"Sorry to Bother You"

Director & Writer Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You is a quintessential film that explores 

the relationship between Black and White America and delves into American capitalism. The film deals more with the inequality from the economically disenfranchised than the actual racial side, providing a unique perspective. I’ve always said that “money equals freedom.” It’s a rather ironic statement considering “money is considered the root of all evil.” Riley definitely pushes this narrative throughout the film. He uses the protagonist “Cassius Green,” played by Lakeith Stanfield, as the typical, down-on-his-luck young black millennial living in California. Cassius lives with his uncle in his garage with his girlfriend “Detroit.” At the start of the film, he doesn’t have a job, and he’s plagued with all the stereotypical issues that black men often face in the workplace. He’s underemployed due to his lack of education and ability to maintain a job. He goes as far as to lie on his application, which ironically entices the hiring manager to give him employment. It is through this job that Cassius gets a taste of the American Dream.

The American Dream has been a fictitious dream that White America has sold citizens of this country since its inception. The dream has shifted and changed, but its sole purpose has remained intact. Cassius 

moves up in the company. He starts making money to avoid his own home and vehicle. This comes at a cost to his soul. The company he works for is crooked, and eventually, he uncovers an insidious plot to turn workers into hybrid horses called “equisapiens.” While this portion of the film takes on a sci-fi visual interpretation, there’s a hidden metaphorical meaning behind it. The descendants of today’s African American population were most likely enslaved. Enslaved Africans built the United States free of charge. They were branded, bred, and treated like chattel, similar to horses. There was no concern for their well-being, and the effects of that treatment are still prevalent in today’s American society. It is almost as if Riley’s trying to make a statement that for a black man to be successful, he must not only lose his soul but become nothing more than a fragmented thoroughbred. It is only fitting that the antagonist “Steve” is played by Armie Hammer. Seven years later, Hammer has been exiled from Hollywood for his own twisted and demented sexual dalliances as well as allegations of abuse. It’s almost a sense of life imitating art. While Steve gets his “comeuppance” in the end, Cassius transforms into an equisapien. He leaves the company and returns to his life as an unemployed black man living in his uncle’s garage. 

While I celebrate the fact that Cassius finds himself, I don’t like that he has to return to 

poverty to be true to who he is. I think this is a consistent misconception that Black Americans have had to wrestle with for decades. We see this play out now with the recent inaugural performances of hip-hop artists Nelly and Snoop Dogg at Donald Trump’s second presidential inauguration. Maybe it is my naivety or extreme optimism that think black men can be integral while also achieving financial success in America. I’m not sure. However, I think that’s a question Riley wants his viewers to wrestle with. We even see this playout with Cassius’s relationship with Detroit. Detroit, a liberal “woke” activist and artist, is initially against the greedy corporation that Cassius works for, yet she benefits from the success. She later opts out of that success to stay true to herself. Yet, the relationship between her and Cassius is complicated in itself. Now, this is where my biases might reflect in my interpretation of the relationship simply because I am not a fan of Lakeith Stanfield. I think he’s a good actor, but I have yet to see him have “equally yoked” chemistry with any of his female co-stars. There is always a layer of misogyny that exudes from the performance. Again, I think this is where life imitates art. The relationship between black men and women is fragile and complex. While we’re all rooting for Detroit to stay with Cassius, she seems more equally yoked with Cassius’s friend and rebel rowser “Squeeze.” This further complicates things as Squeeze is an Asian American, and it is implied that he often contracts sexually transmitted diseases. During Cassius and Detroit’s breakup, Squeeze and Detroit basically hook up until the point of having actual sex. Yet, Squeeze is much more confident and sure of who he seeks to be in the world. Ultimately, Cassius and Detroit get back together, but for how long? Cassius eventually transforms into that horse hybrid. The audience is left to their own devices regarding his relationship with Detroit. While black women are often “oppressed,” black men are “suppressed.” 

Pictured: Tessa Thompson (“Detroit”) and LaKeith Stanfield (“Cassius”) in Sorry to Bother You (Dir. Boots Riley, 2018)

In conclusion, the film is a neat construction of race and economics in America. I love 

Riley explores this through the characters of Cassius and Detroit. I am even a fan of Detroit’s name. Detroit, the once beloved, quintessential, all-American city, represents everything wrong with America in the 21st century. It is a city plagued by consistent violence, economic disenfranchisement, abandoned buildings, and the first city in America to declare bankruptcy. However, Detroit was once considered a wonder city for the American Dream. Each decision Riley makes in this film has a significant meaning behind it, whether it is Detroit or even the name “Cassius,” there are metaphorical meanings warped in the movie that seek to provide discussion on some of the current issues that plague our society.

Money Equals Freedom: Part II

“White privilege allows you to operate in color blindness without choosing to be either a foe or ally in the war against discrimination against black people.”

True story: I have two vanilla friends: Janet and Rocco. They are both of the vanilla persuasion. Now, we’re all in the same cohort. Janet has never used credit. She’s 30, and yet she’s never had to use credit. But let’s dissect Janet’s backstory a little. She was born in Maine. Her parents are wealthy. She didn’t have to go into debt to complete college. She has a savings account of at least $4000.00 on average and she lives with great roommates. Now let’s look at Rocco. He’s from the country of Wyoming. He only has a Bachelor’s degree from a film school in TN. He’s had the same vehicle for over a decade and it’s paid for. He can make major purchases with no trouble. He is currently a top leading adjunct professor at a university. Remember, he only has a Bachelor’s degree. 

Janet and Rocco are white. The rules are not the same for them. The level of support is different. 

Now here is where their privilege comes into play. Despite the fact that I’m making almost six figures in my new position, my credit score falls within the 500 range which is considered poor. I am undesirable on any application for credit whether it be for a vehicle or apartment. The irony is someone who makes ten times less than me with a score above 670 is able to purchase anything he or she pleases despite the fact that on paper he or she isn’t able to afford the expense. But the rules are even different for blacks. 

“White privilege is also a component of generational wealth.”

Janet and Rocco come from what’s called “generational wealth.” Their grandparents, great-grandparents, etc. were able to work and pull themselves up by their bootstraps as it pertained to finances. Well, my grandfather was a sharecropper at my age. My great-grandparents were sharecroppers, and their parents were slaves. There is no generational wealth in my family. Back to Janet and Rocco, their interpretation or stereotypical perspective of someone like me is somehow I haven’t made smart decisions as it pertains to my finances. I need a co-signer on a loan because I’m irresponsible. It is my parents duty to fend for me. Yet, that’s where their privilege comes into play. They fail to recognize the circumstances that align with my background do not allow me to fend for myself as easily as the two of them. 

The reality is I am smart, talented, and a good person. I work hard, and I do the right thing. I’m not a bum, and I don’t fit the stereotype for a big, black man like myself. Stop judging me based on preconceived perceptions because when you do, you are buying into the discriminatory paradigm that equally aligns with this country’s dysfunctional system of oppression and social, chaotic distress. It fascinates me how money truly is the root of all evil. It’s not the actual item, but its representation and how it can make or break one’s life. It drives people to commit acts of violence and terror. This is why the connotation behind it needs to be changed. We need laws to be changed. Every single person in this country should start off with a perfect credit score like you would in school. My students every semester start off with an A. Now it is up to them to keep that A, but each student has a fair shot. Yet, when it comes to credit so many people automatically start off with F’s and no recourse to bring that poor grade up. That’s not right. 

Lastly, we have to change how things are done in our community. We need competent leaders. We need qualified educators. We need compassionate activists. We don’t need fame whores. We don’t need political scavengers. We don’t need false prophets. We don’t need snakes. Ironically, I recently viewed a post on social media. I chuckled to myself because a group of my own gathered together for a fancy yacht party. No facial masks. No social distancing. There were more than 6 people gathered, but that’s not what struck me. What struck me was the fact that the majority of those gathered are leaders in a popular worship center who have spoken out diligently against the brutal killings of black folks. But my thing is, what message are you sending? The cost of such an excursion could go do wonders for the black community in Music City. When God blesses you it is only right for you to bless others? My conclusion of this incident is those individuals are not true leaders of the church. Now I do believe in celebrating your wealth. I do believe in doing things for yourself, but when you preach to others a “pauper’s gospel” but don’t adhere to your own principles I have a problem. 

After this conclusion some may ask, where do we go from here? Well, we need to get serious about protecting our community and making sure generations to come are able to succeed. My cousin “Ross” posted something profound on his social media page. I’m going to provide a link at the bottom, but it is truly inspiring. It is something that we need to implement. The white dollar doesn’t equal the right dollar. The black dollar doesn’t equate a spoiled dollar, and lastly the current credit system wasn’t designed for us. That wall of oppression must come down. 

Here’s the link to “Economic Wealth” Tips by my wonderful cousin, Karlton Ross: http://www.moving4wardproductions.com/economic-freedom-by-karlton-ross

Money Equals Freedom: Part I

One thing we need to get honest about and confront is money and its representation in our community. To black people or African Americans money equals freedom. Now, I am a Christian and I believe in the word of God. Before you, holy rollers railroad me please just hear me out. We live in the world. We know it is a sinful world. However, it takes money to live in this world. It’s unfortunate, but it is the truth. It takes money to keep the lights of the church on and the doors open. It takes money to travel back and forth to work. It takes money to make sure your children have adequate education. Next to water & oxygen, money is probably the third necessity a person needs to live in this world. Food cost money. You cannot go to the doctor or exercise at a gym without money. 

“The system was never designed for Black Americans to succeed in economic wealth.”

