There's an old saying that goes, "A boy is born, a man is trained."
In the American hodgepodge of races, cultures, ethnicities, and all of their companion traditions, there's no formalized, hard-and-fast entrée into manhood. Sans a singular rite of passage, it just kind of happens from family to family, community to community. Getting a driver's license, being deflowered, graduating and joining the workforce, turning 18 or 21 (depending on whom you're asking)—they've all been earmarked as milestones in masculinity. Fathering a child is the most significant of them all but general consensus upholds that, biology aside, the ability to procreate does not make a male a father nor does it make him a man.
The absence of active dads in Black and Latino communities has been well-documented, the byproduct of one-part systemic social factors and one-part poor personal choice. It leaves boys growing up in need of real-life role models who demonstrate the integrity of manhood in action and the step-up commitment of male figures equipped to offer the time investment, wisdom-sharing, and emotional connectivity to fill those voids. Mentorship doesn't necessarily replace the role of a biological parent, but it does swaddle young men in support and encouragement from older guys who can relate to them because, not too long ago, those guys were them.
There's another old saying, this one originating somewhere in Africa, that goes, "It takes a village to raise a child." Growing Kings is part of that village for the families of Black and Latino boys in Birmingham.
Showing, Not Telling
To see the Growing Kings staff in action is to watch the organization's mission at work. Now in partnership with six schools in the city, Growing Kings' trifecta of programming reaches elementary, middle, and high school-aged boys of color categorized as "at-risk"—of dropping out and giving up on their education, of being dragged into the churn of the judicial system, of settling for less than they are capable of doing with their lives.
At Hayes K–8 School, 15 brown boys form a single-file line that chugs clumsily through the doorway of the library. They're an animated bunch, stifling the urge to kick and jump and unleash all of the other aerial gymnastics young men their age perform on impulse. In time, they'll learn to walk into a room in a way that commands attention but doesn't hijack it, especially when some of them figure out that a subdued, genteel swagger is magnetic to girls.
For now, their will to adhere to certain behavioral expectations is endearing. They are less concerned with the expectations of the library—one senses that those rules are more easily disregarded—than they are of the men who lead Growing Kings' outreach. The respect is almost palpable. The gentlemen who hold weekly court for Prince Charming, a program that promotes literacy, math, and critical thinking for fourth and fifth graders, are among the only positive male figures in many of the boys' lives. The boys may giggle and goof off, but they're watching these men and modeling themselves accordingly.
Program manager Justin Williams motions to one student to join him in front of the group, now seated at two long wooden tables, the kind at just about everyone's elementary school just about everywhere. It's only a week into the new academic year and Williams, who hasn't yet had an opportunity to master the boys' names, asks the young man to introduce himself.
Hands shoved in his pockets, the boy balks at being the center of attention and twists at the waist nervously, propeller-style. "My name is Terrence McNeal."
Williams puts a hand on Terrence's shoulder to calm the jittering and gently corrects him. "Mister."
The boy starts again, hands still plunged deep into the security of his pockets but his body steady and head higher this time. "My name is Mister Terrence McNeal," he said, a smidge louder and with more assertiveness than he did at first go. And so begins the process of growing a king.
The Mission to Inspire Change
Justin Sims, another program manager who operated his own nonprofit for boys prior to joining the Growing Kings staff, believes that the early leadership skills the team is developing in boys is a distinctive offering. "We set expectations and affirmations for them. We explain what goals are, help set them, and see their growth throughout each year," he says. "We challenge them on leadership, character, and morale to become the best students they can be, no matter what's going on at home or in the neighborhood."
Before Growing Kings became a movement, it was the brainchild of Marcus Carson, a then-24-year-old Birmingham native who was living in Charlotte, North Carolina, working as a financial analyst and wanting to do something more for his community at large than watch issues get pushed to the fore, then succumb to inertia again and again. "I felt like there was more that I needed to do. I wanted to do something that addressed Black and Brown male youth in a way that would be effective," he remembered.
The universe responded to Carson's wish by laying him off from his job. Typically, that's a not-so-great thing. In his case, it was an impetus. He'd been praying for a chance to effect change. Now he had to. He didn't get the appreciable severance package like that of some of his colleagues, the kind substantial enough to calm the nerves while taking a big risk, like starting a nonprofit organization when you've never even worked for one. "I walked away with about two weeks' salary, so I was like, okay, now it's for real," he laughed.
Using his finance background and his MBA education from Florida A&M University, he crafted a business plan and, in 2009, launched Growing Kings in Birmingham remotely from Charlotte. His original plan was to operate the organization from afar, to commandeer its development from his adopted city without having to permanently return to his native one, but the enthusiastic buy-in from educators in the Birmingham City Schools encouraged closer involvement from Carson.
Those partnerships with educators also afforded him learning-in-the-doing training that shaped the Growing Kings' program curriculum. "What I originally proposed wasn't as appropriate as I thought because I would encounter sixth grade students who were 12 and 13 years old and couldn't read," said Carson.
