what happened to me. As I recounted the incident, she kept crying. I knew she was upset, but she was so overwhelmed with emotion that all she could do was cry. I knew that her tears were a result of her relief that I hadn't died.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Rise from Poverty to Prosperity by Kerwin Liverpool. Copyright © 2014 Kerwin Liverpool. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Acknowledgements, ix,Foreword, xi,
Chapter 1 Childhood Dreams, 1,
Chapter 2 Leaping in the Inner-City, 5,
Chapter 3 Training Grounds, 10,
Chapter 4 The Heart of a Champion, 20,
Chapter 5 Learning Success, 29,
Chapter 6 The Crossover, 34,
Chapter 7 Breaking All Odds, 44,
Chapter 8 The Rebound, 52,
Chapter 9 Redefining the Limits, 55,
Chapter 10 Unveiled Potential, 61,
Chapter 11 Becoming a Leader, 68,
Chapter 12 Living the Dream, 81,
Chapter 13 Learning Greatness Through Adversity, 101,
Chapter 14 Love, Basketball, and Family, 109,
Chapter 15 The Rise, 132,
Conclusion, 139,
About The Author, 141,
References, 143,