Recently, I accepted an amazing position. I will be making a beautiful salary, and I’ll be able to move up within my field. However, the content of my skin, the status of my parent’s failed marriage, and the notion that I’m most likely smoking and fucking my money up clouds my mind daily. This is probably why I am writing this satirical piece at 2:19 AM on a Monday morning. Back to the offer, my new job requires me to move across the country. Yippee! I have definitely overstayed my welcome in Music City. Yet, the stress of the job is nothing compared to getting to the job. A month ago, I wrongfully assumed a close relative would cosign on an apartment for me. Now let’s be honest. Most black college graduates barely have a 500 credit score let alone one at all. It is extremely hard to maintain excellent credit, when you’re most likely to be denied credit, you’re unable to pay all of your bills on time, and your parents don’t make enough money to help you save. There’s this misconception that black people misappropriate their money. Now you do have a handful that do stupid shit like that, but most of the time black folks live on a wing and a prayer when it comes to their finances. 

For example, my mother “Yvonne” is a pre-licensed certified mental health counselor. She has been on a variety of talk shows, podcasts, morning shows, news bulletins, and documentaries discussing her work and advocacy for black mental health. She has advanced degrees and graduated with honors. She works extremely hard, yet she barely brings home $34,000.00 a year before taxes. She lives in a city where the cost of living is somewhere between $65,000 - $75,000 a year. The average for rent is $1510.00. Yet, she is making way below her worth. There are several reasons why this occurs. (1) She is a female. Let’s be honest. Men get paid more money than women. It is wrong, but the people who should be in the seats creating change are not. So you will continue to get the patriarchal bullshit. (2) She is black. While black women are known to be the hardest working demographic, most educated, and most likely to stick with a poor job, they are paid the lowest amount in salaries and wages. Make that make sense. Why?  

“Money equals freedom in the black community.”

Let me say that mom has given me her all. She goes 100% above and beyond for me. However, she’s one person and she is ridiculed by so-called Christians about her role as a single mother. I remember during my time in college when I was homeless the first time, “why isn’t your mother helping you”? For one, she was in the hospital. Two, she gave me all she had. You shouldn’t judge people based on their financial situations just because you think they should be in better shape. Nashville is the top fastest growing city. The cost of living is exorbitant. Yet, the salary range in this state remains at $28,000 even though to live in Davidson County, you need to be making $65,000 at the minimum as I’ve mentioned before. Why are we not calling out the officials and lawmakers who keep the pay rate low? Why aren’t we questioning them?

STAY TUNED FOR PART II: Premieres Tomorrow

Here’s the link to “Economic Wealth” Tips by my wonderful cousin, Karlton Ross: http://www.moving4wardproductions.com/economic-freedom-by-karlton-ross

"Don't be DIVAPROBE"

I’ve always said “God has a serious sense of humor.” In January of 2015, my father made me relocate home due to finances. My mother had just recovered from a life threatening illness. Literally, she was on a ventilator. Yet, she was home and healed at this point in time. 

Nashville Pre-Screening of “Wear the Crown” featuring Cillea Houghton (Producer) & Alan R.H. Nettles (Writer & Director)

Photo Credit: Pasla Photography

I attended Howard University. It was while at Howard that I learned as a black man in America, I had the power to invoke change. I could be an award winning film director, actor, or singer. I didn’t need White America’s permission. I never knew that until Howard. When I had to return home in 2015, I was devastated because I knew I would no longer be surrounded by those spirits who poured into me.

I found myself surrounded by toxic, spirits with a knack for disdain and disgust in regards to the creative arts. I found myself stuck in a community that wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “support” when it came to the black community. I found myself trapped in an environment that strongly upheld conservative, archaic values that only served the nostalgic representation of tradition, but lacked substance to better our society or advance the people who live within it. 

I learned what the term “fake” truly means or as Keisha Nickole calls it “phony.” A phony spirit is a spirit that smiles in one’s face speaking joy, love, & peace while simultaneously plotting the demise of said individual. Deep, right? Well, I attend a church that is full of those spirits. I attended a local college that secretly prided itself on upholding the nature of such a spirit. I found myself nurturing relationships with phony spirits. The thing about spirits is you have to be careful. You cannot introduce your spirit to another without making sure they are compatible. 

I recently wrapped a short film entitled “Wear the Crown.” It is the largest production and most costly film I’ve yet to make. However, it has been the most challenging and my least favorite project to date. Crazy! The reason is that I didn’t feel connected to the project with a sense of true compassion. I wrote the project out of anger and disgust. My anger for the community I live in here in Nashville only fueled my distaste for the project as a whole. The love I shared for it was infused by the people who participated in it. But now I wonder, what was my purpose? 

Aunt Tracey & I, Circa 2013

Photo Credit: Alan R.H. Nettles

I had to let many artists go throughout the course of this production due to their lack of professionalism or consistent excuses as to why they couldn’t be 100% committed. I will tell you it “fucked” with my head because these same artists in turn went across town to support other directors in their work and did not behave in the same manner. 

The doubt began to over-flood my mind. The resentment began to fuel my soul. The anger began to harden my knuckles, but then I realized that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. I am a poor, college educated African-American man from Buffalo, New York. My mother works 3 jobs just to pay the bills, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a talent to be reckoned with. I’ve been without a job for eight months now. Though I search and search, a black man getting a livable, paying job in Trump’s America is next to impossible. But I refuse to allow that obstacle keep me from pursuing my dreams. I refuse to take on a nonchalant or apathetic attitude towards my life or anything I set out to do just because I’m financially broke. The reason being is while I may be financially broke, I am spiritually rich. I am mentally wealthy. I am physically enriched. My excellence within self will permeate into my finances. If I lose excellence of self, I inevitably lose self.

Taraji P. Henson, Academy Award Nominated Actress

Photo Credit: Today Show

James Baldwin, Author (1927-1987)

Photo Credit: Los Angeles Times

I never want to be an artist who doesn’t demand excellence. Would we expect any less of Aretha Franklin or James Baldwin or Oscar Micheaux or Taraji P. Henson? No! So why should I expect less from myself? Why is it in our society that we dehumanize excellence as a source that’s only attainable to the rich and wealthy? Don’t we realize that the rich and wealthy haven’t always been rich & wealthy. Don’t we realize that the Tarajis, Arethas, & Oscars of the world had to struggle. Don’t we realize that the Oprahs of the world were told “no” at least a thousand times before getting one “yes.” Do we realize that when we tell one another not to demand excellence, when we dum down our ability, when we mistreat one another, when we allow our insecurities to take hold and ripe our diva-probe ways that we’re only killing the dreams of ourselves, but most importantly our children. Yes, when you tell me “you are not Tyler Perry, so I don’t know why you’re trying to run a show as such.” You’re telling me I can never reach the same level of success as Tyler. When you tell a little girl “you are not Whitney Houston.” You’re telling her she’s not good enough. 

In 2018, I worked with two young girls. I call them girls because while they’re adults in age, they are children in maturity. Delilah is a lost soul from Detroit. Amber is a cunning fox from Memphis. Both women share a common characteristic they are “diva probed.” To be diva probed means to think only like a diva at all hours of the day and night. Delilah moved to Music City to be a singer. When I met her, we instantly connected. I invited her to a church I sung for (BIG MISTAKE) and introduced her to my circle of colleagues within the community. It was a great joy to see her blossom, but by spring she’d turned into an uncharismatic, creature. It stung because she possesses much potential. Her voice is gorgeous. Her black beauty is like a clear night sky. Her curves enhance the voluptuous model known as the black woman. Yet, her past pain keeps her trapped, locked in chains unable to share her gifts with the world.

Meanwhile across town in a little place called Murfreesboro, Amber slithers and maneuvers her way through artist after artist. Her nature is to please, but her downfall is to weed. She weeds out the roots keeping the fallen branches and leaves in her garden. Amber owns the stage. She captivates the screen. She most importantly cultivates your heart through her artistry as an actress taking you on a journey of self discovery. But the ground in which she stands under is broken, corrupted, and full of useless leaves & branches carelessly lying about. Amber is so stuck in this existential paradigm that she doesn’t realize the roots are non existent which means the tree has yet to grow. 

It’s harrowing that two black beauties have lost 

their creative spirits due to their undying need to be accepted among a town of small minded, parasites not realizing that if you remove yourself from the infested area, you will succeed. But the need for popularity, the need to be liked, the need to be desired, the need to keep oneself trapped in fear fuels the plague that’s wiping out black artistry as a whole. 

It’s high time in this community that we stop downgrading our artists and their abilities. It’s high time we save our “divaprobe” ways for the stage or screen and eat trays of humble pie. It’s high time we work together instead of against one another to bring content to the world. It’s high time we stop competing against one another, but uplift each other. It’s high time we start funding our own artists treating them with the same level of respect, class, and dignity we often show our vanilla oppressors. It’s high time we stop killing each other over jealousy, malice, & envy and in turn refute those names with compassion, grace, and mercy. 

The amount of hate and venom that fuels so many creative artists stifles them from truly progressing to the next level. When you hate yourself, the only way to make yourself feel better is to make them feel the way you do.

You Can't Steal My Artistry

As an entrepreneur and business owner, you’re not given a set of specific instructions to follow which equals success. There’s no mathematical equation. Instead, you truly learn and grow as you move through your career. Your experiences serve as the classroom for your basic knowledge of understanding. While some may find this riveting, it can also be quite strenuous and nauseating. 

Members of the cast & crew of “Wear the Crown”

(Photo Credit: William Jenkins)

I’m in the middle of pre-production on an upcoming short film entitled “Wear the Crown.” The film is based on my Aunt Tracey’s beloved story of cancer survival & her struggle to keep her four adult children together as one unit. I’m working with an incredible first-time producer to bring this project alive. However, it has also been an experience that has drawn up old emotions for me. 

