Change: If I Can, You Can: Changing for the Better in You

by Travis Angry, Wendie Davis-Grauer (Contribution by)

Overview

“A life without discipline is a life without success.” —Travis Angry
Travis Angry’s gift is showing others how to resolve fear and thrive. He knows that if he can do it, so can anyone.
CHANGE: If I Can You Can is the detailed story of a man destined for as much turmoil as life can provide. Travis created his identity through childhood rebellion, dropping out of school, being in the military, fighting cancer, marrying, divorcing, raising children as a single father, obtaining a college degree, writing a memoir, and working as a professional speaker.
Today, through his speaking and nationwide project, this story is at the heart of his mission: helping youth to overcome adversity and use hope as a tool for positive change. The Change: If I Can You Can project and book also address how parents and educators can serve as an important catalyst for creating a life of success.
As Travis states, “When our youth succeed at home, the community succeeds. When the community succeeds, then the city succeeds. When the city succeeds, the nation succeeds.”

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781614486497
Publisher:	Morgan James Publishing
Publication date:	01/03/2014
Series:	Morgan James Faith Series
Pages:	200
Product dimensions:	5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.60(d)

About the Author

Travis Angry, youth inspirational-motivational speaker, military veteran, and two-time cancer survivor, is the founder and CEO of the inspirational youth outreach project, Change: If I Can, You Can. Travis’s vision for Change: If I Can, You Can serves as a catalyst to give youth resources and life-long connections to help them deal with each and every difficulty—transforming them into positive life choices. His story of optimism and hope is shared at youth conferences, churches, schools nationwide. After overcoming his own struggles as a youth, Travis moved on to obtain a bachelor of science degree in business and public administration. Travis resides in Peoria, Arizona, as a single father with his two children, Tatiyana and DeVante. Visit www.TravisAngry.com to learn more about his project and speaking engagements.

Wendie Davis-Grauer holds a Bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education/English and has been a professional, freelance writer since 2003. She served as a contributing writer for six years to the Arizona Family News, a faith-based monthly publication. Wendie continues to hone her skills in various areas of the writing field such as ghostwriting, aviation, and interviewing. Wendie is inspired by stories of valor and people who use their personal stories to overcome. She is a “Jill of all Trades” and specializes in creative writing, communications, education, poetry, event planning, and the nonprofit sector. Please contact her at [e-mail] for future writing opportunities.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning

"Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent."

— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Before you know who I truly am, I want you to know where I've been. Like many people, my life has been full of ups and downs, good times and bad. I've struggled throughout life in every sense of the word, and through trial and error, the path I am on now is the one I've been trying to steer toward all along.

In the cotton fields of Albany, Georgia, lies a place unknown to most — a place that I like to call "America's beautiful secret." It's a place where the sweet smell of peach trees fills the air and the warm sun shines endlessly. Even though my family (my mother, Glenburia; father, Raymond; and oldest brother, Raymond Jr.) only stayed until I was six months old, I consider Georgia to be an important part of my roots. My father grew up in Georgia and told countless stories about his childhood and my grandfather's funny cough (which I will mention again later!).

Of course, living in the South as a black man during the 1930s was not the most ideal situation. Some of my dad's stories took place during a few of America's hardest times: the Great Depression, the Civil Rights movement, and the Vietnam War. While growing up, my father and his family lived and worked on a Georgia plantation owned by a white family. Every member of the family — including my grandparents, my dad, my two aunts, and my three uncles — were expected to perform hard labor day after day. This included training horses, tending to the fields, and picking cotton. My dad spoke of being hunched over the cotton plants in the sweltering heat, day in and day out, trying to amass the one hundred pounds of cotton that would earn our family and him one dollar. As much as my grandparents wanted to participate in the Civil Rights movement, the family who owned the plantation where they worked would not allow it. They could have been fired ... or worse. However, my grandparents did what they could to contribute to the "fight for freedom," often visiting church services to draw strength and guidance from the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., spoken through their minister.

