Troy's Times - January 2009


www.TroyEvans.com

Troy@TroyEvans.com

 

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Welcome to Troy’s free monthly electronic newsletter, developed for people interested in overcoming adversity, adapting to change and pushing oneself to realize their full potential.

(Some ch^racters in th1s newsletter have been altered to keep it from being filtered out as spam)

IN THIS ISSUE


“It is not important How we come to the events in our lives, but how we Deal with those events”- Troy


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This Month's Featured Article:

Lock up Your Loved Ones

“All you need is love.”
John Lennon

When I discovered I was being released from prison five years earlier than I had expected, my family and I kept it a secret from my son, Eric. It just so happened that my release date was thirteen days before Christmas, so my parents quickly made arrangements for Eric to spend Christmas vacation with them in Phoenix. This didn’t raise any red flags for Eric because he had been doing this every other year for this past seven years. On the day that my son flew into Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, my father, mother, brother, sister and I drove down to greet Eric. My mother, father and sister went to the gate Eric was scheduled to arrive at, and my brother and I stayed back four gates, I on one side of the hallway with a hat and sunglasses on, my brother on the other side with a video camera, taping the entire scene. As Eric got off the plane my parents and sister greeted him with hugs and kisses, and after exchanging pleasantries began heading in my direction. At this time, I stepped away from the wall and began walking towards them. As I approached them I stepped in front of the group and said, excuse me could someone please tell me what time it is? Out of the corner of my eye I could see my son’s face, his mouth wide open and his eyes as big as saucers. Answering my question my mom said, “It’s 7:30.” “Thank you very much,” I said and stepped around them, continuing on. Behind me I could hear my son saying, “That was my dad!” My father said, “That wasn’t your Dad, Eric, you know where your Dad is.” A second passed and my son said, “I'm telling you, Grandpa, that was my Dad. Go get him!” That, of course, was all I could take and I spun around, ran back to my son and spent the next five minutes hugging, kissing and crying. I definitely blew my boy right out of the water, and that was the first time in his entire life he had ever been rendered speechless.

