Resilience in the Face of it ALL

Just like any human being occupying this giant rock we call "Mother Earth", there are a TON of things that come together to make up who I am. Life has presented DOZENS of challenges. I don’t know why, being born with the winning life combination: Black & Male with an LGBTQ Chaser. Add the fact that I’m originally from Englewood, Chicago: a neighborhood known for Jennifer Hudson, Gwendolyn Brooks, R. Kelly (ew), Jesse Jackson, Nat King Cole, Harold Washington (if any of these names sound unfamiliar, learn Black History), and people wonder why I’m not famous yet! Hell, I wonder myself sometimes.

I’ve been saying for years my life is a sitcom. I come from a slew of Black stereotypical backstories:

• Alcoholic, Drug Addict Father…
• Born Again, Christian Mother… who will run you over with her car (True Story!)
• Being raised in the Church started my singing career…

All of these things are true!! I even have a grand list of circumstantial guest stars that people often believe can’t be true, having worked with:

• Keith David
• Taraji P. Henson,
• Maya Angelou,
• The Judds,
• & Oprah Winfrey (alone) three times…

I know, I’m pretty fuckin’ cool! But, of course, with the "cool" comes the "not-so-cool".

• While most nice, gay white folks come out of the closet, freak flag flying & nipple tassles intact, I was dragged out, kicking and screaming, when things went sour with a SUPER SECRET live-in boyfriend in my mother’s house (It's complicated. I'll explain at a later date.)

• From age of 19 to as recently as Jan 2020, I’ve found myself a homeless nomad more times than I can count, losing everything several times over, except my mind... although, some would argue I never had that to begin with.

• Hell, at age 24, I found out that I was adopted... on Facebook. YES, Children, FACEBOOK. After being missing in action for 24 years, my biological mother came looking for me through a direct message entitled "Long Lost Family". After a long, drawn-out, 3-to-5 year experience, I found out the truth.: That she didn’t deserve me to begin with. Big Shock, right?

Throughout my life, one thing was made clear to me…. I’m resilient as fuck. From the moment I escaped my surrogate’s womb, I’ve been fighting harder than almost anyone I know to exist & be counted in this world... and those memories go far back:

• As a toddler I was burned over 50-60 percent of my body, but as I grew, my wounds got smaller and faded away. Resilience.

• At age 7, when my grandmother died on the 4th of July, I sang at her funeral & comforted my family, even though I didn’t fully understand death. When I did, later that night, I wept alone, learning to comfort myself. Resilience.

• At Age 11, I was dragged 4 blocks by my school bus, emerging without a scratch. My mother had been told I was hit by a city bus and, even though I was emotionally on edge, I calmed her down before my father could react. Resilience.

• By 16, when my mother stopped helping me pursue my theatrical dreams, I manned my own career, working in my field before any other teen I knew understood what “planning for the future” was. Resilience.

• By 22, when no one was hiring me for the work I wanted, I started my own theatre company and wrote the work I wanted to do… Muthafuckin’ Resilience.

As an artist, you're taught to take your pain and turn it into art. By the time I'd found out I was adopted, I had a lot of confusion, depression, and misplaced anger that was in dire need of transformation. So, I began writing a one-man show about growing up in Chicago, with my parents and finding out what I now knew. Set to be an autobiographical start to a chronological documentation of my life experiences, I dove in, headfirst, knowing it was going to be the thing that took me to the next plateau in my artistic and ever-evolving life.... Until everything went straight to hell in a matter of a moment.

On July 27, 2012, at 8:47 p.m. my best friend, Michael T. Bartlett Jr., died of Cancer. I found out the next morning... and based upon my life, you can guess how I found out… That's right. Fucking Facebook. I will admit a friend tried to call me before I saw it but I'd missed her calls. I was away for a performance and woke up in a frenzy, later than I expected to. When I was finally alert, I checked social media before anything else, only to find that a mutual friend had commented on a photo I’d posted of Michael: “The first day I met you…. R.I.P.”

Imagine waking up to that.

You know, I learned a long time ago that people are not always going to understand who you are or recognize the intrinsic value you bring to the world… They’re not immediately urged to give you their best, nor would they help you when you are at your worst. Michael defied all of that. Without him, I was starting to find I was no longer resilient. Quite the opposite.

Upon hearing that Michael was gone, I was destroyed, falling into a deep depression that remained with me for a solid 3 years. I'd always been a creative spirit, seeing things through to the end. Upon hearing that he was gone, creativity stopped. Everything, even the most artistic things, was just work. Day in & day out, I was "going through the motions", as they say, pretended to be fine. I was not. I was, however, become the very worst version of myself. I stopped writing my one-man show for 2½ years. There was truly nothing to say. With the most intense sensation of writer’s block, I couldn’t finish it or anything else from the ridiculously long list of projects, waiting for completion. I couldn’t look at them…. Until one very strange night…

I had one of the most vivid dreams. Standing center stage, in a large Broadway-style theatre, the glowing blue stream of an aura flowed from the Balcony entrance and surrounded me with warmth. The aura engulfed me & a voice then came to me that said, “Now Bestie, you already know what you gotta do, shiiiit.” It made me laugh because I immediately recognized it as one of Michael’s goofy ass character voices. It was a specific voice that he made when he wanted to cheer anyone up... Especially me. Awaking from slumber, weeping heavily, I ran to my computer and wrote. I wrote for days. Within a week's time. I'd finished my one-man show & premiered it 6 months later for close friends & his family. They thanked me for my tribute to him. I thanked them for giving us all such an outstanding guy, who even in death, had enough love to help me finish what I started.

So, what now? You've heard my tale. What do I leave you with? Well, as I put it at the end of my one-man show:

For every waking moment I can see a new date ,

"...for every slippery slope inside this life that I skate ,

For every walk in the sun and every claim that I stake ,

For every time I tried to move ahead and life told me "wait!" ,

For every drop of sweat I pour and every breath that I take ,

Until these wheels no longer turn and I no longer create ,

This tested testimony keeps me on my narrow & straight ,

And my family, lost or found, is what makes me great. "

"Michael, I’m doin’ what I’m supposed to do, shiiiit! "