Even though life was hard, my father's humble beginnings lit a fire inside of him to strive for something better. As soon as he was old enough to enlist, my father joined the United States Marine Corps as a means of escaping life on the farm. Later, my dad was drafted into the Vietnam War. Later, he was injured in battle when he was hit with flying shrapnel on his left side. Though weak from that injury, he considered his enlistment in the military to be one the best decisions he ever made because it allowed him to buy my grandparents their very first home for twelve thousand dollars. His decision to give my grandparents that gift and thus begin to repay them for all that they had done for him throughout his life was an example of his strong character trait of gratitude.

My father graduated from Albany State University with a BA in sociology. Later, after he married my mom, he obtained his master's degree in criminal justice. He was the first member of his family to graduate from college, and that gave him great pride. In his youth, he performed the work of a slave, but by the time he was twenty-three years old, he'd earned two college diplomas.

My father was a man deeply affected by what he experienced in life — both where he came from and the nature of his upbringing — and therefore developed a true appreciation for where his life was headed. As most people are aware, there are many incidents on life's path that bring moments of great change. For my father, one such change took place one month prior to his first college commencement. My grandmother, my father's biggest fan, died as a result of complications from diabetes. Her death rocked the entire family, but my father took her passing particularly hard.

When someone dies, people go through a natural cycle of mourning; but eventually, most are able to move on with their lives. Not my father. After his mother's funeral, my father sat at her grave, each and every day ... for hours. He was so brokenhearted over losing her that he simply could not resume his normal routine. Eventually, my grandfather stepped in and insisted that he pack up and move to Miami, Florida, to be closer to his sisters.

My dad struggled with depression, not only from his mother's death, but also from the effects of war and the injuries he sustained. When he moved to Miami, he lived with his sister, Fannie Lue. One day, he told Fannie that he wanted to find a job. She told him she didn't feel as if he were ready to be employed with all that he was facing, but he persevered anyway and landed a job at Bakers shoe store.

One day while working, my father saw a lovely woman, my mother, enter the store. He asked if he could assist her with trying on shoes. Through the course of their conversation, he quickly became enthralled by her and offered to purchase her shoes for her. "No, mon', I have my own money. I can buy my own shoes," she answered. Though she turned down his offer in her thick, Bahamian accent, their interaction must have made quite an impact because she invited him to visit her in the Bahamas sometime. From there, according to Aunt Fannie Lue, my father and his sisters would travel back and forth to the Islands while he courted my mother. My father loved to tell that story of how he met my mom. He liked to say that he fell in love the first time he saw her and refers to their July 24th, 1971, wedding date as the highlight of his life.

Though my parents met in Miami, they really began married life together in Georgia. They had my brother, Raymond, in 1972, and I followed suit in 1974, right before my family relocated back to Florida. Despite the fact that my father wished he could have given his children the gift of a Georgia upbringing, the reality of emotion tied to his mother's vivid memory would have been too difficult for him to bear. Often, my father would comment that the love from the women in his life and my mother's act of introducing him to a belief in God were the only things that brought him through that dark period.

My parents shared a bond unparalleled by many other married couples. In fact, if one of them went into the hospital for treatment, the other one slept by the bedside until discharge, at which point they both emerged from the automatic doors, hand-in-hand.

I didn't always appreciate my parents' close and rare bond. Like most children, I would often butt heads with my mom or dad and run for support to whichever parent I didn't happen to be fighting with. Without fail, my parents would always back up one another. At the time, I would yell, "You only love each other and not me!" before storming off in a huff. However, what I didn't realize at the time is that my parents were giving me the greatest gift any parent could ever give a child: the gift of a strong marriage and a unified front in parenting. By teaching my brothers and me that a husband and wife should always love and be supportive, my parents were providing us with a sense of security and trust in the power of love.

If there was a poster child for "best mom in the world," my mother would have won, no contest. She fit this phrase to a tee. Her life was devoted to two things: God and family. In fact, she was so unselfish that she held off entering her career as a nurse until she had raised her four sons. Her faith gave her a strength that made her seem impervious to adversity, and it was a source from which she drew endless amounts of patience.