Expectations. Expectations are pivotal in obtaining a dream. In order for you to reap the benefits of success, you must create a line of expectations for yourself. I grew up with what I call “Attila the Hun” i.e. Yvonne. My mother, Yvonne did not play games with me or my sister growing up. She was incredibly tough on us especially in terms of developing life, social, and educational skills. She instilled in us a strong work ethic. I remember being six years old and mom so eloquently said, “nothing in this life is free, even stuff they tell you is free isn’t free.” Boy, how right she was. Everything we set out to do in life comes with a cost. It comes with a sacrifice. The question one must ask is, “am I ready to make the sacrifice needed to accomplish this goal”? 

One of the most powerful lessons my parents could have taught me was to be very decisive on my life decisions because of the after effect. I’m constantly teased for being a single, 26 year old male. I have no prospects and I’m not looking for one. My focus is my career. While I humbly thank my mom and dad for giving me life, they gave up their careers in opera for my sister and I primarily my mom. Unfortunately, the woman is still expected to manage the household, take care of the children, and have a tall glass of “shut the fuck up” while the man is expected to bring home the money. It is 2019 almost 2020, and this is still a prevalent mindset especially in the Bible belt. Did I mention that I live in the buckle of the Bible belt? Lol! But I digress. This might be “Sally Jo’s” way of life, but it doesn’t mean it is meant for everyone.  Would I like companionship one day? Absolutely, but I’m not going to settle for garbage to get it. That’s stupid. Why would I want to spend my time with someone who doesn’t truly love me?

My beautiful, amazing mother “Yvonne”

(Photo Credit: Alan R.H. Nettles)

My company is coming up on its 5th year anniversary in December. WOW! One of the things I’ve learned throughout my tenure at Moving4ward Productions is how so many spouses, partners, family members, etc. do not support their loved ones within the creative arts. It’s very sad. I’ve heard horror stories. Spouses will say things like “you need to get you a job that makes money” or “I don’t know why you can’t just do this on the side and be happy.” It’s insane! Luckily for me, I’ve never had anyone like that in my ear and if I did I blocked they ass out. Now check that.

Listen, artists have one of the most difficult jobs on this planet. We are some of the most tortured souls. When your artistry exudes your passion for the craft, you can’t live, eat, drink, or sleep without doing what you love ------then who died and made it okay for someone to tell you to give up on your dream? Huh? No, instead our loved ones should be supporting us. Do folks realize how hard it is to be an artist? How doubt runs rapid through our minds? How we second guess ourselves? How we go through so many emotions to create a project that we hope the world will take notice and support? I’m very blessed that I have a mom and dad who support me. My dad and I have not always had the best relationship, however the one thing he has always supported me 100% on is my artistry. Yep, when I decided midway through my junior year of college at Howard University to change my major from Psychology to Film Production. Dad said, “why not, that’s what you’ve wanted to do anyway.” He then went and bought every single formidable book known to man about filmmaking and the art of directing. Thanks Pappy! Lol! But seriously. 

My talented, father…

My mom became a spokeswoman for Moving4ward Productions. She’s also my manager, and has produced several of my projects. She’s always on set assisting in any way she can regardless of her own busy schedule. She has a private counseling center. She’s a classically trained opera singer who still performs recitals and oratorios. She’s an advocate for mental health and speaks across the country to support suicide prevention and mental health awareness within the African-American community, yet she will make time for me, her son because she knows how much I love what I do. It doesn’t necessarily mean she loves it like me, but she loves me. So because she loves me and I love creating stories, she loves it because she loves me. Now see that’s love.

I think more spouses, partners, and family members should take this approach. Don’t kill your loved one’s spirit as an artist. Help them manifest it. Another thing my community needs to work on is supporting grassroots organizations seeking to make a positive mark in society. This millennial generation wants things fast. They want it to come easy with no sacrifice. I experienced this recently with a former friend and colleague. When the heat got hot, she skipped her funky ass right up on out of the kitchen despite all the support she received for her ability to be an award winning actress. We as millennials tend to be lazy, and that’s what is going to hold us back because although we live in the age of viral sensations. That isn’t everyone’s trajectory to success. As quick as you reach success, can be as quick as you lose it. It took Patti Labelle years to become the incredible sensation she is today. Aretha Franklin recreated a song cover that became her signature. Yes, “Respect” was an Otis Redding song before Franklin did it. Yet, Franklin’s anthem not only touched lives across the world, but it became a theme for the Civil & Women’s Rights Movements respectively. 

The Patti Labelle

Oscar Micheaux was a filmmaker during the dark ages of racial disparity and discrimination in our country where it was illegal for an African-American man to run his own business. It’s interesting how it seems we are currently going backwards in that regard, but I’ll address that in another blog post. Yes, there was a time when in certain states that was illegal. Yet, this man defied the law to set a precedent for black filmmakers like myself. He is the “Godfather of African-American Cinema.”

These are artists who changed the world. They changed our society. This is why we must celebrate them. Taraji P. Henson didn’t become the household name she is overnight. She put in the work. She put in the dedication. She was resilient. She never gave up, and now look at her. See when you plant those seeds, eventually you reap the harvest. However, you cannot uproot the seeds before they grow. If you do, you’ll have nothing but a handful of useless seeds. 

Oscar Micheaux with members of his crew on a film set

Those who know me personally know I have an obsession with Meryl Streep. Now, it’s not because she’s an amazing actress which she is. But my obsession is because she is one of the hardest working female pioneers in Hollywood. I admire that. I admire the fact that she’s her own woman. She’s her own artist, and she refuses to allow anyone to defy or alter that based on their own preconceived perceptions. ICONIC! That’s why she’s a boss. 

If more artists took this approach, imagine how incredible content would be. Believe it or not, films change lives. Music alters our emotions. Visual art makes us think. Dance forces us to feel. Literature pushes us to make difficult decisions. Acting provides us with a human, inner reflection, and photography allows us to treasure those charitable moments. Remember that the next time you watch a television show on Netflix or go to the movies. Remember that the next time you read a novel or attend a Beyonce concert. Remember that the next time you minimize an artist and his or her ability to create.

“Everything we say signifies; everything counts, that we put out into the world. It impacts on kids, it impacts on the zeitgeist of the time. “ - Meryl Streep 

The Queen of Hollywood: MERYL STREEP

Perception: The Mythical Costume

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge fan of actress Shannen Doherty. She’s incredible! Plus, she can act. I loved her character in Girls Just Want to Have Fun. I loved her in Beverly Hills, 90210. I adored her in Charmed. I’m sorry, but the show sucked after Prue was killed. However, I find it interesting how strong minded individuals retain bad wraps because of their inability to conform. While it is not to say that Doherty didn’t have her share of problems, I think the deeper issue is our society’s innate complacency in vilifying outspoken people. 

I’ve seen this play out many times in my own personal life. After directing “3 Blind Boys”, I was branded by some as difficult or rather “demanding.” I used to hate that word “demanding” because it represented negativity. I would always think back to Doherty and the Hollywood stories behind the scenes on her hit television shows like Charmed and 90210. But then I started to examine myself, and I realized that when you demand the best for yourself, you hold everyone you’re around to that same caliber or standard. 

(Pictured: L to R: Alyssa Milano “Phoebe”, Shannen Doherty “Prue”, and Holly Maries Combs “Piper” in Charmed)

As an artist, I feel that it is my duty to pour my heart and soul into anything I do regardless of what others might say, think, or feel. It is my duty to work. It is my duty to tell the most authentic story. So yes, when someone says I’m demanding. They’re right, but the connotation behind it is full of nothing but positivity. I believe in excellence. Point, blank, period. I believe that regardless of what type of project one might find themselves part of, you should put your best foot forward. You shouldn’t demand anything less than your best. 

(Pictured: L to R: Jennie Garth, Ian Ziering, Tori Spelling, Jason Priestley, Brian Austin Green, Gabrielle Carteris, & Shannen Doherty in a 2019 promotional photo for BH 90201 reboot)

Recently, a reboot has since emerged with Doherty starring as a heightened version of herself in BH 90210. I’m ecstatic because I’m only tuning in each week for her. No shade to the rest of the cast, but they are irrelevant to me. I think what I find interesting is despite the others addition to the show, Doherty was the piece that enhanced the success of this reboot. The demanding, troublemaker is boosting ratings. She’s had the least amount of screen time, but yet she’s captivated my attention so greatly that I find myself rewinding the timeline on Hulu just to see her scenes replay. She’s a terrific actress. Brilliant. 

I grew up watching Beverly Hills, 90210. Unfortunately, by the time I was old enough to develop character favorites the show was in its 8th or 9th season. My sister was always a big Brenda Walsh fan, and I became one too simply because I always thought Doherty was very pretty. 

But I’ll be honest, my true love for the character of Brenda Walsh has only recently blossomed. For the last several weeks, I’ve found myself binge watching early seasons of Beverly Hills, 90210. I see why the show was considered timely for its debut back in the 1990s. It dealt with racism, misogyny, sexuality, alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide, and teen pregnancy all within the show’s first two seasons. That’s wild!  

(Pictured: Vivica A. Fox in Season 2, Episode 9 “Ashes to Ashes” on Beverly Hills, 902010)

I thought it was dope to see the Season 2 episode entitled “Ashes to Ashes” feature several critically acclaimed African-American actors like Richard Roundtree (Shaft) and Vivica A. Fox (Two Can Play That Game, Empire). The episode neatly dealt with race, and this is why Brenda Walsh has my undying love. Out of all the characters on the show, Brenda embraced the Ashes who were the black family that moved next door to the Walshes. She challenged her own brother, Brandon on his own racial biases and prejudices. She even graced her beautiful, physical presence into the hood of South Los Angeles with no concern for her own livelihood. I thought this act of character was DOPE! 

There are countless episodes showing Brenda’s fearlessness as an individual. She speaks her mind. She doesn’t mince words. She’s intune with her emotions. She’s able to see things from a wide lens perspective, and she has no problem admitting to her own mistakes. She’s the only character out of the group which included “Brandon” (Jason Priestly), “Andrea” (Gabrielle Carteris), “Steve” (Ian Ziering), “Donna” (Tori Spelling), “David” (Brian Austin Green), and “Dylan” portrayed by the late Luke Perry to actually be honest about who she was no matter the cost. 

