Be The Mogul II
Those 3 years in Philly taught me a whole different way of life in general. I loved my mova dearly throughout her struggles, but she could never communicate her feelings and talk to me. Our relationship developed purely out of a sense of dependence on each other for survival and figuring things out as they come. Poor wasn't even the word. We were literally one bad day from being homeless, with no family within 2 hours. I remember walking through my apartment building scanning the floor for loose change, like a fien on tester day. My mova would use my school transpass and obnoxiously claimed to still be getting her GED if a bus driver bucked at her. The best days were when I would sit outside of random apartment doors in my building to steal wifi to download that new Flamers 2.5 or CM7 on limewire and come home to a hot stir fry, instead of cereal.
When you thought things couldn’t get any worse, my older brother Brock was killed, a few months into me staying in Philly. That was a nightmare that continued to replay in my mova’s head too. Two sons dead, in a matter of three years will drive anyone crazy. That was a cold winter alone. I remember catching the K bus home from school everyday for two weeks on Chelten ave and seeing her car parked near Jamaican D’s and just wondering where the hell she could be.
I still remember the exact moment she came home with bloodshot red eyes, devastated she left her 12 year old son alone, distraughtly explaining to him how she relapsed and was locked up. My mother’s decisions and lifestyle prior to Philadelphia, was similar but never put me in harm's way due to me always having family around. Being alone was something I got used too, so that time she was gone, I leaned in closer to what I knew best ; basketball. I can’t imagine the pain she was in to have to admit to her wrongdoings and apologize to her son (The first and only time this ever happened) . Ironically, this situation strengthened our relationship, knowing that I had to step up. Taking care of myself for two weeks alone, already put clear expectations in my head of not having no blanket or support. I never put my mom on a pedestal to be perfect, but I saw her as a human struggling with addiction in dear need of help. As an adolescent, I couldn't do much to help her, but continue to focus on my own survival and not be a burden.
By the grace of God, I have always attracted people in my life that eventually become so much more than acquaintances. The first person I met at Wagner Middle School in Uptown was Kaliah Christmas. This lor short lightskin fly girl that was just as smooth as she talked. Everybody already said we looked alike at school, and we both played on the basketball team, so it was an automatic connection. Her cousin Diontae Christmas was a Temple University basketball legend and her uncle was a coach, so it seem like God aligned everything up perfectly. Her family accepted me with open arms as if they already knew me and took me in as their own. Throughout my struggles in Philly, they played a substantial role in shaping me into the well rounded man I am today. At that time, I saw a loving couple of 20+ years, just as crazy and ghetto as my family back home with a different sense of love and compassion for each other. As an adolescent lacking in those areas, they taught me how to show and receive love as well as genuine concern for my well-being.
Life continued to be a struggle for my mom and I in Philly, so I shipped back to Baltimore in 10th grade. Yea, the grass wasn’t greener on the other side, but overall being in Philly was the best thing that could have happened to me. When I came back, half my friends was locked up or dead. I came home with a renewed spirit, ultimate independence from my family and I never clicked out of that survival mode.
Leading up to senior year, my home situation was never the best, which always warranted a reason for me to try to escape to something better. Going to college became more of a must, rather than a want. OG’s on the block would ask me “You really bout to go do that college thing?”... I really wanted to say, “ You really going stand out here on the block all ya life”... but I just said “Yea, I need something different.” First year out of high school, you either go to college, get a little job somewhere, get pregnant or get somebody pregnant. The family expectations for you to provide for yourself and the rest of the family has risen, or you may be in some shit and really have to get out of town. I know plenty of niggas where going to college was there escape route from shit that was about to catch up with them in the streets.
In November of senior year, I got into a domestic dispute with my uncle I lived with who tried to stab me. As far as trial, it was put on stack, but he was out on the streets until I left for school. My cousins threatened me not to go to court the day before, my mother had beef with my uncle ex-wife, I was getting followed home from work, and a whole lot of other drama. Every morning I saw my uncle on the 22 on my way to City, while he was on his way to the methadone clinic in Highlandtown. I still remember the mean-mug, toothpick hanging out his mouth, and the numbness I carried on my hip for protection. For most of senior year, I was bouncing from house to house, taking weekend trips to Philly until I was able to leave for college that summer.
During my high school years, I had a girlfriend in Philly who I would frequently visit and her family used to look out heavy! Towards the end of my freshman year, the Freddie Gray riots had just happened and I had no intent of going home. At this point, I had randomly applied for my first study abroad trip that fall as well so I needed to save bread. I landed three gigs that summer in Philly, and negotiated with my girlfriends’ family to host me for the summer. Working all the time, I was never home to be a bother and I paid rent in foodstamps. My mom would mail the card up every month like clock work. That summer I worked at a Protestant home as a waiter, where I regularly conversated and assisted with Holocaust survivors. I was a teacher for SEEK engineering camp teaching STEM components to inner city youth, and interning for Bernard Buie Clothing line, designing, negotiating sales with stores, and styling for fashion shows. With whatever free time I did have, I would parlay with my girls’ uncle and his boys. We would have a few drinks, and I would run their pockets in a few dice or spades games and head down to Wells Fargo, The Mann Center or any other event venue in the area to sell merch that we would make in his print shop. That whole summer I saved about $4,000, which was only 3,500 Euro for 6 months. But when you are used to living on nothing, you learn how to finesse every system. That was all I needed to survive for 6 months in Cyprus traveling to over 10 countries during that time. Everything I learned during my trials and tribulations in life prior gave me all the tools, instinctive nature and abilities to deal with anything that came my way while traveling.
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When I think about it, all of my travels have stemmed from me simply not wanting to be home, like I'm running away from something. Yet, I’m not scared or fearful in my environment, but I always felt like it's more out there in the world for me then what I’ve been exposed to. That resilience to accept life’s day to day struggles and push through is what I think allows me to flourish when adapting to new environments.
Struggling to find my voice and purpose, I have read numerous publications from black Baltimore authors like Fidel and D Watkins. In D Watkins book, We Speak for Ourselves: A Word from Forgotten Black America, he reminds me of the responsibility I have to remain humble regardless of accolades and stand strong to empower my community. His chapter “Don’t make it out, make it better '' resonated with me on so many levels. My whole life was filled with trauma and all I was consumed with was how to “make it out”, as if that was the highest goal you could ever accomplish. After achieving that, and more than I can ever imagine, it's been a conflicting decision to stay or not when I truly don’t have to. In Baltimore it doesn’t matter who you are, you are liable to get caught in the mix at any second regardless of me doing right or wrong. It’s been so many great people in Baltimore that have lost their life just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Understanding that and feeling obligated to make a difference in my community, I am willing to take that risk. Is that the real purpose of life? Fighting for a cause that you would be actually willing to die for? If I can change the lives of others, then my life isn’t in vain.
