Before I go any further, I want to acknowledge something.
As I begin naming the people who have been part of my village, I know I won’t remember everyone. There are simply too many individuals who have contributed to my life over the years.
So, if I fail to mention your name, as my momma would say, “please charge it to my head and not my heart.”
My gratitude extends far beyond the names I’m able to recall.
And when I say it takes a village, I’m not speaking figuratively.
I had a real village.
It Started Before I Even Understood What a Village Was
Some of the earliest contributions to my life happened before I was old enough to appreciate them.
My Uncle Earl, one of my mother’s older brothers, was a creative and talented man. From what my mother shared with me; he helped transform my childhood bedroom into something special.
I had a Rainbow Jr. on my bedroom wall. And apparently, Uncle Earl was handy with woodwork because my mother told me he even built my bed himself.
That same room would eventually become a space I shared with my little brother, Lemel.
When I think about those memories now, I see more than a decorated bedroom or a handmade bed.
I see love expressed through someone’s time, creativity, and willingness to do something for a child.
Before I understood mentorship, encouragement, or community support, someone was already investing in my life.
Sometimes a village begins with people doing things for us long before we understand their significance.
A World Beyond Compton
My father served in the military for several years during my childhood.
That experience afforded me opportunities to see a world beyond Compton, California.
I was exposed to different environments, people, and ways of living at an early age.
Looking back, I appreciate how meaningful that exposure was.
Compton was home, but it wasn’t the entirety of the world.
Through those experiences, our family developed relationships with people in places like Texas, Germany and Virginia. Some of my family friends still check in on me today.
Think about that.
Relationships established during my childhood have endured through decades of change, geographical distance, and different seasons of life.
That, too, is a village.
People who may no longer be physically present continue to demonstrate that connection doesn’t have to end when circumstances change.
The Years When I Really Needed My Village
My middle and high school years were particularly important.
And as I reflect on that period of my life, I recognize that some of those years were challenging.
I won’t pretend that every season of my childhood was easy.
But I also won’t overlook the people who helped me navigate those experiences.
My Auntie Denise and one of her closest friends from First Lutheran were especially important during those years.
Their presence, involvement, and support mattered more than I probably understood at the time.
And then there was my extended family at First Lutheran Church of Carson.
That church community was much more than a place I attended services.
It was part of my village.
To my forever pastor, Pastor Raymond LeBlanc, and the entire LeBlanc family, thank you.
Thank you for being part of my life.
Thank you for the guidance, encouragement, and the sense of community.
Thank you for helping create an environment where a young man could continue growing, even while navigating some difficult years.
As a psychologist today, I understand more deeply how meaningful it can be for a young person to have trusted adults and supportive communities outside the immediate household.
But I didn’t need a psychology degree to experience that support.
I lived it.
The West Side of Compton: Where Everybody Knew Somebody
Now, let me take you back to my block.
The West Side of Compton.
Off 139th Street.
If you grew up in a neighborhood like mine, you understand what I’m about to say.
There probably wasn’t a family on my block that didn’t know who my mother or father was.
And that meant something.
The Lee’s. The Johnson’s. The Laney’s. The Conard’s. The Busby’s. Even Big Wayne and them.
And so many other families whose names I may not remember at this moment.
From 139th Street toward Rosecrans, and back the other way toward El Segundo, there was a sense of community that helped shape my childhood.
I was outside.
I was playing.
I was exploring.
And whether I fully appreciated it or not, people were paying attention.
If I weren’t at Gonzales Park playing football or baseball, you might have found me at Enterprise Park swimming, playing in the sandbox, or in the gym playing basketball.
There was the bike man’s house.
The Nelsons.
Smitty’s Liquor Store.
These weren’t just random places and names.
They were part of the environment that shaped my earliest understanding of community.
There was almost always someone who knew me, recognized me, or knew my family.
And while that didn’t mean I was immune to the challenges of growing up, it did mean I was connected to something bigger than myself.
I think about that differently today.
Because what I experienced wasn’t simply a neighborhood.
It was an informal network of relationships, familiarity, accountability, and care.
People didn’t necessarily need a title or formal responsibility to look out for me.
They were neighbors.
They were family friends.
They were members of the community.
And they were part of my village.
My village wasn’t perfect. But it was real.
The Village Followed Me to College
One of the things I appreciate most is that my village didn’t disappear when I left Compton.
It expanded.
When I went away to college, I began developing new relationships and experiencing new communities.
But the connections from home continued to matter.
I remember having family connections through my uncle’s in-laws in Georgia, which provided me with somewhere to go during the holidays.
That might sound like a small thing to some people.
But when you’re a young college student over 2,000 miles away from home, having somewhere to go during the holidays means something.
A place to be welcomed.
A place to share a meal.
A place where you don’t have to feel alone simply because you’re away from your immediate family. I can’t believe it has been over 20 years. I am so thankful to Auntie Joyce and Uncle Bob for taking me in.
Those experiences reminded me that family and community can extend far beyond the people living under one roof.
And that a village can grow with you.
Looking Back With a Different Perspective
Today, as a husband, father, psychologist, military officer, and entrepreneur, I find myself reflecting on these experiences through a different lens.
I recognize the sacrifices.
I recognize the intentional and unintentional mentorship.
I recognize the adults who took time to care.
And I recognize that many of the things I benefited from as a child were never presented to me as something extraordinary.
They were simply people showing up.
A mother provided me the greatest gift, which was the gift of life.
An uncle building a bed.
A father exposing his children to different parts of the world.
An aunt helping a young man through challenging years.
A pastor and church family providing community.
Neighbors looking out for neighborhood children.
Extended family making sure a college student had somewhere to go for the holidays.
At the time, these were simply parts of my life.
Today, I understand them as investments.
Investments of time.
Investments of attention.
Investments of love.
And investments in the future that I could not have fully predicted.
Before I ever earned a degree, received a promotion, or accomplished anything professionally, people were investing in me.
And for that, I will always be grateful.
My village had names.
My village had faces.
My village had addresses.
And my village helped make me who I am today.
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