(Pictured: Shannen Doherty as “Brenda Walsh” in Beverly Hills, 90210)

In life, we slowly murder ourselves in order to fit the mythical, perceptive costumes people force us into rather than focusing on what makes “us” unique. A week ago, I was asked to sing at church. I hadn’t been in almost two months as I’m taking a sabbatical away from toxic energy. Unfortunately, my church is in transition like many others of this day and age, I purposely chose to remove myself from the toxicity. It’s been great. However, falling back in line with the toxic nature of those folks was not my idea of a good time. 

Anyway, I got to church late because I hadn’t been sleeping well. I didn’t feel well, and I honestly could have laid my fat behind on the pulpit pew and fall asleep. When I arrived there were no seats in the back for me to sit. The leader told me to sit up front. I declined because I knew I was sluggish, and I didn’t want to sit up front looking crazy. Yes, we live stream our services! LOL! 

My first thought was to ask the others on the back row to move down, but then after getting the evil eye from every single person sitting up there I opted to sit in the hallway. Child, when I tell you my election to remove myself from a potentially climactic situation resulted in hurt feelings. Two women came to me expressing remorse for my lack of welcome. I honestly wanted to say “bitch, can’t you see I’m not in the mood right now.” It’s like people always assume shit is about them when really it’s about you. I was so exhausted my eyes were swollen shut.  A simple “awe, Bob I hope you feel better soon, love” would have sufficed. Needless to say, my spirit was vexed the rest of the day. 

Later that day, I sat in the car sleeping while my mom window shopped. I had been to church, but I hadn’t received a thing spiritually. I decided to turn on my YouTube Gospel playlist. Bruce Parham’s “Call On Jesus” came on. Now that’s one of my favorite songs, but boy was it even more powerful in that moment. I found myself in tears. I realized that when people hurt you, you truly must give them over to God. Your spirit is often vexed in these toxic situations because you take on those individuals energy. If someone mistreats you, it says more about them than it does you. LIGHT BULB MOMENT! 

Have you ever been disappointed by people Who call themselves your friends Said they had your back Through thick and thin I know just how you feel When your so called friends let you down If you call on Jesus He'll be there Have you ever had your back up

This made sense because out of all the people I came across while sick, lying in the choir loft until it was time for me to sing. A sweet, sister friend of mine “Lisa” sat next to me before she headed back into the choir stand. We laughed and talked. She could see I was exhausted, so she cracked jokes. She had me in that seat smiling and laughing like nobody’s business. It was a refreshing experience. Beautiful. I sat and thought about that moment while listening to the song, and I realized that those are the precious moments we must hold on to. My therapist always says to “reframe your thought processing.” She’s absolutely right. 

I know to some I may come off as honest, independent, and maybe even a little “bitter.” I assure you I’m not. I’m just tired of the bullshit. I’m going to unapologetically speak my mind. I’m going to tell you how I feel. I’m going to be honest and transparent about who I am regardless if you agree with it or not. I don’t care. I’m like Brenda Walsh. Why should I lie about my feelings? Nope. Nope. Nope. 

Thank you, Shannen Doherty for reminding me through your portrayal of “Brenda” that it is okay to be unapologetically you. As a matter of fact, it rocks and I salute you for always upholding that standard even for yourself as an actress.

When the perception you give to the world is dressed in the form of a costume, it is time for you to strip nude and remember why you’re the unique, unapologetic king or queen that you are! 

Nobody Knows It

I made the conscious mistake to watch an episode of Black-ish on Hulu. The episode entitled “Black Like Me” dealt with an extremely sensitive topic within the black community - COLORISM. 

(Pictured: Tracee Ellis Ross and Jenifer Lewis, Blackish, Courtesy of HULU)

I am a dark complected, African-American man living in an environment where the hue of my skin is still demonized in 2019. It’s interesting how this subject still brings out feelings of discomfort, annoyance, and angst especially within the black community. I know because I experienced it firsthand with my mother. After watching the episode for the first time, I ran into her room to show her the scene that made my heart drop outside my chest. Actress, Jenifer Lewis reiterates in a heated argument with “Bow” played by Tracee Ellis Ross how it makes her feel to be called a “monster.” In this context, “Ruby” Jenifer Lewis’s character expresses to Bow that she both empathizes and sympathizes with Bow’s daughter “Diane” who’s struggling with being the darkest person in her family. Lewis should have earned an Emmy win for her performance in that scene alone because I felt her pain. I too have been called my share of demonic names by my own people. 

Example of a dark, complected African-American man

(Courtesy of Pinterest)

Most recently, I befriended a young man named “Tony.”  We’ve been “frenemies” for the past six months, well it will be 6 months in August. My Aunt Dee always says it takes 6 months to a year to get to know someone. However, I can say that this new found relationship is probably the most complex I’ve ever had. You see “Tony” represents a side of black manhood I’ve always envied. He’s light, bright, damn near white. He’s what many young men and women call “a pretty boy.” But I digress.

Needless to say, when we began our friendship it seemed odd because we naturally come from two different worlds. He hails from a conservative, Seventh-Day Adventist upbringing while I come from a liberal, Lutheran/Baptist/Methodist/Presbyterian upbringing. He doesn’t share certain things with his mom or dad. I share everything with my mom and dad right down to the moment I lost my virginity. That discussion is for another blog post. Lol! We’re different. He’s a suit, tie, loafers type of guy. I’m a sneakers, flip flops, sweatpants kind of dude. He loves basketball or rather his Warriors, and I love Queen Latifah & opera. Popularity is important to him. Acceptance is important to me. We’re different. Yet, God brought us together. Why? I think because there are elements we can learn from one another to further grow ourselves. However, both parties must be receptive to that idea. You could have give me a “heads up” on that one God. :)

I would be lying if I didn’t say this, but I’ve felt great envy & jealousy toward “Tony” as he came into the fold in my social circle. I watched how he was treated, and there’s a difference in what’s accepted of him versus someone who looks like me. The expectations are not equally aligned, and colorism has something to do with it. Think about it. Pay attention to how a light complected individual is treated in a situation versus one who’s dark. It’s astonishing, and it has nothing to do with Tony, but everything to do with the issue of  black colorism within our community. 

Example of a light, complected African-American man (Courtesy of Pinterest)

The black community is unique in its fight for equal rights against the white man, however we often neglect our own war back home. Why is that we crack jokes on one another “light skinned vs. dark skinned”? Why is it that light skinned women are said to have better hair than dark skinned women? Why are we still talking among our peers with such profane distaste for one another, yet in the same breath we’re all we got?  We’re supposed to be fighting for equal rights, and yet, we don’t even respect nor like one another. WHAT THE FUCK? Something has got to change. 

The colorism issue is prevalent in our community, and it needs to be addressed. I think the thing I despise about the South is the lack of discussion, fight, motivation, or full throttled drive to make change in the black community. We meet. We eat. We talk. But have we changed anything? At least, I haven’t seen any major changes especially in Nashville. All I see are white, neo-conservative, racist liberals moving into predominantly black neighborhoods kicking us out on our butts. I see black employees underpaid and overworked while white employees with barely a high school diploma are out here “living their best life.” Yet, there are leaders within this same black community not doing a damn thing to make change happen because the majority of the people are okay with it. Change cannot occur if one does not want it. It must be something deeply desired not forced. 

Pictured: Members of “The Phoenix Troupe” featuring from L to R - Alan Nettles, Keo Brown, Mario Charles, Megan Broadnax, & Lynn Slusher (Credit: William Jenkins)

I go to a church where the issue of colorism, heir, and class play a major part in the social breakdown of the church. If you’re wealthy, you automatically are accepted into the top of the social food chain. If you’re a generational Adventist with a lineage, you’re on the next tier of popularity. If you’re beautiful in the eyes of others than you get an honorary seat next to the wealthy, and if you do what you’re told you may get a seat at the back table. But if you’re dark, poor, and uneducated- you are at the very bottom of the social food chain. In India, they call it “the undesirables.” 

Well, my mom is educated. She has two advanced degrees, but we lived in the hood. I went to public school most of my life. My dad didn’t pay for shit, and my mom ran the household. She’s a black woman living in the South financially making less than half her worth. She has no control over it. I guess that means we’re undesirables, and oh we did not grow up in the denomination so that’s three strikes against our social status. Yet, this is a black church with many Civil Rights pioneers & powerful leaders within the black, Nashville community. What are we missing? What’s wrong with this picture? 

This paradigm of social existence did not become clear to me until a few weeks back. A major wedding occurred at my church which is not out of the ordinary around this time of the year. Anyone who is anyone within the young adult community attended the wedding & reception, I however was not invited. I actually was okay with it because I don’t like parties, and I’m not a big fan of the bride. She’s a jerk in my opinion, so it probably wouldn’t be in my best interest to celebrate with her on her big day. I’d be throwing “Tami Roman” shade rolling my eyes, sipping tea the entire time. LMBO!

The thing that struck all of my fragile nerves was the fact that Tony went and celebrated with the bride/groom. Now granted he may have a different relationship with them than I, but in my mind, I felt an initial betrayal because of the way this group treats outsiders, innocent bystanders. Remember the social food chain I described above. Well, those of the upper echelon were solely in attendance. No one else, and that’s usually how social events go at this particular church. Tony is a self-proclaimed preacher, fighter of injustice, and he’s hobnobbing with fake murmurers who literally birthed the definition of the term.  In that moment, I was enraged because I believe that the only way to take a stand against injustice such as that is by saying “no” to it. I’m vocal. I’m loud. I’m honest. However, I’m realizing that not everyone is like that. 

