Saying YES to the Rec Center Would Give Kids a Place to Explore Their Potential

The proposed Newburyport Recreation and Youth Center is not just a building. It’s a promise. A promise that we see our young people, that we believe in their potential, and that we’ll invest in the places where they can safely explore who they are and who they might become. I know the impact a space like that can have. I’ve lived it.

I grew up in a small city — not unlike Newburyport — south of Atlanta. I was eight years old when we found out the Olympics were coming to Georgia, along with a flood of investment. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this wave of Olympics-driven investment wouldn’t just bring celebrities and sprinters to town — it would help save a kid like me.

Among the many social and cultural programs created in the lead-up to the Olympics was a youth Leadership Training cohort for my age group. Periodically we were pulled out of the classroom to build communication and problem-solving skills with hands-on activities and, memorably, a visit with luminaries of the civil rights movement who taught us how they organized around a cause.

I was still a kid, maybe 10 by then, but I knew I was different. I could perceive that I wasn’t like other little boys. Even as I had no name for it, they did. And as we grew older and bolder they used it as a sharp, effective weapon against me on playgrounds and ballfields and school hallways. They taught me to carry a quiet, aching shame just for being who I was before I even fully understood what that meant.

And then there were the adults — cousins, neighbors, members of the church congregation — mouthing words I didn’t catch as they flicked an exaggerated limp wrist and tossed a look toward me in the next room. I knew enough to understand these grownups agreed with the assessment of the schoolyard bullies. I was different — and not in a good way.

My parents, quietly running interference against these forces of judgment and disapproval, somehow managed to protect me from the worst of it. On some level it helped that I was a stereotypical probably-gay little boy. You want to take dance lessons? Great, we’ll enroll you two towns over so only close friends will know. You want to audition for a play? Perfect, we’ll take you to the nearby college so you’ll be around kids with the same interests. But I was also bright and ambitious and eager to succeed in the system alongside everyone else, which meant I had to navigate the bullying and the nastiness leveled at me.

When I think about that Leadership Training program, which stretched across several years until the Olympic Games in 1996, I now understand it was a lifeline for a kid like me. And it was a gift for my parents. They knew I’d be safe there, surrounded by supportive adults and peers who, like me, were more focused on the opportunity than on our differences. Those lessons helped me emerge as a leader early, take risks I might otherwise have avoided, and embrace my instincts and inner voice.

With 35 years of perspective, I’m grateful not just for the skills I learned. I’m grateful for the protected, insulated space where I could simply be freely me. I got to channel my energy into learning, growing, becoming — not just surviving. I owe so much to the teachers and facilitators, the dance instructors and theater directors, who brought so much passion and energy to our lessons. But more than that, they provided validation and recognition that said: you are worthy – and maybe even a little bit different. In a good way.

And all these years later, I know the results of a life that could have easily gone in a darker direction. But instead, it’s beautiful. It’s full of love, purpose, and community. My parents cobbled together a safety net for their gay son on a working-class budget to keep me from becoming a statistic. Because of them, and because of those programs, today I get to stand in front of my company, lead a nonprofit board, serve on the City Council, fight for equality, and be a good neighbor. As my authentic self.

Programs like that Leadership Training program don’t just teach soft skills. They offer sanctuary. They offer direction. They give kids like I was a vision of who they might become – and the safety to start becoming it. And a place like the rec center is more than just a building, it’s a haven for self-exploration and discovery. In a city like Newburyport, where new generations are growing up with their own fears and dreams and challenges, I carry that lesson forward: When we invest in youth – especially the quiet ones, the overlooked, the different – we don’t just change their lives. We change the future. Vote yes on May 13th.

Ben Harman
Newburyport City Councillor, Ward 4