Teammates. That was my mother and I to a tee. We’d often forget we were our family. She was my mother and I was her son. And Brooke was her daughter my hero and sister. And maybe the Big Guy was right within the same vein of Rollie, “that’s all you need. And then you have your own family make your own family instead of making excuses.” And it had been a rough ten years for my mother. And she had the biggest heart of us all. And that’s not how dollars are dolled out. And there in lay to a certain degree my deep respect for the US Dollar. I had a crew and there in line the almighty respect I had for all of them. And there were soldiers, students, good kids, tough kids, crazy kids, blue bloods, oxford kids, middle of the middle kids, black kids, white kids, east, west of the far corners of the world Madison MA had it all. And I was fascinated by it. My family in a sense had always been what your now reading on your screen. My adventure. And at some point life kicks in. And that was now. And I was the sole remaining element to make good on our story our truest friends and alley porch smokers, Ativan advisors, lost girls - only the lonely. The only people that ever came through (love) and that winter, the promise, passion, crucible moment that I’d always advertised and dreamed about crushed under the might of the almighty, “story.” No B on the Spanish T.
And on this Monday morning in the heart of the worst in the winter of my senior forever anticipated year of high school @ Madison we’d been hit hard by life. And I was sad. All until finding again and again at these moments, that, well, throwing it all away is easy actually enjoyable task. And it confirmed to me that I was crazy and I liked that too. Because outside of my coaches, homeboys and few other receptions I saw frauds. Living it fucking up. And I hated it. And I found that I didn’t share their ideals their passions or beliefs. And those were the kernels. It just never really sat. I had a “voice” and I was up in the sir how I wanted it to shake. Saying fuck it and I don’t give a fuck was my everything and without a doubt I knew in the mirror, I was nothing. And it was had troubling. I was a kid and by default stuff would happen around me. And it will always remain precious time both in memories and scholastic sacrifice in this modern world yto08uth will forever inherent, US youth. There are alternatives to fighting as OB-1 quoted as well as alternatives 2 intelligence. And that word is intelligence.
And my promise was being threatened everyday. And I’d never not find love from my family which doctors insisted were never a family, friends, companions, buddies, homey’s whatever you want to call it but not family.” Why do you think the term “fam” soared in hip hop, trended undyingly like a true mother fucker for a decade plus, why?
Lost in my own plight to varying degrees was of course the family I had in front of me. My mother my sister and my girlfriend. And it wasn’t ADD. I just did basically whatever the fuck I wanted to wherever I felt like it. And the troops had worn thin. And it was in this spirit one wintery Monday morning that my brief modeling career at the heist of my mother was launched.
7:00AM. “ma, ma, what? What time is it? Who died? What hospital?”
“No, no shh, shh, mamas baby, no one died, would you stop it, I have pretty awesome news for you this morning, and your going to love it. Still want to try and get another thirty mi8nutes?” She knew me the best. I popped up like a breakfast treat. “OK, What?” “Well for starters you have the day off, no school bunky!” “What!” I flashed my super bowl face, what!” And I emotionally hedged instantly well versed in the lifestyle and language. “Ma, is this court related, are you kidding me? I didn’t do it. Whatever it is? Jesus age Christmas, I’m going back top sleep.” One of the things I’d taken for the Big Guy was no longer swearing. I called them “Disney swears.” The Big Guy never used foul language. He was a Jimmity Crickets guy and I loved it. And fearing nothing good, new then collapsing not falling back into my sheets, I’m out.
“No, no no silly, Carl wake up please. We have a big day.”” Thinking to myself, what’s this we shit I def do not know what’s going on. “What do you mean we have a big day?” And my heart sank. I could tell like she could tell when she or me was up to something. But it was my teammate. And there was no panic. My mother had great ideas. She loved dancing to the 50’s. Loved the Jackson 5 and always rolled the dice in my defense sprinkled over various administrations. Subsequently I was never held back and didn’t have AIDS (1983 – Lawnmower story).
I rode with my mama. And no one in Madison did that. Lamont did that with Flo. And I did that. And that wasn’t black or white. Mom’s are moms however we saw each other across the street so it didn’t matter what was said. It only mattered that we could see. It only mattered no matter what happened to either of us we’d do everything in our arsenal to make sure we’d be OK. And that’s what was processed. Life’s only occasionally dressed up.
And for my mother, at seventeen I was a last gasp of maybe. Of hope of dreams, riches and a real family for all of us. “OK, well what’s going on?” “OK, so I sent your head shots, I’ve heard some mothers taling about this on the Sally Jenniungs show….” And within her fix quick miracles that never work for anyone she continued, “we have to meet your maybe your maybe agent Downtown crossing at1!” And all’s I could think was, Downtown crossing? And then I got excited. This meant my mother would have to drive on the highway. And I foolishly believed I with happy Saturday morning spirit could conquer something as severe as real panic attacks. I’d always believe it was just energy positive energy or a lack there of that prevented her from driving on highways. And I then got excited for something much more important in my personal universe than another day off from high school.