Just Like Riding A Bike

I started writing when I was twelve years old. My church, Bethesda Baptist, hosted an annual Easter Sunday program, and that year I was asked to write a short poem about Jesus Christ. I wasn't thrilled about the idea, but because my great Aunt Laura was the first Lady of the church I didn't have a choice.

I fretted for days, unsure about what I would write. My Grandmother suggested I consult the good book for inspiration, since the subject was the Messiah. That led me to research scriptures in the King James Bible and The Living Bible, which I actually enjoyed. I wrote this three days later.

Jesus Christ was born in bad days and bad times, sent here by God to pay for man's crimes, he walked on water and healed the blind, but the Roman's didn't believe that he was one of a kind. So they hated him scorned him and treated him bad, because they didn't believe that God was his Dad, he was born crucified and then resurrected, just so you and I would be protected.

Now of course the church is going to celebrate its youth, but the applause from the congregation was overwhelming. So I just accepted the recognition by bashfully smiling and fainting on the spot. I woke up as a religious rock star.

The Pastor told me I had a gift sent from God, and this gift should be used for the upliftment of God's church. He told me God sent me to Bethesda, so he could guide me in the teachings of the Holy Spirit; the Pastor was the first to exploit my gift.

He had me writing programs for the church, (which is a schedule of weekly church events, not anything related to computers), hymnals, church announcements, presentations of the word and even eulogies. Here's one of the eulogies I wrote for one of our church mothers.

She was a mother a sister a grandma a friend, a person's who love and kindness won't end, a doctor a counselor a Queen and a cook, a fairy God Mother from a fairy tale book, she was all the good things of which dreams are made, and she'll live on through us so her memory won't fade, a person this special is hard to find, and she lives on in our hearts because her light still shines.

I was actually proud of that one, until I found out the Pastor privately took credit for it. He later told me it was better for the church to think he wrote it, otherwise it would undermine the guidance of the shepherd. I never understood what that meant; I was fourteen at the time.

Shortly after that, I left Bethesda Baptist convinced that churches were corrupt. I believed that religion was a form of control invented by 'The Man', as it were, and the only way to make my impression was through spoken word and rap music. With the intention of changing the World, I joined a group of aesthetes known as 'Black Magic' and wrote this.

We take a journey through the minds eye. At first the reception is clear its pure, but reality corrupts the image making it ugly and blurry. We assume the best , but expect the worse. It's because our sluggish thinking keeps up ignorant to the real problem. The separation... we are separated from our culture. We are separated from each other, separated from our true spirits. But the question is why would God allow the chosen people to suffer?

We were the Black Panthers of poetry, and I was Huey Newton with a pencil. However, my Bobby Seale was a girl named Akeela; and we were on fire. We spoke out at schools, at parks and at community events. We were youthful activists during the time of Reaganomics, and we were happy to voice our political opinion any chance we got. Together we wrote a piece titled 'Ms Media', which explored the abusive relationship between Black people and news reporting agencies. I would share it with y'all, but I didn't think Akeela would approve.

Also during this time in the mid-to-late eighties, I linked up with two of my cousins and formed a Hip-Hop group called 'Style Posse'. I thought it would be a perfect addition to my already well-known local platform of activism. This was a medium that could take my craft to national levels, broaden my fan base and possibly lead to recruitment for 'Black Magic'. As one of the first recorded rap groups in the state, we were supposed to be the next big thing. Unfortunately, I learned the hard lesson of never do business with family.

I recall working late in the studio one evening recording the song "We need some bass'. I'd just finished my verse and decided to go into the office to make a phone call. In the process of making my call I glanced paperwork that documented the sale of over ten thousand units. Now I'm not a math major, but ten thousand units at five dollars a unit equals more then I was getting. When I asked my older cousin/producer about the disbursement of the money, I was told it was used to secure studio time, and to keep writing and be patient. We did manage to make a video, just search You Tube for Style Posse 'We need some bass'.

So I decided to leave the group, marry Akeela and write a book; until Akeela got pregnant with our first son. At first the child birth was an inspiration to my craft, a muse for many projects. But shortly after my son's first birthday Akeela got pregnant again, this time with twins. And just like that, what was once inspiration became obligation. What was once a muse, became a monetary monster attacking my pockets. I was forced to get two jobs to make ends meet, while Akeela became a full time mother because we couldn't afford day care.

I continued writing as much as I could, but finding time, space and energy quickly became very challenging. So I put the book on hold, buckled down and dedicated my life to my wife and kids. And in doing so I co-raised six children and put four of them through college; a noble way of life indeed. Still, I always wondered what might have happened had I of continued writing and published my book. Shortly after that my wife passed away, and life as I knew it became unbearable. I'd lost my best friend, the mother of my children my soulmate. I was a wreck looking for someplace to happen, my chest felt empty because my heart had died. I didn't know what I was gonna do, I even contemplated suicide.

Then the night before her funeral, I picked up a pen after nearly thirty years and wrote her eulogy. When I finished, a warmth came over me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood upright. The temperature in my office must've dropped twenty degrees, because I could've sworn I could see my breath. And when I stood and turned to leave the room, I saw a bright luminescent globe. From the globe came my wife's voice and it said "Time waits for no one." So I finished the book May 28th 2020