Family and loved ones—there is absolutely nothing more important. This bears repeating. There is absolutely nothing more important in our lives than the people we love and those who love us. I am in particular talking about the people in our everyday life, the people we oftentimes take for granted, the ones that we assume will always be there, the ones who we peck on the cheek as we walk in the door after a long day, only to then plop our butts on the couch. The people who get that same gesture as we leave the next morning. The people who we assume are always going to be a part of our life. I’m here to tell you, they are not always going to be a part of our lives and they are not always going to be there. I didn't realize how important these people were in my life until they were taken away from me. Since my first foray into the world of drugs, I had let many of my loved ones escape from my heart. Some of them I pushed away through anger, and some left because being too close to me was breaking their hearts. For every one of these special people, I had an excuse for why I didn’t need them. My father was always riding me, my mom was being overdramatic, my brother and I were always fighting anyway, my ex-wife was a nag. These were the things that I told myself as I slowly chipped away at every close relationship I had. When I sobered up and had prison bars placed between me and my loved ones, that’s when I realized what I had done. Suddenly, I was facing a 13 year sentence and I didn’t know if there was a single person on the outside that wasn’t happier to have me locked away. All of the reasons that I had for fighting with them instantly disappeared into their own insignificance, and I realized that I had been letting those relationships go, when I should have been locking them up as tightly as I could in my heart. If you want to know the value of your loved ones, imagine for just a moment what it would be like to lose them. In prison, I was surrounded by more than a thousand inmates and the guards that kept us, and I was, at all times, utterly alone. When you’re in a situation that is that volatile, the fewer signs of weakness that you show, the better off you are. You do not share your thoughts and feelings. You have no one to comfort you. You have truly lost your soft place to fall. The only outlet to that part of your life that you used to know is the infrequent visitations that you might receive and mail call. Mail call was a sight to see in prison. Every day, except Sunday’s, you could tell when it was getting close to mail call by the movement in the prison. It was almost like a tide being pulled by the moon—a subtle and yet powerful force that would draw everybody to the area where the mail was distributed. If you paid close attention, you could even catch the glimmer of an emotion coming from some of the inmates—a hint of hope, sometimes even a fragment of a smile on the face of an inmate whose name was called. The truly sad thing was that, more often than not, the letters didn’t even contain good news. We were the forgotten family members. Not many of the inmates had people who would bother with a letter unless there was something remarkable that needed to be relayed like a death in the family or a Dear John sentiment. Even if you were, like me, one of the lucky ones who had some family on the outside willing to offer you support and correspondence, time passes in different ways in the outside world. If I wrote a letter to a friend or family member, they would receive it as one of the many things that had happened to them on that particular day. And let’s face it, written correspondence has gone by the wayside since our grandparents’ days. So a letter might sit on the kitchen table or a desk for a week or more until that person had a chance to sit down and write me back. That’s how time works in the real world. That is not the case in prison. In prison we’ve got nothing but time and letters are the inmate’s one link to the outside world. To me, and the other inmates, that week or two or three might as well have been years. A few lines of mundane news about someone’s life was like spun gold. It was a glimpse at the normal, the availability to share with someone like real humans do. It was contact with a loved one. That is something that I can never take for granted again. When we played this trick on my son, we were just trying to have a little good-natured fun, but what he gave me was yet another lesson in life—be vigilant in your love. My son had played second fiddle to drugs in his father’s eyes, he had been through high security prison searches, had to fend off countless attacks of ridicule for his father, and, when we played the trick on him in the airport, he was willing to argue with those he trusted—his own grandparents—to be vigilant in his love for his father. Having been in an emotional void for all of those years, that was the best gift he could have given me. There was a guy that I knew in prison who we will call Chuck. Chuck was a good guy as far as a con goes—minded his own business, very respectful of others, never got in anybody’s way, centerfielder on my softball team. Chuck and I worked in UNICOR, Federal Prison Industries, a manufacturing facility within the institution. We built furniture. I worked upstairs in the business office. Chuck worked downstairs on the production floor assembling furniture. One day I walked over to the copier and as my copy was running I looked out the big plate glass window in front of me, and on the concrete floor below lay my friend Chuck, a six-foot pool of blood surrounding his head. Standing over Chuck was another inmate with a four-foot oak table leg that he had used to bash in Chuck’s head. Judging by the pool of blood, by the time I saw him, Chuck had been dead for some time. Thirty to forty other inmates stood in a circle around his limp body having witnessed the whole thing. Nobody had lifted a hand to stop what they were seeing. Nobody called a guard. Everyone just walked away knowing that they could be in Chuck’s place the next day, the next hour, the next minute. Chuck lost his life that day because of a 69¢ writing pen. The assailant accused Chuck of walking by his workstation, picking up his 69¢ pen, thus disrespecting him and giving him the right to take Chuck’s life. Chuck had a wife of ten years, an eight-year-old daughter, and six weeks left on a six-year prison sentence. In that instant it was all snatched away. A father was lost, a widow was made, and a future vanished into thin air, all over a 69¢ pen. I’ve often wondered what unfinished business Chuck had. After all, there were only six short weeks left before the world would be open to him again. Was he waiting for the right moment to tell his wife and daughter how much they really meant to him? Did he look forward to the day, six weeks down the road, that he would be able to start rebuilding those relationships? Was he waiting for the best time, place and circumstances? If he was, he may have missed his opportunity altogether. My point is this, don’t wait for something to happen to mend those bridges, rebuild relationships, and bring loved ones even closer. It is a tragedy to have a family member taken from you in this fashion, but I have to say, allowing yourself to lose a loved one to an argument, distance, or any other triviality is just plain criminal. If tomorrow was the last day of your life, would you have made your best effort in all of your relationships? I have two younger siblings. My brother is two years younger than me and my sister is four years younger. My sister and I have always had a great relationship. She was generally willing to see the best in me despite the life choices I was making. We remained close throughout my addiction, she was one of my staunchest supporters while I was in prison, and she was the one to pick me up when I was released. My brother and I, on the other hand, had a tenuous relationship at best throughout most of our lives. When we were young, I think that he was often overshadowed by my successes. The things that came so easily to me, my grades, my athleticism, were things that he had to work much harder at. He would try his hardest, with absolute conviction, but he didn’t have the natural gifts that brought my successes so easily within my reach. When things started to go downhill, he picked up the tab there too. I’ve already mentioned that I was a severe disruption in my house. Every time I came home stoned, or fought with my parents, or took their time worrying about what to do with me, I was stealing their time from my brother and sister. My brother was going through the same transition that I was when we moved, but he kept his nose clean, stayed in school, stayed off drugs, and graduated without ever causing a problem in the house. I’m sure that he didn’t want to add to my parents’ torment. Of course, we all know the saying, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.” Well I was squeaking at about a million decibels. I’m sure there were days that, no matter what my brother had accomplished, he wasn’t even making the household radar. It was all about Troy. My brother went on to join the Navy and become an electrician. He never really made a point of hiding his contempt for me, and when I was younger and on drugs, living a fast life, I didn’t care. My take on it was, he hates me anyway so screw him. I don’t need a brother, especially a younger brother who gives me the same disapproving looks as my parents. That was how things were when I was sent to prison at the age of 28. We had spent the majority of our lives in the same house, we were the same flesh and blood, but we barely spoke. Years went by and I’m sure that he thought I had confirmed every sentiment he had about me when I went to prison. But then I started to turn my life around. He heard about my progress through the family grapevine, and one day, to my great astonishment, I was told that my brother had come to visit me. Our conversation was kept fairly cordial and mostly informational. He seemed to think it was strange that I was so shocked that he would come see me. I told him I was glad that he did. In truth, we didn’t really know how to have that conversation. On the outside, I’m sure it seemed quite normal, if not a bit strained. But let me tell you what was happening on the inside. I was years into my sentence at this point. I was living in a place where you didn’t show weakness, you didn’t show emotions and you definitely didn’t show tears. I was looking across the table at my brother, careful as always to keep from showing too much on my face, but inside my heart was exploding. At that point, every new supporter I won over was a triumph, but this was my brother. The brother who I thought I had lost, who very justifiably had written me off years before, was here, talking to me about my school and how I was doing. I didn’t just get a supporter that day; I learned that despite it all, my brother still loved me, had probably never stopped. I wanted to laugh and cry and hug him all at the same time. All I was allowed was to sit there and talk, and even though that had to be good enough, I knew that one day, we would have better moments together. I was going to keep on this path, because now, in addition to all of the other goals I had, I knew I was going to win my brother back. Years have passed and I have indeed won my brother back. In fact, we are best friends. We talk daily about our lives and sometimes I even get to give him some big brotherly advice. I cherish that relationship every day and sometimes think about all of the things that could have gone wrong. I think about Chuck and cringe at the “what ifs” that could have prevented me from every truly knowing how wonderful it is to have my brother in my life. No argument or sense of pride is worth that. It is not what we have in our lives but who, and we all need to ask ourselves if we are spending the least time with the people who are the most important. Let these people know you love them and let them know often. Make them feel special every day. Don’t wait one more day lest it is too late. Regrets down the road are mistakes made today. Please don’t ever take these people for granted. I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by a family of people who, through trials and tribulations, have been vigilant in their love. When I was on drugs, they tried to intervene. When I lost touch, they didn’t lose hope. When I was branded society’s outcast, they hugged me tightest. When they were taken away from me, I finally knew their worth. Let these people know you love them and let them know often. Let them know how special they are every day. Watch your kids and fight to protect them no matter how much they rebel against it. Pick up the phone and call your parents, or better yet, visit them, they will not always be there for you. Hug your loved ones close and be true to your commitments and you will have that love reflected back to you. Lock up your loved ones so that you will never have to regret the things that were not said or the love not given. They will be your cheerleaders, your confidants, and your reality check. As you are there for them, they will be there for you. It will make a difference to them and it will make a difference in you.