To top it off, on that particular night I was having a depressive episode. I have Chronic Depression. I see a counselor, and I take medication which is monitored by a licensed psychiatrist who also has Depression. I will live with the disease for the rest of my life, but it is not a death sentence. I tried to commit suicide over three times. I should be dead, but thank God I’m here to tell my story. Yes, this black brother believes in mental health therapy and treatment. This was a personal story I shared with Tony. Unfortunately, when I contacted him about it I found out he was at this “prissy” wedding. You can imagine the back and forth that occurred between the two of us. I’m in a dark place and Tony’s buzz is getting blown. Smh! What a bad combination?!

Caption: “Me” (Photo Credit: Patti Vinson Photography)

The argument started off with me being annoyed with him for attending the wedding, and then it turned into the fact that I was hurt that this “fake” wedding was more important to him than our friendship. I’m struggling in need of my friend’s shoulder to lean on, and he blows me off for a wedding. The disgusting thing is most of those folks do not know the struggles he’s currently having behind closed doors and wouldn’t piss on the boy if he was on fire. Yet, he blew me off for them. Wow, shit like that makes you wonder about our priorities. And, guess what? These are two, strong-minded, African-American men quarreling when we should be supporting one another. 

It gets later and later until I finally say to him “call me, we need to chat.” We stop texting, and this boy calls. The gloves are on. He immediately comes at me in a defensive tone, and then calls me out my name. East Buffalo brazed itself into my flesh. I cussed him the fuck out in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The conversation got extremely real, and you know what I’m glad it did. We finally admitted that we’re not meant to be friends. He wants a lifestyle I detest.  He said he can’t be a vocal, open person like me. I can accept that. We realized that there’s no trust. We don’t equally trust one another. We don’t equally see one another for their worth, and this is where colorism comes into the picture. When I befriended this young man, I went all in rather than taking my time to assess the friendship. This is sometimes the worst thing you can do in a relationship of any kind because if that person isn’t feeling you like that it doesn’t matter what you say or do. The relationship will be one sided. For instance, were I’d scream to the mountaintops that Tony is one of my best & probably only male friend. He damn sure was not going to even admit that he liked or even saw me as a friend, let alone scream to the world that we’re best friends. That shit wasn’t happening, and let me tell you it was a hard pill to swallow. 

But it did do something for me. It taught me that no matter what, my soul is beautiful. I am a dark complected, African-American man. I am 5’11 and 315 lbs. I have broad shoulders, and I can’t wear fitted suits or skinny jeans. But I am me. I smile. I sing. I’m an artist. I hate sports, especially football, but I’m a good friend. I’m extremely loyal. Just because I don’t fit the right mold to be considered an upstanding black man in my current social community does not mean I am not one. I say all of this to say be who you are meant to be. There was a moment that I considered turning myself into one of those “fake” robots that prance around my church with no clear conscious of who they are or what they truly believe in. Then I thought to myself “nay.” Imagine the amount of loneliness, sorrow, and despair each must feel when they return to their living quarters alone in their room. When they have to see themselves in the mirror, they don’t like what they see. I never want to live my life like that, and so I’ve allowed my friendship with Tony to fly. If he chooses to be a good friend to me, so be it. But I will not chase after his friendship. I’m better than that. We’re all better than that. 

Sincerely,

bobby

The Popularity Syndrome

Photo Credit: The cast of The Breakfast Club (1985) directed by John Hughes/Google Images

Have you ever felt alone or abandoned? Well, if you’re anything like me you’ll recognize that I have. Recently, I’ve noticed how much my confident, turnitive nature makes passive aggressive people uncomfortable. I live in an environment where it isn’t necessarily the popular thing to be honest and transparent. A person can completely disregard one’s feelings, and when given the opportunity to confront the individual about it he or she ignores the “elephant in the room” to avoid conflict. That’s not me. However, it doesn’t make you the most popular person in the room. 

The flipside of the coin is I’m a natural leader. While I know it is a blessing, I’d be lying if I didn’t say it often feels like a curse. As I’ve mentioned in some of my past blog posts, I was among the popular crowd at my high school. It was a status I think I received by default because I chose to mask myself. I missed out on doing things that I loved because I was popular, and I knew that if I allowed myself to be 100% me I would no longer have any friends. Thankfully, this trend did not follow me to college. God has a serious sense of humor. My senior year of high school, my entire world crashed before my very eyes. My “nana” who practically was my 2nd parent passed away. My mother was in the middle of her third marriage, and it was BAD. My grandfather was struggling with Parkinson’s Disease & Diabetes. Although I am black, and let me be the first to tell you that the stereotype of “strong, African-American families” is just that a “stereotype.” My nuclear family has always been small. Do I have other family members? Yes, but that doesn’t mean when there’s a crisis they’re there to support. It’s just the cards we were dealt.  With all this going on, I ended up being my grandmother’s caretaker. I was with her up until the very moment she died, and it crushed my soul. I graduated high school without the one person who’d been the most supportive person in my life. 

You’d think a swarm of people surrounded me at this vulnerable moment in my life. I was popular. I was a member of the Pop Ensemble. But they didn’t. This was my wake-up call that popularity is overrated. When I went away to college in the fall, I went through one of the darkest moments of my life. My very first day of school I received a call that my grandfather passed away. A month later my maternal grandfather suffered a massive stroke and was placed in a nursing home which he remained for several months until his death the following year. I had no idea what “grief” looked like or what grief counseling consisted of. I had no idea what mental health looked like even though my mother has always been a huge advocate. Since it didn’t directly affect me, I put that part of her life behind me. I chose to walk around believing nothing was wrong, and unfortunately because of my Christian background I would hear things like “I pray the spirit of depression and oppression out of your body.” And, I thought that was enough. Now, I’m all for prayer. But God puts mental health professionals on this planet for a reason. Prayer is awesome, but you also have to be proactive as well which means get professional help. It was a feisty, 4’9 Jewish professor with the largest unibrow I’d ever seen sit me in her box corner office to discuss mental health more particularly my own. WHAT?! She had a little pamphlet about counseling, and explained to me the importance of seeking help. She failed me that semester too, and I absolutely deserved it. However, she has remained a prominent professor in my corner since. With help from God, I went to counseling and learned more about myself than I ever had before. It was as if a dark cloud shifted away from my backyard. 

That summer I returned home to Nashville, and I remember losing friends left & right. Some will say I had a big head, others still to this day say “I have a chip on my shoulder.” But I will tell you, “I started speaking up for myself.” Counseling taught me to be more assertive and honest about my feelings. It helped nurture the need for me to be 100% honest and transparent with myself. I’d always been the popular one who went along with the status quo even though I had my own thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I never questioned what others in that crew said or did. That changed, and guess what? The circle changed as well. 

I encourage my brothers & sisters to start looking deeper in the mirror. Refute the popularity syndrome: the need to be liked by iconic, ignorant, asinine asses. At the end of the day, if you’re in your darkest moment and you can’t call on your “popular” friends to be in your corner then let me ask you this question. Are you really popular?

To be or not to be FAKE

(Pictured: L to R: Megan Broadnax, Mariah Tibbs, Shanae Edwards, & Me)

The Late Mrs. Dorothy E. Craige Williams with whom I called “Nana”

You know I have always prided myself on “keeping it real” or as NeNe Leakes puts it “tell it like it is” not that even she herself does that on a regular basis. *Cough, cough* Lol! But I digress. I’ve been in a season of transitions. I graduated from college a few weeks ago. I’m entering a new stage in my production company. I turned 26, and now I’m about to be a future brother-in law. YUCK! Yes, I’m not in support of my sister’s wedding. However, I don’t want this post to be about that.

I was raised by extremely strong, independent, wise African-American women. My grandmother whom I called “Nana” was a G.I. baby. Look it up. She grew up during the Depression and Second World War. She taught me so many things, and one of those things was to be 100% true to myself know matter what. She didn’t use the term “fake”, but in laymen’s terms that’s basically what she meant. My mother implemented this philosophy into her parenting style. When all the other mom’s on Sunday morning let their five year old boys sleep on their lap during the sermon. My mom would say “get up, you’re not a baby. You can lay on the pew.” Now some will criticize and say “she’s mean.” However, she wasn’t.

(Pictured: L to R: Marie, Uncle Rob, & Me, Circa 2013)

My Uncle Robert sadly is a suffering crack addict, HIV positive, partially paralyzed, and homeless this is the reason why my mom was so tough on me. My uncle was an extremely talented child. He had the voice of an angel. He was light and pretty. The girls and guys thought he was hot stuff. I heard so many stories about him growing up, but his narrative took a dark turn as he grew older. Uncle Rob received so much praise as a kid that it crippled him. He never had to work for anything. People never corrected him because they believed he was a “god.” Unfortunately, he wasn’t and through his own trials/tribulations he succumb to a life of despair and anguish. He never was true to himself because he didn’t know himself. He only knew what persona he put out in public to remain popular and cute. It’s a burden he lives with to this day at 52 years old.

(Pictured: L to R: Marie, Mom, & Me)

My mom said that experience taught her to never put any human being on a pedestal. The only being she places on that level is God, and she was adamant about that. Recently, I’ve had old friendships deteriorate.  I call myself a conspiracy theorist. I always have to know “why”, but I realized I would rather have no friends and be 100% true to myself than have 100 friends and I don’t know who the fuck I am.

(Pictured: Marie & Me, Circa 1993)

When my mom got pregnant with me, her husband was so angry he asked her to have an abortion. Having already went through that with him, my mom said “no.” Yes, they were married for you “churchy” snot nosed folks with nothing positive to speak about other people and their journeys in life. Years later, mom told me that God came to her in a dream. He said, “I will be everything you need me to be. You’re going to raise your son alone, but I’m going to be with you every step of the way.” That was over 26 years ago.