From that discovery, he and his team narrowed their focus on literacy, particularly for the elementary students in the Prince Charming program, using magazines like Sports Illustrated for Kids to sharpen their reading skills and entertain them at the same time. The boys read aloud, something a lot of young men are hesitant to do in the company of their peers, which tied in the public speaking and leadership elements of Growing Kings. The organization also committed to catching the students while they're young to bolster their skills and interest in math.
When the boys are promoted to middle school, they'll advance to Measures of a Man, the program for sixth to eighth graders that concentrates on personal responsibility and character-building. In high school, they'll transition to Scholars and Gentlemen, which gives them real-talk platforms to discuss sex, relationships, and social pressures like drugs and alcohol. A focus on careers and entrepreneurship refines their goal-setting for the impending next chapter of their lives, affording a chance for them to shadow professionals and conceptualize business ideas in the fields they're considering.
We challenge them on leadership, character, and morale to become the best students they can be, no matter what's going on at home or in the neighborhood.
Mentorship Magic
Virtually every street in Birmingham has a historical story to tell, a juxtaposition of the valiant struggles fought decades ago in the name of basic civil rights and the challenges of the now, mostly the residuals of oppression manifested in new ways. The history reminds us of where we've come from socially, but current statistics make clear how much remains to be done. For example, 1 out of every 15 African-American men and 1 of every 36 Hispanic men are incarcerated in Birmingham, compared to 1 in 106 whites. African-Americans make up two-fifths and Hispanics one-fifth of the youth presently confined in the city.
The Growing Kings' agenda reinforces the power each boy has to exercise thoughtful decision-making and avoid their introduction into the prison system in the first place. Most of the men from the community who volunteer to teach are Birmingham natives, so they're intimately familiar with both the joys and frustrations of growing up in the area.
Charlton Holt, a childhood friend of Carson's, has been a mentor since the organization started and embraces the impact he can have as an influential adult who has the benefit of not being a relative. "Every kid wants to put their best face towards their parents because their parents are judging them, buying them clothes, giving them their allowance. But your mentor isn't doing any of that," he explained. "We're like big brothers. It's not, 'I'm an authority over you.' I just want to see you succeed."
We're like big brothers. It's not, 'I'm an authority over you.' I just want to see you succeed.
Most of the men in Growing Kings had a strong male figure in their own lives, so they appreciate the immeasurable benefit of being that presence for someone else. A young man in his mid-20s became William Spells's mentor back when he was in high school and it changed the course of his life in three lasting ways: he got his act together, he was introduced to his career path, and he ultimately became a mentor himself, joining Growing Kings to work with the middle school students two years ago.
His mentor's candor was what he needed at the time. "He pulled me to the side and was like, 'Hey, you need to slow down.' He built a personal relationship with me and I started taking his advice more seriously. He got me involved in this business program," said Spells, who's built a career in real estate. "What he taught me and the things I learned from him had a big impact." It's the each-one-reach-one circle of goodwill that can deflect negativity, even in the perfect storm of negative circumstances.
Now they're "like brothers," he said, a big deal for the two boys who may have ended up pitted against each other by the forces of competitive culture oR misdirected machismo.
I was like, 'I love this group. I want to be in here to help be better in my life. I want to be successful and achieve my goals
Building Up Brotherhood
The hallways at Malachi Wilkerson Middle School on Birmingham's west side are alive with encouragement to dream big, bold dreams. Pennants representing colleges from all over the country hang on bulletin boards and dangle from ceilings. Artwork splashed on the walls motivates students passing by to work hard and stay focused. Most students have the potential to do everything those affirmations suggest, but the distractions outside of school too often have an irresistible lure. The decision to stay on track is easier when the boys find others who have committed to the same thing.
Raquez Jackson, a seventh grader at the school, admits he wasn't at all enthusiastic about joining Growing Kings when his principal initially approached him. "I was like, 'Nah, I didn't want to be in that,'" he smiled. After his first day though, he was sold. "I was like, 'I love this group. I want to be in here to help be better in my life. I want to be successful and achieve my goals.'" Aspiring to be an architect or a professional football player—he's currently a cornerback on his community team—Jackson is at the age when aspiration should be and feel and sound completely natural for boys of color, just as it is with other kids.
He's also experiencing the trickle-down influence of brotherhood from the example set by the Growing Kings' team who meet with him every week. It's an understated lesson, but a powerful one nonetheless. He and his friend Jordan Thomas built their camaraderie inside of the program. "We met in Growing Kings one day when we were having class. I asked him what his name was and he asked me what my name was and after that we started talking and being friends." It was that simple. It can always be that simple.
Now they're "like brothers," he said, a big deal for two boys who may have ended up pitted against each other by the forces of competitive culture or misdirected machismo. This spirit of brotherhood isn't expressly warm and fuzzy, packaged in we-are-the-world sentimentality, but it shows itself in the relationships that develop in the circle of men and those growing into men. For all that's propagated about Black and Latino males of any age, Growing Kings is their truth in motion that, with hope, will redefine what manhood is in those communities.
