I'd have to say I'm most proud of my mentoring camp that I do in

Hear the noble words of Steve Harvey, who declared: “I'd have to say I'm most proud of my mentoring camp that I do in Dallas every year for one hundred boys from single-parent homes. I was raised by a mother who was a Sunday school teacher and a father who worked hard. Together they taught me to give back.” In this testimony shines not the boast of worldly success, but the proud light of service, of one who remembers the roots from which he came, and who knows that the truest greatness is not in wealth or fame, but in what one gives to others.

To raise a mentoring camp for one hundred boys is no small deed. For these are boys growing without the steady presence of a father, boys who risk wandering in search of guidance. Harvey steps into that void not as a substitute, but as a beacon, offering wisdom, structure, and the example of manhood shaped by discipline and compassion. It is a camp, yes, but more than that—it is a forging ground where seeds of character are planted, where futures are redirected, where the fatherless are reminded that they are not forgotten.

The origin of this calling lies in Harvey’s own household. A mother who was a Sunday school teacher gave him moral grounding, teaching him the sacred duty of faith, kindness, and uprightness. A father who worked hard embodied diligence, resilience, and the quiet nobility of labor. From these two pillars came his conviction: life is not simply about what you take, but about what you give back. Their lessons, simple but eternal, became the foundation for his work as a man who lifts others as he himself was lifted.

History gives us other examples of such legacy. Consider Booker T. Washington, born into slavery, who later built the Tuskegee Institute. Like Harvey, he knew that education and mentorship could break cycles of despair and create new generations of leaders. Washington’s life testified to the same principle: those who rise from hardship must not rise alone, but must turn and extend a hand to those still climbing. Harvey’s camp stands in this same lineage of servant-leadership.

There is also the story of Andrew Carnegie, one of the wealthiest men of his age. He declared that a man who dies rich dies in disgrace, and so he built libraries, universities, and institutions for the common good. What Harvey does with his mentoring camp is the same truth, expressed not in stone and steel, but in lives shaped. Both men show us that the highest purpose of success is not self-indulgence, but service.

The deeper meaning of Harvey’s words is that true pride is not in achievements that fade, but in contributions that endure. Comedy, fame, and riches may bring joy for a season, but the boys who leave his camp carry seeds that may bear fruit for generations. This is the quiet greatness of giving back—it creates ripples that extend far beyond what one can see. It redeems the struggles of the past by transforming them into strength for the future.

The lesson for us is clear: whatever your station, whatever your gifts, give back. Do not hoard the blessings of your upbringing, nor bury the lessons of your parents. Instead, plant them in others, especially in those who lack guidance. Mentor, teach, serve, encourage. For in doing so, you multiply your own life’s meaning, and you honor those who gave to you.

So I say to you: remember Steve Harvey’s words. “Together they taught me to give back.” Let them remind you that greatness is measured not by what you gain, but by what you return to the world. Build camps, build schools, build hearts. Whether with wealth, with time, or with wisdom, leave behind more than you were given. For the truest legacy is not the applause of crowds, but the uplifted lives of those who once walked in shadows and now walk in light because you chose to give.