In all honesty, while turning 26 isn’t the most popular age it is the age when the “light bulb” goes off in your brain. Let me start by saying my actual birthday was nice. I received a plethora of emails, text messages, phone calls, and social media posts yet I didn’t feel loved. Why? It didn’t come from the people I wanted it to come from, and when that moment struck my brain the light clicked.

I thoroughly have to shout out my friends who made the pilgrimage to the movies with me to celebrate my birthday. Can you believe it? The filmmaker went to the movies on his special day. My family and I saw Rocketman, the new Elton John biopic. Often in life, we focus on the people who don’t show us affection. We wrap our entire lives into the nonexistent, cold frames of a fragmented friendship just to feel the deep, rooted love we have for that individual. It is one of the most painful things to feel when that amount of love is not reciprocated. I should know. I’ve been there. I’ve been nurturing a friendship with someone who I thought was going to be a root in my life, and after careful consideration I realized he’s a rodent seeking to devour the seeds that I’ve planted in my life. My best friend “Giselle” always said that skunks are rodents with a cute outfit, and she is correct. My parents mean the absolute world to me, and so does my sister even though I could totally drop kick her right now. Marie, you are not ready to get married. Okay. Sorry, I’m back. LOL!

Thankfully, I caught this creature and had him exterminated before he caused any permanent damage. Yes, I can beat a metaphor to death.  We get ourselves so wrapped up in those unreciprocated feelings that we neglect those who do truly care for us. To my friends “Jess”, “Ebony”, and “Bre” I am sorry. I love you very much, and I’m going to do better about staying in touch. You’ve been good to me. You see, what I mean? I’ve spent the last eight weeks cultivating a doomed relationship with some fool over spending quality time with my bestie “Jess.” Jess, with her baby in tow, in the rain, walked over several miles to attend my graduation. She knew how miserable I was, and how alone I felt that she surprised me at church afterwards. She wrote the most affirming things in my card, and I felt 100% loved. Yet, I still felt betrayed because my other friend didn’t show that type of affection. Then I became angry. Then I became mad. All in all, I’m neglecting my dear friend who has been in my corner right from the start. As human beings, it is easy to get stuck.

(Pictured: Actress, Bryce Dallas Howard portraying the role of “Sheila John” in Rocketman (2019)

We want love from certain people so bad that we truly lose sight of those who love us to our core. This was a recurring theme in Rocketman. The lack of love Elton John received from his mother, father, and companion gravely affected him. He eventually had to let go of that love loss and accept the love that others showed him. It got me thinking about my birthday.  I never usually celebrate because I’m constantly disappointed in the turn out. Certain friends never show up, or something drastic occurs that threatens the entire mood of the day. This is why I’ve done 5 years without celebrating my birthday with friends aside from my mom who is the ultimate best friend. It took a large amount of courage to invite others to share in my special day, and while many could not attend for whatever reason I still felt the love from those who could. I love my peeps: Cillea, Meg, & Nae. In fact, I had one dear friend “Mimi” who babysat one of my close friend’s children just so she could attend my gathering. Now mind you both ladies were invited, but I thought that was the nicest, selfless gesture someone could make. I love you, Tibbs!

I say all of this to say, never lose yourself in the lost love of others, but dwell on the love shared by those who make a positive difference in your life.

Charles Christian said it best, “sometimes in order to have peace, you gotta stop fooling with people you love & start fooling with people who love you.”

All of Me

The more you gain by pretending the more you lose in the end. Some people you believe are in your corner could also be plotting your demise like Jafar in Aladdin. Be cautious, careful, and courageous to make the right decision of what company you keep. As I reach the age of 26, I’ve found myself unpopular among my peers. Now mind you in high school, I was a member of the “B Clique” so I was fairly popular. However, I realized that popularity only takes you so far. The people who were truly in my corner were not the ones I thought would be. I see this played out all the time. I recently had this discussion with a close friend.

We agreed to disagree on the character of an individual. He says “she’s a Godly Black Queen.” I on the other said “she’s an evil b**ch.” Lol! Don’t act like you’ve never used that word. But I digress. I’m sorry, but when you mistreat people I love and care about I can’t support your political ploy to be seen as some kind individual. This little girl although she really is a grown woman is the type of person to throw rocks and hide her hands. I can’t respect that, but like I told my friend we can agree to disagree.

The disagreement didn’t discourage me. I’m not the kind of person to sway people to like others based on my own perception. I want those individuals to find out for themselves, and sometimes I pray that I’m wrong. I truly hope the person has a major transformation, but usually that doesn’t happen. Yet, it is quite frustrating when you bear witness to people you love be fooled, swirling around in the mud with swine. However, yeah I tend to use that word a lot “however.” But you all feel me I’m sure.

My mom dragged me to a wedding this weekend. One of her best childhood friend’s son got married. It was a beautiful wedding, but I constantly pondered drifted thoughts throughout the ceremony. As we made our way to the cocktail hour, I noticed how we put exterior masks over ourselves to hide our inner truth. Let me break it down for you. People are so afraid to show the world their true reflection because of fear that the world won’t accept them.

I think it’s the one thing that keeps us from living life to the fullest. We should be as free as a dancing queen twirling around on her wedding day.In other news, congratulations to the happy couple. I think love is a beautiful thing even though I’m so not ready to receive it. Yes, I said it. People constantly assume things about my sexual identity and partners. Guess what? It’s none of your damn business.

However, I tell folks who ask that I’m not mentally mature enough for a serious commitment. If I’m not where I need to be with self, I cannot bring another individual into the equation.

I think we as a society rush into marriage for different reasons. Some are seeking protection. Others are looking for status, and then there are those fanatical Christians who feel guilty about “doing it in the back” that they must take those vows so they can have guilt free sex. That last one cracks me up. Then there are those who are really ready to take that next step. That was definitely the case with Karlton and Norma. The two had a 10 year romance of ups and downs, but finally made it to the altar. It was such a beautiful experience watching this couple take their next step as husband and wife.

To all of my brothers and sisters especially millennials, don’t rush into a serious relationship. Make sure you are mentally and spiritually mature enough to receive whatever man or woman God has for you. Lastly, be sure not to swirl around in the mud with swine because you will return to your feet drenched in trash. Literally!

I’m out.

BOBBY

Celebrate Black Artistry

(Pictured: Shanae Edwards & Mario Charles at a creative artist meeting in Nashville, TN)

I just got off the road from an enlightening drive, and I’m realizing that there’s a lack of support for creative artists within the black community. I’m blessed. My mom is an opera singer, pianist, writer, and actress. My father is an incredible composer, pianist, actor, tap dancer, and vocalist. My sister is a terrific visual artist. I definitely come from a line of creative artists. The bug for artistry has always been apart of my bloodline. I never realized how blessed I was until now. Don’t take it the wrong way my fellow believers. I know I’m blessed, but in terms of the support I’ve received from my parents I’m definitely blessed. My mom and dad have been extremely supportive of my career in film. In 2013, I changed my entire major from Psychology to Film Production. I had to restart my entire program, and I was heading into my junior year of college. Instead of challenging my bold career decision, both of my parents supported me 100%. In fact, I think my dad was more excited about my chosen career in film than he was about psychology. Go figure! LOL! But I digress. My first Christmas home dad bought me a ton of books about filmmaking, and started calling me the next Spielberg-Wilder. Thank you for the nod father. My mom pushed me to pursue every opportunity possible. It didn’t matter if my career took me to Prague or Detroit. I knew my parents would be behind me 100% of the way.

It wasn’t until I had to relocate back to Nashville in 2015 that I realized how fortunate I was to have parents who supported the arts. I wrote, directed, and produced a short film entitled “3 Blind Boys on the Block.” We literally tore my mother’s house apart to shoot the film. She cooked for the entire cast and crew for 5 full days of shooting. She even opened her bedroom to the female cast members and utilized it as a dressing room. What struck the entire cast and crew was her joy…

One cast member said “my mother would never allow me to use her home to shoot a film.” My mom loved having the cast and crew at her humble home. As I began to dive into the industry in Nashville, I came across so many colleagues who constantly had to fight with their loved ones to prove their worth as creative artists. Really? I’ve heard things like “that’s just a hobby” or “you need to get a real job.” I wonder if these same critics ever stopped to think what life would be like without creative artists. No music. No television. No movie theaters. No books. No magazines. No internet. No musicians to play Sabbath or Sunday service. Nothing. zip. I mean the list could go on and on. Yet, we criticize and demean creative artists because they don’t have normal jobs like doctors and lawyers. I began to question this foolish belief and challenge it.

(Pictured: Mezzo-Sopranos, Shirley Verrett & Grace Bumbry)

My best friend “Alexandra” is a phenomenal singer. She could compete with the likes of Whitney Houston, Aretha Franklin, and Phyllis Hyman. She is badass. Yet, I’ve watched her suffer in silence over the years due to the lack of support she’s received for her artistry. It’s not to say that her loved ones are horrible people. It’s just they do not understand her artistry and how it makes her who she is. I have another dear friend “Michelle” who’s an amazing actress. I get goosebumps every single time I see her perform. We were working on an audition with a new actor, and she had me experiencing a slew of emotions throughout the different improvisational exercises she used during the audition. Girlfriend could give Meryl Streep a run for her money. Yes, she’s just that good. Yet, she’s known for singing. One person even said “I didn’t know Michelle could act. I figured she just sang alto in the choir at church.” While that person didn’t mean to degrade an artist’s work, he actually did by negating the talent that Michelle exudes when she performs onstage or on the big screen.