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If you live in or near one of the following cit1es where Troy will be speaking over the next few months, please contact The Ev^ns Groups for details on an opportunity that does not come around often- see Troy present for free!
  • Los Angeles, CA
  • Birmingham, AL
  • Bloomington, IL
  • San Francisco, CA
  • Philadelphia, PA
  • Grand Forks, ND
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  • Turtle Lake, WI
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  • Tucson, AZ
  • Shreveport, LA
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  • Oklahoma City, OK
  • Bethesda, MD,
  • Hilton Head, SC
  • Miami, FL
  • Baltimore, MD
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  • Indianapolis, IN
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  • Cleveland, OH
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  • Phoenix, AZ
  • Columbus, OH
  • Mesa, AZ
  • Chicago, IL
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About the Author- Troy Evans is a profess1onal speaker and author who resides in Phoenix, AZ with his wife Pam and his dog Archibald. Troy travels the country delivering keynote presentations, and since his release from prison has taken the corporate and association pl^tforms by storm. Overcoming adversity, adapting to change and pushing yourself to realize your full potential- other speaker’s talk about these issues, Troy has walked them.


For information on booking Troy or for a listing of available products, please contact:

The Evans Group
3104 E. Camelback Road, #436
Phoenix, AZ 85016
602-265-6855
Fax: 602-285-1474
Troy@troyevans.com
http://www.troyevans.com