A Jamaican Experience: The Chicken Bones of Change

By: Baron Stewart

choosing to teach at Rockland Country Day School (RCDS) was a breakthrough in my life. The school, the relationships I built, and my experiences there continue to shape me today. From the moment I arrived, I was a hit. I joined the mathematics department, became the assistant soccer coach, and took most of the school’s 100 students skiing in the winter. I even introduced them to Swing and Sway with Stewart, where I taught these suburban, upper-middle-class white kids how to dance to Jamaican music. They loved everything I did. They loved me. By the end of my first year, I was voted Teacher of the Year by the students.

I was so popular that I was invited into students' homes and made lifelong friends. One such invitation came from Larry Khan, our school’s soccer goalkeeper, and his younger sister, Stephanie. Larry was about 16, and Stephanie was around 14. They wanted their lawyer father to meet the exciting Black teacher who was making waves at their school.

When I arrived at their home in New City, Rockland County, I was struck by its opulence. Despite my education, I wasn’t used to such grand surroundings. Larry and Stephanie beamed excitedly as I stepped inside while their father handed me a glass of red wine.

“How’s the wine?” he asked.

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure. Back in Jamaica, wine wasn’t a part of my world. I had no reference point. So I answered honestly: “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t the answer he expected. He was looking for something simple—It’s excellent!—but I had nothing to compare it to. I could feel the moment shift, an invisible gap between his world and mine.

Trying to bridge that gap, he asked, “What did you study in graduate school?”

“Algebraic topology,” I answered.

“What’s that?”

I launched into a detailed explanation, but I could see their faces glazing over. I was losing them. I was fluent in the language of mathematics, but I had no way to translate my knowledge into something accessible. It was another moment when I felt the sharp edges of unfamiliar terrain—where what I knew wasn’t enough.

Then came dinner.

To my delight, they served chicken—a mountain of chicken. My mind flashed back to my childhood in Jamaica, where a single small piece of chicken was all I could expect for dinner. Here, there was an abundance, and I wasted no time. I reached for two large pieces—legs and thighs—and dug in.

But it wasn’t just the meat I craved. The bones held the richest flavors, soaked in the gravy's juices. Back home, chewing the bones was a delicacy, a treat I relished. So, as I ate, I savored every bit, cracking the bones and enjoying their familiar taste.

Then, I noticed the silence.

When I looked up, the entire table was staring at me. Embarrassed, my eyes darted away—except for Stephanie, who finally broke the silence.

“You’re eating the bones?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Don’t you?”

In unison, the entire table replied: “No! We don’t.”

A wave of shame washed over me. I was the odd one out, caught in an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar rules.

At that moment, I had a choice. I could retreat and return to the comfort of my Jamaican community, where I knew the rules and no one would stare at me for eating chicken bones or not knowing wine. Or I could step forward into the unknown, where I was vulnerable but where I could also grow.

I wanted to let you know that I chose to move forward.

That dinner table moment became more than just an awkward memory—it became my signature story. Later in my career as a public speaker, I used it to highlight the obstacles that prevent change from happening in corporations. Change is uncomfortable. It means stepping into situations where you don’t know the rules, where you might be embarrassed, and where you feel like an outsider. But if we let our safety nets turn into anchors, we remain trapped.

People often ask me how I learned to navigate cultural differences without losing myself. The truth? I didn’t have a grand strategy. At first, it was pure intuition. Over time, the experience became my guide. I reflected on each moment and each challenge and decided whether change meant moving toward the person I wanted to become. Sometimes, I chose wrong. Other times, those choices built the life I have today.

For anyone stepping into an unfamiliar world, here’s what I know: The longer you can tolerate the discomfort of uncertainty and disorientation, the greater your chance of succeeding. I am always an outsider—but that has never been a disadvantage. Being an outsider gives you fresh eyes. It allows you to question what others accept without thought. It creates opportunities for transformation.

The biggest obstacle to change—whether in individuals or organizations—is past success. We cling to what worked before, rarely questioning whether it will work in the future. That’s why I constantly challenge my mental models. I ask myself: Is this still true? Is this still serving me? Does this apply in my new environment?

My career has expanded because I learned to sit in discomfort. And I try to teach that to my students, too.

I will always be Jamaican. Even though I am now an American citizen with all the privileges that come with it, my roots remain strong. The key to balancing identity and growth is not rigid rules but in the dance—evaluating each step and moment and making a choice.

And sometimes, it means eating the bones.