Dare to dream. And if you are really berserk, dare to pursue. The average person can dream, but not many pursue their dreams successfully. Be the one to stand out, be different, because why not?!
You are on this earth for a reason, so you might as well be influential. So much talent and many great, innovative ideas in the world go to waste because people, including myself, lack the drive, discipline, focus, patience, and support to keep going.
Dream number one: My name is Madelyn Johnson, and I am currently in Vienna, Austria. How did I get here you might ask? I planned, pursued, and wanted this. I found out exactly what I needed to do in order to be here during this semester and made sure it was completed.
All of the paperwork, the coordinating, the documents that needed to be certified, the deadlines that had to be made- everything. So many tasks had to be fulfilled in order for me to be here, but with my persistence and my beautiful mother on my side, we made my dream become a reality. She’s all I had, but she’s all I needed.
With my passion, I strived for this dream to happen, and it’s happening.
Dream number two: Heart pounding, head throbbing, knees shaking, and completely lacking composition, I waited for the announcer to reveal my name to the crowd.
When I was finally announced, I nervously made my way on stage. I was feeling as though my heart could pop out of my chest at any given moment, when the music started. Not feeling confident on what sounds may come out of my mouth, I began to sing.
The first phrase I sung turned all of the nervous energy I once possessed into power and liveliness. At that moment, I owned that stage, and no one could tell me anything different. All eyes were on me, and everyone was mesmerized by my stage presence. I never wanted that moment to end, and when it did, I knew I had to get it back, resulting in my current pursuit of a music degree.
Find something that makes you smile just thinking about it. Pursue something that brings you ecstasy. Indulge in an occupation that you can become obsessed with.
For Hit Records Worldwide, this path is music– it’s what we long for. Being a musician isn’t easy. In fact, it may be one of the hardest careers out there! With that being said, there will be days you want to quit, and you ask yourself “why am I putting myself through this?” or “what is all of this even for?” Those will be the days when the logical and rationale side of you try to take over. In this instance, don’t let it!
No one ever accomplished their dream being logical.
Your brain wants you to take the safe route and offers you this false sense of security, but your heart is really what you should depend on to push you through when you feel like all the effort and time you’ve put in may not be worth it.
We all have our different situations, bad days, and people who aren’t the best for us, but ultimately, how far you get in life is entirely up to you. “Every accomplishment starts with a decision to try.” I try to tell remind myself of this as often as I can and try to live my life by this.
So, how bad do you want success and happiness, and how far are you willing to push yourself to get it? We all have to work in this life. Why not make it enjoyable? Do not look back in your life with any regrets or the horrifying phrase of “What If.” We will all get there one day soon, I assure you, so keep pushing.
I believe that most things are possible. I also believe that people often confuse “not likely” with “impossible,” and they live by and limit their life by that innocent ignorance. But there is a difference!
When I think of things that are truly (seemingly) impossible, I think of things like living until you’re 200 years old or beating an automobile in a foot race. For very plausible reasons, these things are understandably presumed “impossible.” Most people would agree with such obvious thinking… But what the majority of people call “impossible” could be more accurately labeled as “not likely.”
“Impossible is just a BIG word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact; it’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration; it’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.” – Muhammad Ali
I’m not sure I could better articulate the words of the Walking Inspiration known as Muhammad Ali. It’s no wonder that he was able to accomplish such great things in his life and that he impacted the world so much. He understood something that most people don’t. And he lived his life to prove it every day.
So what am I saying? Here’s a real life example:
I come from a family of singers, songwriters, and musicians. My parents met as teenagers and formed a band that performed locally for about 20 years. They even did well at the famed Apollo Theater during an amateur night showcase. As the years went on, however, they never really reached the heights of the career they all wanted.
Slowly the band dismantled, and my father and uncle formed a songwriting and music production duo. Together they wrote and pitched songs for major artists and record label consideration — with no success.
This is an aspect of the music industry that most people don’t know about, as the usual assumption is that the most popular artists write their own songs. A lot of them claim they do (i.e. strong arm credit), but they actually don’t.
Still, every songwriter who’s been at it a while has that one friend-who-worked-with-so-and-so, and that friend serves an inspiration to keep going (my father’s long-time buddy was lucky enough to write one of Madonna’s biggest hits – Holiday!).
After a second career as a songwriter/producer didn’t pan out, my father became very jaded with the music business. I followed in his footsteps in becoming a songwriter/producer, and for the most part, he was supportive. But he was also disruptive.
I once had an executive from Universal Music Group come to our (small town) home to convince me to sign with the label. My father became quite combative and insolent with the man, running him off.
Fast forward to today…
It’s been some 20 years since my Father abandoned the idea of a music career and any success at the commercial level. Then, one day, he received word that a song he wrote back in 1985 had been recently sampled by a new, young dance group and was gaining popularity. It was obvious that this act of validation meant the world to him.
