Meet James Davis…

…a loving son to his mother, caring brother to his sister and a loyal friend to many. We met many years ago in a business project in which we were both a part of. Little did I know, I would one day have the honor of photographing him as a true gentleman with a powerful story untold. It is my pleasure to present to you my good friend, the 1st King of “The Unspoken Kings Project,” Mr. James Davis.

I am the son of parents who gave me a humble beginning in a small city in North Carolina. I am also the only son of a father who left this world too soon; years before he was able to fully teach me what it meant to be a man.  Like most young boys, I always looked up to my father. He was strong, brave, and charismatic. He was proud of his blue-collar job with the city and showed me the value of hard work. He was a simple man that gave me his silver pocket watch that he had found at work but made it feel like he was handing me a priceless heirloom. This was the man that taught me how to ride a bike and also taught me discipline.  The one that taught me how to play sports also taught me to be responsible for my actions. Respect, care for others, and the simple ability to dream were all things I learned from my father. Yet the most valuable thing I ever learned from him he was not around to see me grasp the lesson. 

I woke up at my grandmother’s house one morning despite having gone to sleep in my own bed at home. I realized rather quickly that it was well after the time I should have left for school.  I walked into my grandmother’s den where my mother was waiting. She called me to come sit in her lap and gave me the tightest hug. She told me that I would not be going to school that day and I was immediately excited to be allowed to stay home. I still remember saying, “I’m lucky.” However, her next words would prove that could not be farther from the truth and would change me forever. She took me by both shoulders, looked me in the eye and said, “Son, your daddy died last night.” Tears erupted from my eyes. I buried myself in her arms as her own tears fell on me. I eventually leaned back, looked in her face, and said, “I’m not lucky.” I then lost myself in more tears and sorrow for longer than time could count.  In that moment my father’s unexpected death had taught me that no matter how stable or secure life felt, change could turn your world upside down literally overnight. Imagine the harsh reality of such a life lesson. Now imagine a nine year old boy trying to make sense of it while attempting to put the pieces of his suddenly shattered world back together. I soon realized I had to try to be as strong as I always thought of my father as being to not only survive this feeling now but forever.

My father was not a perfect man but who else does a young boy model his life after when the closest thing he has ever had to a role model is no longer there?  Even the most phenomenal, well-meaning mother can only teach a boy her perspective of what it means to be a man. At a young age I had to figure out how to navigate this new gray area of life. I no longer had the innocence of being a child but still felt unprepared for the adult level of understanding I now somehow possessed. The idea of the man I wanted to be in future would be guided by many of the principles that my father had instilled in me during the memories that we had created together in those nine short years. The pages that filled the story of my youth, adolescence, young adulthood, and even the man I am today were largely authored by what I learned from my late father. 

My father never graduated from high school. Academics were never his strong suit but he always enforced the importance of an education to me. He and my mother could see that it came naturally to me at an early age. My father would gush about how smart he thought I was and how he thought I could go farther than he had in life because of it. He would always tell me how proud he was when I would read him a book on my own or did well in school. The more success I had, the prouder I made him. After he passed away, my academic and intellectual pursuits became a way to honor him. I would go on to dedicate both my high school and college graduations to him. However, it was not always the easiest path. The options to get in trouble with police, join gangs, and even use or sell drugs were very real. I could have used the tragedy of my childhood as justification for bad choices or choose a different path in spite of what I had experienced. I remembered the disciplining nature of my father and asked myself how would he feel if I had chosen to waste opportunities that he never even had a chance to consider. I made some bad decisions along the way as most young men are apt to do. However, when I did get off course, I would always eventually find my way back because and I knew he would still be proud of me for doing the right thing even it if took me longer to do it. I remembered the high hopes he had for me but also the forgiveness he showed when I was not perfect. 

Although my father was proud to work with his hands every day, he always wanted me to aspire to accomplish more than he had professionally. His hope for me became a driving force behind the goals I would set for myself; goals that made good on the promise he saw in his son. I never wanted his belief in me to be wasted. The first time I stepped foot in a federal government building as an employee in Washington, D.C. I knew we had accomplished something together. I can now look back on a lengthy federal government career littered with firsts he had never imagined and attribute them to the thinking to ‘go further.’ I have met presidents of nations, dined with foreign ambassadors, and represented the United States to countries on the other side of the world. I have attended special events at the White House and met with the types of government officials that they make movies about. During every humbling accomplishment and noteworthy adventure, the memory of my father accompanied me as if we were experiencing them together.

The statistics were not in my favor from the time I was born a black male born in America. Then the likelihood of my success in life plummeted even further that fateful Fall morning. Society would have predicted that with my background coupled with the loss of my father at such a young age would have doomed me to a life of struggle and possibly even substance abuse or crime. However, those studies do not have a formula to calculate the lasting impact of an impassioned father on a young boy. I chose and continue to choose to be who my father believed I would become instead of believing negative stigmas and stereotypes. As I have matriculated through life and the various stages of manhood, I have always felt my father watching over my evolution. The road has been far from perfect and the weight of his memory has not always been light, but the dedication to who he desired for me to be has given me an almost undefinable sense of purpose that propels me forward to this day. Thank you to my father who in his death taught me that my last name is more than a proper noun. It is a legacy. To all other kings, know that you are not limited by your past or the negative expectations others may project upon you. Outside forces and options are often merely obstacles waiting to be overcome.