Read the full transcript of Armand Lawrich King’s talk titled “Inspiring Change: The Magic of Mentoring At-Risk Youth” at TEDxSanDiego 2024 conference.
Listen to the audio version here:
TRANSCRIPT:
The Power of Mentorship
ARMAND LAWRICH KING: Each one, teach one. Each one, reach one. Mentorship is a crucial element, often missing in the lives of numerous at-risk youth. An element that could literally save their lives.
Marginalized and underserved communities are often viewed as a separate or other world by outsiders. In this other world, the role of a mentor could be the crucial divide between life and death for youth. Mentorship is magical, especially for youth growing up in this other world. Youth in this world often only see themselves becoming an athlete or an entertainer in middle school.
And by high school, their options have slimmed to being a gang member or involved in drugs or some other illegal hustle. From ages 13 to 15, I was a homeless youth. And my homelessness, it didn’t mean sleeping under a bridge or in a tent on Skid Row. Rather, it meant not having a permanent place to call my own.
My family moved from one friend’s home to another, sleeping on couches or floors until we overstayed our welcome. During this time, I recall one night being filled with hunger, walking to a pay phone to ask my dad for money to buy food. His response, his response was crushing. “I’m not your dad. Pretend I’m not your dad anymore.” From that moment, I felt the need to step up and be the man of my family, despite not knowing how.
Finding Brotherhood in Adversity
By my freshman year of high school, my amazing and resilient mother had stabilized our family situation, securing an apartment for us. That year, I met individuals who would become the most significant friends of my life.
We shared many interests. All of us were gang affiliated. Some were foster youth. Not one of us had our father in the home. Some had no parents at all. Over the next few years, we forged an unbreakable bond. This group, which some might label a gang, we called it a clique, a group of young males who quickly became brothers. Our bond remained strong, even in the face of tragedy.
At 16 years old, we faced the devastating loss of our friend Lawrence. One evening, he was found fatally shot and laid out on the street. I still remember the profound sadness of kissing his cold, stiff forehead as he laid in that casket. Looking back, I realize the lack of adult support during that time.
No one was there to console us, inquire about our well-being, offer therapy, or provide the mentorship we desperately needed to navigate our grief. This cycle of mourning became routine. Bury a friend on Friday, numb the pain with substances over the weekend, and return to school on Monday. Expect it to suppress our emotions and carry on.
Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat until graduation. A mentor with lived experience would have been invaluable during those times. One might ask, well, shoot, how do you know mentorship is magical then? Not because me and my friends had mentors, but actually because none of us did. Each one of us had to teach and reach each other.
Incarceration and Loss
At 21, I found myself incarcerated for a nonviolent cannabis offense. Sentenced to three years in federal prison and three years on probation. I spent time in nine different institutions spread across the United States as a first-time offender. All over 10 pounds of weed, something that’s now legal and on the stock market. But we’re going to put a pin in that. That deserves its own TED Talk in itself.
About two months before my release from prison, I received some devastating news. My dear friend and brother Richard, whom we call Fantastic, had been killed by a group of teens on a shooting spree. This tragic event shattered my life. The pain of his loss still lingers with me to this day. And I miss Fantastic.
The Turning Point
Upon my release from prison, I wasn’t suddenly a changed man devoted to community service. I was torn, with one foot still in the streets. Yet something inside of me was shifting.
Basil, a significant figure in my life who was slightly older, he mentored me. He saw potential in me that I did not see in myself. His support and guidance was crucial in preventing me from slipping back into the criminal justice system. As soon as I came home from prison, he mentored me, provided me with a great job, a house, and a car.
How could a person mess that up, right? I know his guidance is what saved me from returning.
A Call to Action
Around 2010, I was managing a restaurant I co-owned with Baz. Admittedly, the business wasn’t thriving, but my focus wasn’t really on its success.
Around that same time, it came to my attention that the clique my friends and I had formed 15 years earlier had not only survived, it expanded. Originally, we were just a group of eight, but now there were hundreds. These young people came from the same neighborhoods we grew up in and were in some way connected to us. They mirrored our past, lost, mostly fatherless, and severely lacking positive mentorship.
When this came to my attention, I was in disbelief. So I invited these youth to my restaurant one evening, and to my surprise, they came. About two dozen of them, ages between 16 and 24, stealing my restaurant, looking up to me as the big brother figure they yearned for. But when I looked into their eyes, I saw reflections of my lost friends and my younger self. I saw Fantastic.
I didn’t know how I was going to help them, but I knew something had to be done to break this continuing cycle of death and incarceration. At that time, I had no aspirations to be a youth advocate, a mentor, or community leader.