I’ve seen this occur repeatedly with friends and colleagues especially in the black community. We support future basketball and football players hoping they’ll make it to the big leagues. But we won’t support a future concert cellist or thespian actor. Not realizing how important artistry is to the black community. Think about the last 20th century: Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Hattie McDaniel, Ethel Waters, James Baldwin, James Earl Jones, Cicely Tyson, Diahann Carroll, Bill Cosby, Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Leontyne Price, Grace Bumbry, Shirley Verrett, and the list continues. These artists were black, and made major transformational change in our community through their artistry. Where they perfect? No. But did they provide something pivotal to the progression of the African-American culture? Yes.

We have to stop placing black creative artists in a box. It’s unhealthy, and it isn’t natural. Another colleague of mine is an actor with potential. He doesn’t have a lot of training, but he truly has the skill to be a terrific actor in his own right. He’s one of the first black male actors to portray Medgar Evers in an original Broadway production. Yes, Medgar Evers. That’s AMAZING! But the industry isn’t utilizing him. The industry isn’t utilizing Michelle or Alexandra. We must change the industry for the better. We cannot expect White America to support our artists. We have to support our creative artists. We must celebrate them and their worth. We must teach them the business aspect to their craft, and encourage them to continue moving forward. No pun intended. LoL!

One thing that irritates me about the millennial generation, and yes I know I’m a millennial. I’m really an old soul, but that’s another story. Lol! What irritates me about my generation is we have no patience. We want something for nothing. Your artistry takes work. It takes years to develop. Your big break is not just going to hit you at the front door as soon as you step outside the frame. Life doesn’t work that way. Social media and the aspect of going viral says otherwise, but it provides a false sense of security. I encourage every struggling artist to take every opportunity they can and make it into something great. The money will come. Remember Viola Davis hasn’t always been the Annalise Keating we love and know today. She had to start somewhere. It’s important for artists to recognize that anything priceless is worth fighting for. I think that’s why I created Moving4ward Productions. I wanted there to be a platform for upcoming black creative artists to get the opportunity to sink their feet into something incredible. I’m not one who thinks “well, no one helped me so you gotta figure it out for yourself.” No, no, no! It is my job to support the next generation. God gave me the gift so that I may be a blessing to others. What good does it do for me to hold onto my gifts for self?

This is a true story. There was a woman by the name of Tina. Tina was a beautiful woman who doesn’t think she’s attractive. Unfortunately, she’s married to a narcissist. If you don’t know what that means, look it up. :) Tina has a voice that is unmatchable. She is gifted to the 10th degree as one might say. When she sings the hairs on your skin stand up, and if you don’t have any hair that shit still stands up. Yep, I said it. That’s how incredible she is as a singer, and guess what? Tina refuses to sing. She will not sing solo. She barely will lend her voice in an ensemble because she received so much backlash in her own community. She wasn’t encouraged. She wasn’t uplifted. She wasn’t affirmed. She wasn’t celebrated. Instead, she was mocked. She was mistreated. She was deeply hurt, and now a talent remains in solitary confinement. Think about the people, the lives she’ll never reach because her gift is locked away in a far away tower like a princess waiting to be rescued.

This is why it is so important for us as a community to support the arts. Give back even if you can’t support financially, you can support through affirmation and confirmation. You can support by going to all the local shows. You can support by lending encouraging words when artists like myself feel defeated. You can support by claiming the inevitable. “You will make it to the Oscars and win Michelle.” “You will win a Grammy and sell out concert halls across the globe, Alexandra.” “You will invoke emotion and stir the soul as Othello, Charlie.” These are the statements we should utter to fellow black creative artists. Even if you secretly believe the dream is dead, do not discourage someone else from reaching their destiny. You can be on your way to a breakthrough in the arts, but if you veer off from the corner you’ll never reach your destination.

“ I always talk to all the crew. I always make it pleasant. I always nurture a relationship that makes people feel like they're important, like they're a part of the collaboration. I feel that way about the young actors on set. I don't talk to them like I'm the mentor; I talk to them like they're my peers. And I learned that from Meryl Streep.” - Academy Award Winner, Viola Davis

7:37

Yesterday, at 7:37 PM (CST) a man was pronounced dead. His name was Don Johnson, and he was an elder within the Seventh-Day Adventist Church. Johnson was scheduled to be executed by the State of Tennessee. One of my best friends, a man I call “Twin” has been leading the call to support Johnson in a battle to end capital punishment. Now the reason while I call him “Twin” is for 3 reasons. (1.) We’re both Geminis, and our birthdays are 17 days apart. (2.) We both have genuine hearts for the people in our world. (3.) We are so different in so many ways it's hilarious we’re friends. Most twins do not have the same personalities. The way I see it “Twin” and I have separate God given gifts and talents, but when we come together we are much more powerful with the purpose God designed for both of our lives. I love my twin. I hope you’re reading this.

I’ve watched Twin spend countless hours and time rallying local diplomats, pastors, ministers, elders, people from all walks of life together to help save Johnson’s life. I found myself troubled as I had conflicted feelings about the entire ordeal, but I wanted to support my brother. It wasn’t until last night as the hour drew near to Johnson’s execution that I realized how important it is for us as human beings to love and forgive. I sat in a prayer service and watched countless people weep over the life that would soon be taken from this world. It broke my heart. My adopted grandmother with whom I call “Grams” cried and cried as she had a close bond with Johnson. This loss affected so many people, and it was then that I realized how significant this battle had been. Johnson truly was a man of God. Regardless of the mistakes he made in the past, the fact that he allowed God to change him and to see that change manifest itself into ministry is nothing short of a miracle. As I supported my loved ones through this loss, I found myself shedding tears over the loss. I began to reflect on “what if that was my brother” or someone I deeply cared about. I then wept because “my God, how blessed and highly favored am I to be in the position I am in.” When my pastor exclaimed that Johnson gave his last meal to the homeless, I screamed inside. I wept.

I find it interesting that it is in peaceful, serene, quiet moments like the prayer service held Thursday night when the true presence of the Holy Spirit dwells among the people. Now this is not to say that the Holy Spirit doesn’t dwell on Sabbaths or Sundays, but it always baffled me at how so many of us get caught up in the dogma of our Christian denominations that we forget the intimacy of being a Christian. We lose sight of the importance. We forget about the fruits of the spirit. We forget about the power of love and forgiveness. Most importantly, we forget all of these things each moment we step foot off of church ground. Why? Why is it that “Sally Shouter” and “Danny Dancer” can shout and dance all Sabbath long, but when Monday hits. Sally is rudely shouting at her co-worker wishing she were dead. Danny is sleeping with his wife’s sister, and Tiffany “Speaking” Tongues is spewing lies among her social circle about another human being. The reason is the conviction isn’t prevalent. The heart hasn’t been changed. The exterior nature of who we are appears to be that of Christ, but the interior nature is not. Talk about true transparency. At this prayer service, none of that was present. Yet, the room was full of tears. People praised God in their own ways, and I surprisingly felt encouraged as I left. A Godly man just lost his life, and I’m leaving what turned into a memorial service at peace.

In 2014, I was a student at Howard University. I lived in student housing. The student apartment towers were run by a nationwide company. I will never forget the day that a swarm of police officers stormed my apartment building. I had stayed home sick from class that day. The officer broke down the door and shouted “YOU GOT TO GET THE HELL OUT. YOU’VE BEEN EVICTED.” At that moment, my heart froze. I wasn’t dressed so I politely asked the officer if I could change my clothes in private. He has my bedroom door busted wide opened with 5 other cops standing in the doorway staring me down like I had just set a bomb off at the nation’s capital. Disclaimer: Every single officer was black like me. The pushy officer then said “forget changing in private, you ain’t got nothing I’ve never seen before.” How degrading? How humiliating? As I exited the building with only my laptop and phone, I immediately confronted the housing manager. She carelessly said, “oh, he’s not one of the one’s that’s supposed to be evicted.” Well, according to the law that would have to be decided by the company and their legal team as it was out of her hands. I called my mom who was recovering from a near death experience in the hospital. I called my dad.  I called my sister. I called everyone I knew from church. Do you realize no one came to my rescue? I found myself sitting in the snow waiting for all of my belongings to be thrown into a dumpster. When you are evicted, you’re not allowed to grab your stuff. You have to wait for your belongings to be thrown out. It was at this moment that I reflected on my measly 20 years of life. I had a fantasy fallacy about people. I had a fantasy fallacy about church. I quickly found myself knee deep in reality, but the one thing I decided at that moment was no matter how angry I was I would still love. By God’s grace, a distant elementary school classmate of my mom’s convinced the housing manager to allow me to move back into my apartment. They apologized for the mishap. My friends Shavon and Yasmine helped move all of my belongings from the dumpster back into my bedroom.

It took me several years to forgive. I was so angry. I was angry at my dad. I was angry at my sister who carelessly said “see, that’s why you never should have went to Howard in the first place.” I was angry at the community outreach pastor who suggested I go to the welfare office. Just a side note, most African-Americans are unable to get on welfare. I did go to the office, and I was told that because I was in school I did not qualify for benefits. I was angry all around because my entire world had been shaken. My entire belief system had been rocked to its core. It was around this time that I hit my rock bottom. Benadryl makes me extremely drowsy, or well it used to. One night, I was in my apartment depressed. You’d think I’d be happy. I moved back into my apartment, and life was normal again. It wasn’t. Somehow that ordeal changed me. I began questioning the very same group of people I once was and our motives. I was apart of the praise team clique. I was sanctified, holy ghost filled, and ready to speak God’s word in a minute. But my heart was not 100% changed. Someone once told me that God has to break your heart in order to blow your mind.  My emotions were at an all time high, and I had no idea what to do with them.