No, it wasn’t a #1 Billboard Hit. But it did well enough to deposit some decent cash in his pocket and some much-needed restoration in his idea of what is possible.
While it might be unlikely that this means a viable revival of his career as a songwriter, it’s certainly not impossible to think that another song of his could end up in the hands of a pop star, and he could become that one friend-who-worked-with-so-and-so.
So what do YOU believe is “impossible” for you to achieve?
Is it truly impossible, or just unlikely? Could it be that you are confusing “unlikely” with “difficult”? Are you protecting your feelings from failure and calling it “impossible”? I encourage you to take a time-out and think about what it is you want and why? How could you approach it differently? Practice thinking outside of the box and take a new action.
You never know where you might end up with a clear “why” and a fresh focus on openness to possibility.
My buddy Pmang told me I needed to interview this rapper. Told me he was one of the most talented lyricists he’d ever heard.
NICE (a.k.a. Nyuanru), 20-years-old, born and raised on the streets of Providence, Rhode Island.
Well, shit. I had to find this guy.
I was down but the problem was he didn’t have a computer or a phone. He’s so underground you barely see his Melkavine cap popping out of the ground. In a beaten up white Honda with creaky doors we drove around East and North Providence, checking his normal spots. My buddy hit up a few of his friends but no one could find him. Wasn’t around Providence College, nowhere near La Salle Academy, his old high school, not around the mall. So I thought it was pointless and I’d be going back to Connecticut. But Pmang had the idea of swinging around his house. I swear we graduated college.
From the first listen, NICE has this lyrical emphasis with a voice that echoes Common and Mos Def. Check out the rapid fire angst coming from his feature verse in the Afro-Americana centric track, “HEAV7N.”
But while there is a definite political punch to his lyrics and delivery, he has a Millennial vibe. Several artists these days talk about broad concepts or subject matter and just insert themselves like they’re playing Mad Libs. Like how Future harps on getting fucked up and the auto-tuned language of the short term high along with heavy machismo. Contrastly, NICE offers a deeply autobiographical tone.
He spits about the uncertainties of being a young black man trying to form a craft that might not payoff.
On one line he’ll talk about how he hustles to keep the tracks coming, getting the tapes out there, and he’ll pivot the other way proclaim he has no idea what it all means, saying “Only Lord Knows.” It’s a new type of poetic storytelling that relies on how men are opening up about their emotional struggles. NICE is on that wave. But by no means is he soft.
NICE and Travis $cott.
We pulled up to a one floor house, looked like a three-bedroom made from light brick in a neighborhood built in the 70s that hadn’t changed much. Pmang blared on the horn and NICE popped his head out. He had a big smile and came roaring out.
He wore this black leather jacket with a hood and dark blue jeans. He was a bit confused to see me. Like he sort-of recognized me. Last time we met I was at an impromptu concert at a club in North Providence. Pmang and I were the only white people in attendance. Guess we stuck out. The sky was overcast and grey and gave the whole city a grit that wanted to shake your hand.
I pulled out my voice recorder. Told him I was here for an interview. Thought I might not get another chance.
He was a little off-put with how eager I was to start, probably thinking who the hell is this guy. After I dropped how we’d met before, guy greeted me like an old friend.
NICE first dipped his toes in the game when he went with Pmang to a concert at Lupo’s, a staple of Providence music. “I didn’t really go to concerts because it’s weird for me,” NICE continued, “I’m always overanalyzing so I don’t really get to enjoy it. But, I was chilling with [Pmang] and my cousin called me right then and told me ‘yo I got two extra tickets for A$AP Ferg and YG you have to come.’ Pmang and I love Ferg so it was like Fate.” After that, he wanted to drop bars full time.
As we drove around, Nyuanru slightly rocked back and forth. He kept eye contact answering each question. Even when we passed Chad Brown Street, where you see flashing red and blue four days out of the week. Sirens blared as they sped past us but he was focused, he wanted to get his point across. But what was that internal spark?
A dedication to his city.
“What really sparked it for me was that there really hasn’t been any major artists from Providence that have made much of an impact in a long time. I mean, I just found out the guy who did George Washington’s presidential portrait was from Rhode Island. Which isn’t bad at all but I can’t name anyone off the top of my head from Providence who’s had much of a cultural impact, especially when it comes to music. I want to be that guy.”
He started hanging around the rap scene, learning from them, getting close, dabbling in freestyles with his own personal approach. That propelled him to want to put Providence on the global scene.
His influences transcend generations of hip-hop because each source of inspiration centers around one thing, “Everyone I listen to like DMX, Eminem, Tupac and a whole bunch of other guys are more than music and they know that. It’s deeper than rap.”