I remember one particular time when I was a kid, being a royal pain — whining and pouting because I was hungry. My mom was busy cleaning the house and didn't want to stop. I could easily have made myself something to eat, but everything always tasted better when Mom made it. I stomped into my room and slammed the door because I felt so heated with her. However, when I least expected it, Mom was at my bedroom door with a hot plate of food in hand that she had cooked just for me. Despite my behavior, as I mentioned before, she was the best mom in the world ...

In general, my early years in Miami were good to me. Things were financially better for my family as my dad had found work as a public school teacher, and my mom had resumed her career as a nurse in a retirement home. I was becoming more aware of the world around me. I can remember to this day what a beautiful Miami sunset looks like — full of warm and radiant oranges, reds, and yellows. I remember playing in the streets, getting chased by dogs, and sitting on my dad's knee while he read the Bible. I was growing taller every day, and as I grew, so did my curiosity of the world. Often, I would turn toward my maternal grandmother from Nassau — my mother's mom, Epsie Lena Clarke — for answers.

When I asked, my grandmother told me about Jesus and God, and made sure to tell me about the difference between heaven and hell too. After she told me her spiritual story, my father's church showed a video following the same story line — only with very vivid imagery. The movie showed fire and people suffering. I got the point very quickly; seeing that at the tender age of six or seven made me realize that hell was not going to be an option for me. The film scared me to death! From that point on, I knew I needed to make it to heaven. My grandmother seemed to know so much about this topic, and when I asked her how she got to be so smart, she told me it was because of the way she was raised.

My mother's family originated from Nassau, one of the many beautiful Bahamian Islands in the Caribbean Sea. We would take a family trip and visit there every Christmas. Nassau was like a dream to me. The water that surrounded these islands was such a beautiful shade of aquamarine; I could have stared into it forever. I loved visiting because the different culture always made for a great adventure.

As far as raising children goes, the lifestyle in the Islands isn't like it is here in the States. As my mother would say best, "Children don't backtalk, they don't act up, and they don't look ugly; otherwise they'll get their faces knocked off their bodies."

My other favorite reason for visiting Nassau was my Auntie Florine who lived there. She was really my mother's cousin, but I referred to her as my aunt. Auntie Florine was another great woman in my life, not only because she knew how to cook explosive and flavorful "soul food," but because she believed in me, too. She would always stick up for me and tell everyone who doubted my dreams that I would make something of myself. In this life, everyone needs someone to believe in them, and Auntie Florine was one of those people for me.

While we were in Nassau, the whole family would have Bible study together. We would gather in a circle, hold hands, and pray. My grandmother's sister, "Sister Hattie" as we called her, would lead. She was an evangelist and had dedicated her life to the Lord.

These precedents formed the roots of my values and morals; but as I grew older, I tended to drift into my own routine.

Growing up in Miami was a lot of fun. Our family had moved out of a small trailer and into a house. I had friends to play with, and life seemed to be getting better all the time. We were living in Scott Lake — a small community in North Miami, Florida, that some would probably label a "ghetto" — but there was a great sense of community amongst the residents that outsiders looking in could not see. My dad would host these big parties at our house, and they would last all hours of the night. He was a dancer too. I used to watch Dad dancing in front of the big mirror in our living room. Man, could he get down!

One of my most vivid memories of Miami life involves Mr. Russell's barbershop. It was the place to be. That shop offered all the crazy hairstyles of the day, with designs and everything. Mr. Russell was married to a Spanish woman. This added to the comedic atmosphere that went along with the place, because she would get mad at him and tell him off in Spanish, and no one would understand what she was saying. Mr. Russell also had an area in his store where he sold shaved ice cream, soda, pig's feet, and candy ... you name it, and he had it to sell. Finally, Mr. Russell's barbershop was the best spot to get up-to-date information. Anything you wanted or needed to know that pertained to sports, politics, or religion — you asked Mr. Russell or one of the many characters who frequented his place.