I bought a large container of Benadryl, and I took 400 capsules by mouth. I was ready to end my life. I was conflicted and confused about my walk with God not realizing God never left my side but I was choosing to stay stuck in church dogma and not walk outside the doors to my purpose. When I came to that realization, it was an even bigger pill to swallow than those 400 capsules. Hello Lights! Needless to say, those pills had no affect on my body whatsoever. It was as if to say I never took them. However, I knew I had a problem. Through much prayer and nagging from my mom, I went to the psychiatric hospital and I was officially diagnosed with Chronic Depression. That day in the hospital was my first day of life as the “Bobby” you love and now know. Over the course of the next few years, I started making changes, positive ones. I had a therapist. I was on medication. I worked out. I was writing new scripts. I was making positive progression, but the one thing I couldn’t shake was my ANGER. The anger and rage ruptured my spirit for a long time.

It wasn’t until 2016, when my anger took a drastic toll on my life. I suffered several minor heart attacks. My blood pressure was sky high. By this time, I had tried to commit suicide 3 times. My depression and feeling of self-worth was in the toilet. It was then that God woke me up in my sleep and said “contact Aunt Dee.”  Aunt Dee is my mom’s big sister. The two of them have been best friends for many years. Aunt Dee is a true woman of God with spiritual wisdom out of this world. For the first time in my 23 years of Christian living I realized just how lost I was as a Christian. Aunt Dee proposed we start bible study. Now at first I was quite apprehensive about it. I kept thinking “this is a waste of time.” Aunt Dee opened my eyes to so many powerful things. It was through consistent weekly bible study with Aunt Dee that I learned how to purge the anger. I learned how to truly forgive as a Christian. I learned how to love those who despise me. Through Aunt Dee’s guidance I learned how to be a mature Christian. Boy, it was hard! But as I sat in that sanctuary last night reflecting as we prayed over Johnson’s life, I remembered that there was a time I found myself caught in bondage. Yet, I had someone loving me to the core, weeping over my life.

As Aunt Dee eloquently says, we need each other. It is important to share our burdens with one another. The most important thing is we must love. But you cannot truly love if you can’t forgive. The two are married. They’re intertwined. While I’m in a much better space these days, I still have my moments. But then I think about the other person and how miserable their life must be for them to behave in such a demonic, malicious manner. I immediately start praying for them, and when I do the anger turns to sorrow as I weep because that soul is lost. When you put things into spiritual perspective you begin to understand how people operate. It isn’t science. It doesn’t always make sense ,and guess what? It doesn’t have too.

Yvonne

Mother’s Day is an amazing time of year. It’s a celebration of women, true sisterhood. I’m blessed to have one of the many leaders in the pack as a mother. All of my success I owe to my mom. She has been my constant supporter, encourager, friend, prayer warrior, etc. Most of all, she loves me unconditionally. She loves me when I leave the dishes in the sink. Yes, I know. I’m 25 years old, and I’m still leaving dishes in the sink. Or when I wash the ice trays after they’re empty. She hates it when I do that. She loves me when I stomp up and down the stairs cussing about a poor grade or worrying about a friend in danger. She loves me when I let the dog get on her bed without permission, or when I tell people her favorite song is “I Wanna Sex You Up” from Color Me Badd. Sssh...don’t tell! LOL!

The point is my mother stands with me no matter what. While she gave up a career in opera, she refuses to allow me to do the same. As a matter of fact, on Mother’s Day this year, she spent the entire day building up her son. Yes, I know. Right? It’s her day, and she still finds time to encourage me. There are moments where Facebook can prove deadly based on likes. We as people have an innate need to be liked. When you see your peers “living it up” on social media you sometimes find yourself in a sunken place. You begin to doubt yourself. You lose sight of what’s important. You forget your purpose. Yvonne reminds me of that purpose. Yvonne pushes me harder than anyone else on this planet because she believes in my worth. Yvonne gave me an extremely long name because she wanted it to be regal, dignified. She describes it as the “name of a king.” LOL! Yvonne found me when I was sexually molested at 5, and immediately jumped into “mama bear” mode. She enrolled me into counseling. Yes, a “sistah” took her 5 year old black son to a therapist. Yvonne taught me to hold my head up high. She taught me how to change a tire. She taught me how to make the best mac & cheese in the land of Buffalo. Yvonne taught me that a mental illness isn’t something to be ashamed of. Yvonne taught me to love Christ with all of my heart. But most of all, Yvonne taught me to be myself. She didn’t just teach me how to love or how to forgive others. She taught me how to love and forgive myself.

Often in life, most people will say that we find ourselves stuck in emotional baggage because we haven’t forgiven the perpetrators in our lives. I disagree. I think that’s true to an extent, but the real issue is we haven’t forgiven ourselves. Looking at yourself in a mirror is the hardest thing to do. It forces you to look at yourself, and that’s not an easy task. However, when you master it the reward is remarkable. Lalah Hathaway’s single “Mirror” speaks fluently on this issue. In the song she sings “sometimes you have to make the mirror your best friend and maybe then you’ll find some peace within.”

As I come to a close, I salute you Yvonne for raising your Black American King (BAK). I love you! I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother’s Day weekend.

Sincerely,

Robert “Bobby” Henry

Pictured: L to R (Me & Yvonne, Circa 1996)

Graduation: The Bells & Whistles

(Pictured: L to R) Dr. Darryl Nettles, Alan Nettles, and Nancy Nettles, Nashville TN

Graduation is an exciting, momentous occasion. However, it is also a time of serious reflection.  Bear with me as I journey through this new period of autobiographical blogging, but when I can’t express myself audibly I do better writing it down. It’s a challenging time in my life. The transition stage. Yes, the stage where things are not necessarily bad, but they ain’t good either. You find yourself moving from one mountaintop to another valley to another hill to another plateau and eventually to another mountaintop.

For one, I’m a new college graduate several years older than I initially intended, and I’ve never felt more alone. I’m surrounded by people who appear to have it “all together” when in actuality they don’t. The frustration lies in their need to mask their imperfections which doesn’t help someone like me who will tell you straight up “I’m struggling, please help.” Why? I think I’ve bugged my mom a million times with that simple one worded question. To which her response is “I have no idea.”

Gosh, the world says you’re supposed to have all the answers “mom.” LOL!

But let’s face it. Nobody does. I began to wonder what do I have to show for my 8 years in undergrad: a lucrative business, a few short films, no STDS or babies, lack of a love life, and a handful of student loan debt. Yet, I’m not any more popular than I was in high school. I’m heavier. I have less of a social circle, and I never partook in the college lifestyle. I never went to parties or clubbed. My first time in a club; I was 18 years old at a house party event in Philly. I paid over $100 for this “slammin” outfit only for it to get ruined with watery beer and drunk vanilla people who couldn’t hold their liquor. That was my introduction to the party lifestyle, and I was pissed.

I’ve never been a sports fanatic. Although I’m built like a football player, I never took to football, baseball, basketball, or even golf for that matter. I do like hockey. GO SABRES! But I’m not invested. The performing arts has already been my first love, and I’m learning that my love affair with film is the only best friend I have at this moment in my life.

When you reach milestones as an adult, you recognize tough aspects of your life you once avoided. For example, a girl on her sixteen birthday experiences a debutante ball as she embraces early womanhood, a woman on her 25th birthday realizes she never wants to have children. Where’s the serious music? LoL!

I’m not a woman nor do I want to be. Yes, I get the LGBT card for free based on my personality which is cool with me because I love my LGBT peeps. However, you will never see me talk about my sexual life because that is something you should keep private. Yet, I’ve found that we won’t keep those portions of our lives private. But we’ll keep our inner feelings and thoughts silenced which eventually eats away  at us. Wow, that makes a lot of sense. (Sarcastically Speaking) Sometimes our morals, values, and belief systems can be all screwed up. I never understood the homophobic trend anyway because if you’re straight why would you care? But let’s not veer off topic.

Luckily for me, I grew up with Yvonne who did not play those games with me. My mom taught me to be unapologetically me. The downside to that I walked a lonely road and I still do today. Now I’ll be honest when I became an adolescent I wanted to be apart of the crowd. In fact I could say, I was a member of the B-Clique in high school. We weren’t the A-clique which were the sluts, gays, bull-daggers, punks, etc. I went to an arts magnet high school, and yes, if you were black, gay, & talented you had a high ranking in the social hierarchy. But the B-Clique was cool. We were the “street” kids who rode the city bus to school, and skipped gym to talk about our dreams in the cafeteria. My clique was full of wise, feisty people like Sharaye. She always wanted to be a doctor, but by senior year, she gave up on the dream because she was told that it was an unattainable goal.

Yepper, the hoodboogers. That was my tribe. They accepted me for me, and I saw them as people, genuine people. As I grew into adulthood, I realized that being a member of the B-Clique meant nothing in the real world. I would have to learn to tolerate the individuals I didn’t align with. The snobs. The buppies. The kids from 2 parent households who looked down on us with single parents. The intellectuals. The educated.

It took me 8 years to learn how to be okay in my own skin. I’m not a flashy guy. I will rock a t-shirt and sweatpants any day especially if it is hot outside. I love to talk and ask questions. I love to think critically. I love museums, art, theatre, and even opera. It doesn’t make me weird or less than. It just makes me an outrageously “cool” guy. LOL! Okay, but it makes me unique.

I’m sharing this experience to encourage others who may be going through a similar thing like myself. It’s hard out here for a black millennial filmmaker with heart. You want to be liked. You want to be accepted. You want to feel the love. But let’s ask ourselves, is that love real? If I can’t love you through your mess, then I don’t really love you. It’s conditional. Christ loves us through our mess. Now I don’t want this new blog to be religious based because although I’m a Christian I respect other beliefs. However, if Christ can love me through all the “shit” I’ve done and will continue to do because I’m not perfect. What’s wrong with us? Why do we force our loved ones to obtain this unattainable model of perfection? As black men, why are we so scared to open up and share our burdens with one another? Why can’t we have real dialogue about what’s going on in our lives? These are questions we must ask ourselves, answer, and find solutions for.

If I have to be the one to start it with my first blog. Then so be it.

Sincerely,

Robert “Bobby” Henry