NICE has this shade of the belligerent braggart similar to DMX because it’s essential for every rapper. But he weaves it so well with a polarizing commentary on race relations in tracks like “Go For Broke.”
Even the shape of his city has influenced his artistic development. Providence has its own type of strange. Everything is fifteen minutes from each other. Thayer Street by Brown University is full of restaurants, bars, and indie shops. And two blocks down you run into a collection of boarded up townhouses filled with squatters and hipsters who couldn’t make rent. It’s not like Chicago or New York with designated areas for certain demographics.
Providence is so small that the experiment of America as a melting pot came true, for good and bad. You could run into an investment banker and a clan of meth heads on the same street within seconds of each other.
With all these people on top of each other and the cross wiring of culture, race, and politics it’s no wonder Providence calls itself The Creative Capital. But hip-hop is just on the come up.
“It’s going to sound so cliché but Providence is just so new with rap and hip hop.”
“And I’m feeling like the industry is looking for the next best ‘question mark.’ Where people are browsing through music and they see us they think ‘what is that?’ We have no choice but to be original because people like me don’t have connections”
Then Pmang chimed in, “Basically if you’re not authentic. You’re not fucking with us.” Nyuanru nodded his head like he just found the words he needed. He then continued talking about Providence as a city and what it has to offer. NICE wants to bring all the artistry he can into the limelight.
“I think we’re all at a point where if we want to go anywhere, we have to stand out. I mean we get boxed in with all the other scenes in New England like Boston and New York and that just sucks. It’s time we carve out our own piece.”
One of the ways NICE and those associated with Melkavine stand above the fray is the web-series Free Verse, which he hosts. A series where he meets up with local Providence rappers and spits acapella freestyle. No beat. No prompt. Just raw language.
“I think each of these guys have so much to offer from a cultural stance, they were bred from this city. We want people to be a part of Free Verse because they have a voice. Not because they’ve got buzz or making dozens of tracks. I want the originals.”
As we drove to Pmang’s buddy’s place I could see NICE doesn’t fuck around.
Not just for himself but everyone he can bring along. He wants to be that X-factor who will bring a whole new wave of artists to invade the airwaves, similar to Top Dawg and Kendrick Lamar with the renaissance of Compton rappers. We passed by a parking lot and NICE told us to turn left, some of his friends were chilling.
One of them was another local talent named Messy Tye. Wearing a green veteran’s jacket with a blue bandana and short cut dreads, Tye is a soft spoken and humble guy away from the mic. But you should see this guy spit. Glad I had space on my phone for this.
NICE and I leaned against Pmang’s white Honda as the sun went down. From the look on Messy’s face, he was reassured that he did what he loved right then and there. So I asked Nyuanru what was that one song or lyric or verse that made him decide to go all in with the hustle.
He rubbed his chin with both hands and thought hard, “It’s this track called ‘Movin’ On’. (that’s only a little taste) And honestly it wasn’t until I performed it that I knew what this track could actually do. Because, it was supposed to be a throwaway. Not really a throwaway…but a filler to prep for a larger project. Unintentionally, or at least more than I expected, I put my emotions, parts of my past, and things I’d been going through into that track.
“Seeing how people connected with it when I performed, I mean, some people were crying or put two fingers in the air beating their chests.”
NICE performed Movin’ On at the Providence Arts Festival a few months back and he was shocked to see “once the strings came in and the beat dropped there was this whole mixed crowd, mixed races, cultures, nationalities, orientations, genders, just bobbing their heads. I brought people together. That’s when I knew I had something to offer. That was the moment.”
We’d gotten to the apartment and were sitting on the couch playing Beerio Kart. A few of Messy’s friends tagged along for what was certain to be a wild night. NICE wasn’t drinking, just chilled and watched us get sloshed without a hint of judgment on his face.
Young Thug was bumping in the background. NICE nodded slowly, playing with his hands like he was on a switchboard. He was in a zone and I had one more question left. A question I already knew the answer to, kind of.
I asked what he thought separated Nyuanru from the rest of the come-ups. “Basically what I want to do with music is push culture and open minds because I think that is what everyone with a craft wants to do.”
I liked the answer but I could tell there was uncertainty in his voice.
He didn’t have a definite reason. And I think that’s really good. From what I’ve seen when being around talented musicians, the ones meant for great things don’t have a message or a specific goal as to why they’re in the game. An artist just feels compelled to create because they have something to offer and can move people through their talents. From what I gathered NICE right now is in a spot where he doesn’t know exactly where the music is going but he wants to ride it. He’ll have time to solidify what he wants to bring to the studio. Right now, it’s all about the vibes and message of the moment.
About ten minutes later he asked to borrow my phone. He called a number as we all kept drinking, Mario Kart 64 wicking and wa-wa-wawing in the background. Once Nyuanru handed back my phone he tapped one of his friends and said he had to dip out for some studio time. He shook my hand and off he went. Back to the underground.
