From Personal Turmoil to Profound Purpose

My story begins in an East Coast Italian family, a complicated landscape that, despite its dysfunctions, served as my saving grace, keeping me grounded. My immediate family, outside the stabilizing influence of my grandparents, was deeply dysfunctional, wrapped up in their own needs and ill-equipped to parent.

Adding another layer of complexity was my extended maternal family, not Italian, whom I barely knew. It was within this extended family that an uncle took my innocence. When I confided in my mother, his sister, her response was a brutal beating, an attempt to silence me forever. Yet, here I am. Unsilenced.

Seeking Healing: A Journey West and Back

To escape the suffocating societal pressures, I moved to California. There, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery, cultivating emotional intelligence and confronting my own weaknesses. Awareness, as I learned, is the crucial first step toward healing. It was time to address my deep-seated sense of victimization.

Then, a new call emerged. My paternal aunts, who had always been a source of stability in my life, were aging and needed support. I answered, returning East to teach at a charter school in Atlantic City. This wasn’t just any school; it was an alternative for students who hadn’t thrived in the public system, often facing juvenile detention as their last stop. Needless to say, we had challenging students.

A Rude Awakening in the Classroom

I remember my first three days teaching fifth and sixth-grade math and science vividly. I arrived with an arrogant, self-righteous belief that I was there to “save” impoverished children, many living in projects, some having witnessed violence. I was profoundly wrong, and the students quickly disabused me of that notion. Those initial days were pure chaos. Some say teachers have fifteen minutes to win over a class. I recall Candace, a twelve-year-old working the streets, keeping her earnings in her sock, only for Derrick to steal it on the second day, leading to a building-wide commotion.

School administration intervened, and I was even given a tape by Faruk from the Million Man March, intended to help me assimilate Black Muslim students. It didn’t work, and in fact, it turned me off to that core belief. I realized my good intentions masked my own unresolved issues, issues my students brilliantly reflected back to me. After three terrible days, I sought solace at the ocean, where I had a moment of profound self-reflection. What did I need to do to improve by Monday?

The Power of Care: A Transformative Realization

It took time, but the answer eventually revealed itself. One morning, I saw a student, Dom, sleeping at his desk. Initially, I felt anger, but when I confronted him and he looked up, I saw truth, pain, and victimhood in his eyes.

His mother worked for money, and they lived in a seedy hotel. When she had a customer, Dom slept on the streets, coming to school for warmth and sleep. He looked up, braced for confrontation, but I stopped. This was it—my answer. His clothes were filthy, and school rules prevented me from changing them. But spilled paint was different. I arranged for clean clothes daily, with an assistant washing them. I led him to the cafeteria. That day, I knew he needed more than just math and science. He needed my heart.

Caring was all he needed. It was all the students needed and wanted. Learning how to genuinely show them I cared transformed my teaching. In return, they gave me their attention. Improved test scores, which earned me annual raises, became a satisfying achievement, not for the money (teachers are rarely paid what they’re worth), but as a testament to this shift. Everything changed because of a single word: 'care'. My care for them was evident; they knew it in the way I looked at them, listened to them, and responded to their needs.

Extending Care to Our Communities

This powerful lesson extends far beyond the classroom. It’s what we, as New Yorkers, need. Too often, we fall for false prophets who cannot deliver, leading to frustration, anger, and disillusionment. The arrogance of thinking you can “fix” a city is something I’ve learned from experience. Instead, we must show genuine care, and then use our abilities to fix systems and constructs, not people.

When people truly feel cared for, they will support those who genuinely care. Yes, there will be opposing forces. I know something about standing firm against them. We must dig deep and find courage, allowing those forces to pass through us. Eventually, we regain our power, and the opposing forces weaken. We are not here to change them; they must help themselves.

I conclude with one thought: True, authentic leaders care. We must vote for them. I vote for Andrew Cuomo. I have looked into his eyes and saw what I needed to see. We must care. And that is how real change will happen.