Though my dad looked at Mr. Russell's barbershop as a sort of "man cave" and enjoyed the everyday happenings that went on, a struggle was brewing inside of him all the while. He did his best to conceal his inward battles and have a smile on his face. Some days, however, Dad could be seen sitting in the corner of Mr. Russell's barbershop, in his own little world, while the rest of the group was engaged in whatever dialogue.

As much as my father had tried to defeat his demons by moving out of Albany, the pain of losing his mother grew to be too much for him to bear. Even though he didn't let the rest of the world know it, he was still in remorse over his mother's death months before, and would head straight to the local tavern after work. This was a place where he could drown his sorrows — where his constant companion, alcohol, never expressed judgment.

These drinking episodes happened many times when I was a kid; however, one night, in the summer of 1978, when I was just four years old, the cushy bubble that encased my world suddenly burst. I awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of my father stumbling through the house, knocking things over, and then to my parents' shouting. The door of my bedroom was cracked open. The light from the living room poured onto the floor, showcasing my parents' shadows darting aggressively, like some kind of horrific puppet show.

For a few moments, I was too frightened to move. My heart thudded in my ears as I listened to the madness just outside my door. Finally, I crept out of bed and reached out a trembling hand to shake my older brother awake. He did not stir, so I shook him harder. He still did not wake. As I listened to my mother plead with my father not to harm her, my desire to ensure that she was still safe overcame my fear for my own life. I crept toward the door and pushed it open wide enough that I could slide out into the hallway. What I saw next will remain with me forever.

My father stood in the middle of the living room, breathing heavily. I had witnessed my father intoxicated on previous occasions, but I immediately recognized that on this night, he had reached a new and terrible level of desperation and despair. His eyes were bloodshot and burned with a fury that was completely foreign to me. His massive build shifted from foot to foot, and he struggled to keep his balance. The pungent, sweet smell of alcohol burned in my young nostrils. Everything inside of me told me to run, hide under my bed, and cover my ears until morning ... but it was then that I saw my mother crouched in front of him, trembling like a wounded hyena encircled by a pack of ravenous lions.

"Give me some money, Glenee!" my father roared, stumbling toward her.

"Please, Raymond, I ain't got no money!" my mother begged, her deep, brown eyes wide with fear. For some reason, her response infuriated my father. He lunged past her, yanked open the kitchen drawer, and pulled out a long, sharp, butcher knife.

The blade ominously glinted in the dim kitchen light before my father whipped his body back toward my mother and pressed the blade to her jugular. I blinked, hopelessly believing that I had imagined it. "Give me some money," he slurred again, slower this time, spewing venom with each word.

"Raymond, please. I told you, I ain't have no money," my mother pleaded in a trembling whisper.

She began to tumble backward, and my father moved with her in a sickening dance. As she attempted to navigate backwards, my mother's hands frantically groped behind her back, and she fell backwards over the leg of one of our dining room chairs, crashing to the floor! Still, my father kept the blade pressed to her throat. "Give me some money," he spit for a third time, now knelt over her, straddling her small frame. I stood frozen in the exact same spot, trying to convince myself that what I was seeing was just a terrible nightmare from which I would soon awake.

But deep inside of myself, I knew I wasn't sleeping. "Please God, don't take my mama!" I silently prayed. The seconds felt like hours as they ticked by. And then, as though he had been aroused from his drunken state by some unseen, third party, my father dropped the knife to his side, roughly removed himself from my mother's body, grabbed his keys, and stormed out the door.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Change: If I Can, You Can"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Travis Angry.
Excerpted by permission of Morgan James Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Dedication ix

Authors Notes xiii

Acknowledgments xv

Preface xix

Chapter 1 The Beginning 1

Chapter 2 Lost 22

Chapter 3 Honor & Service 42

Chapter 4 Health 58

Chapter 5 Family 76

Chapter 6 Education 106

Chapter 7 A Message to Parents, Educators, and Community Members 123

Chapter 8 If I Can, You Can 137

Epilogue 149

Appendix 153

About the Authors 167

Sources 169