Before the chair
Most people know my story from the moment I was shot. It did not start there. I grew up in Kansas City where survival made sense to me long before possibility did. I dropped out of high school in my sophomore year and got my GED later. I hustled. I loved numbers. I had my first gun at 13.
I am not proud of everything I did, but I refuse to tell that chapter like the younger version of me was a bad kid who needed better choices. He needed to see more choices. When your environment shows you one version of manhood and survival for long enough, you start believing it is the only version available. I did.
The day everything changed
On January 14, 2012, a stranger shot me twice in Kansas City. He had taken no part in the argument I went there to have. I was 24. Weeks earlier I had been given full custody of my daughter, Nevaeh. I remember thinking, this is how it ends.
It didn't.
The physical injury was only part of it. I had built my identity around being strong, independent and able to handle whatever came at me. Suddenly I needed help. I spent the next year in a depression I had no language for, my body failing me too, a stage four pressure ulcer, 230 pounds at 5'4". I almost did not make it through year one.
Superman
My daughter saw something before I did. When she was little, she looked at my wheelchair and called it my Superman chair. At a time when I saw only what had been taken from me, she saw her dad. That did not fix anything. It gave me a different question to ask: what if this body was not the end of me?
So I stopped trying to go back and started building forward. I studied nutrition at community college and lost over 100 pounds in a year. I started lifting, then competing. Strength changed my body, but more than that it changed my thinking. I learned that progress has a process, and I did not have to rush it to trust it.
Success wasn't the ending
For a while I thought success was freedom. Money, recognition, the right car, being booked, being seen. Then I realized success can become another place to hide. I had built a life that looked successful and still found myself asking whether I was actually free. That question brought me back to purpose, and to the parts of my life that mattered when nobody was clapping.
I am not trying to get back to anything now. I train because I love being strong. I travel because I want to see the world. I build because creating gives me freedom. I am still a father, still from Kansas City, and still somebody who understands the kid who cannot see past his block, because I was him.
I don't need to call paralysis a gift to value what I learned building this life. I was a victim of gun violence. I refuse to make victimhood my identity.
- 2× TEDx Speaker
- CNN Hero Nominee
- Netflix Queer Eye
- DBNR Founder
- NASM Certified
- KC Mayor's Committee Chair
- Forbes · Fortune · Ebony
- 60+ Engagements