I don’t know when I’ll see him again but hopefully it’ll be backstage mobbing out to one of his beats. Sure hope he gets a phone.
The first night of auditions, the first person to arrive stepped into the TV studio, soaking wet.
I thought, it is raining out why would you walk to the studio, why not drive? It turns out, the man had just gotten out of prison ten days ago. He had no money, no car, 5 children, and was $50K behind on child support. He had been looking for employment for 10 days and could not find anyone willing to give an ex-drug dealer a second chance. I’m wondered how he even heard about the auditions.
We were in the TV studio auditioning potential contestants for a new reality show; the Business Starter. This was in 2010 while the country was still in economic turmoil because of the real estate collapse. The show would consist of 10 contestants that found themselves out of work because of the downturn. The contestants were mainly college graduates or MBA types wanting to open new companies in the financial sector. Each week we would send the weakest business idea home selecting a winner at the end.
As we are interviewing the second contestant, we asked, “what is the single thing that everyone kept telling you couldn’t do, but you got it done anyway?”
The man responds, “live to the age of 25.”
“What?”, we ask. He responds again, “live to age 25.” He had just gotten out of prison and was now looking for employment or to open a business. He needed something, anything to pay the bills, or buy some food. Sixty percent of ex-felons return to prison within the first 3 years after release during periods of unemployment.
The first night of the show and I was surrounded by seven men, all ex-drug dealers and ex-felons, and three females who were ex-felons or girls having gotten pregnant in high school. I was reviewing the basic rules of the show and the first man who auditioned stopped me dead in my tracks. He tells me we need to change the rule of sending someone home each week. Instead, we need to see if we can figure out some way of getting everyone’s business started.
All ten contestants banded together and looked at me with these big wide eyes. They kept saying this was their only hope. It was a live broadcast, and we changed the rules on the spot. We ended up getting seven of the businesses open with only $50 each. Five are still running today.
Then, the pastor of an inner-city church and shelter heard about our show and got the word out to the ex-felon community in Tampa.
Six months later, I received a call from one of the contestants on Business Starter. He says he is trying to open a little league football and cheer teams in an economically depressed area of Tampa. I had attended a seminar at UACDC (a non-profit which helped juvenile delinquents) and was told a story by a police officer of kids 12 and 13 who sold weapons and drugs on street corners.
I suggested that he contact the City of Tampa Parks and Recreation and get them to help. He said he already tried that route and for years people have been trying to get teams open but it is very difficult to raise funding and the suburb teams are highly reluctant to bring their kids to the area to play games.
Then he said, “these are the kids that really need our help, we have to try.”
The next 10 months, with the help of a very kind gentleman at Tampa Parks and Rec., along with the regional manager of USA Football, we got two teems up and running.
I grew up with four younger sisters and in high school; I kept busy watching over them battling the boys off at every turn it seemed. After high school, my daughter was offered a full presidential scholarship in math to Prairie View, a satellite campus of Texas A&M.
She graduated in 2015, got married, I have a granddaughter called Captain, and they just purchased their first home in Dallas, but as a father, I always worried about the route that could have happened. After seeing the at risk kids in Tampa, I decided to have a “Break the Teen Pregnancy Cycle” summer camp called “Cinderella Slipper: Live Your Dreams”.
The first day of the camp, it was pouring rain. We are standing under an oak tree and I tell my story of my little dream growing up as a kid. I pass out index cards and ask each girl to write their name and their dream. When I got the cards back, the cards ranged from pediatrician, firefighter, the Navy, and high school teacher. However, twelve of the cards come back completely blank and I wondered why.
I thought maybe it was the 4 year old girls that cannot really write too well yet or maybe it is the cheap pens I bought at Dollar General for a buck and they just don’t work. When I asked the girls why twelve of the cards were left blank, the captain of the varsity cheer squad got up and said her team did not respond. I asked her why and she walked in front of all the girls and put her face uncomfortably close to mine, with her hands on her hips.
She said, “because we are old enough to know that dreams never come true for us down here. We didn’t want to set ourselves up for another failure. People keep coming down here and telling us they will help, but they never do. We are never going to get out of here. So, no. We didn’t fill out your stupid little 3×5 cards, Rob.”
Those words launched the next endeavor, Hit Records Worldwide, a record label built on compassion. We work with teen girls growing up in the foster care system, homeless shelters, government projects, daughters of ex-felons, single parent kids, and teen girls in trouble with the police. Hit Records is a story of one Saturday telling five girls in the practice studio, “everyone thinks we are just trying to get a hit song, but really I’m just trying to fix each of you.” Then Shayla says, “No Rob, we’re supposed to fix you.” I wondered, how do you open a record label with absolutely no knowledge, experience, or expertise in the music industry to help all these inner-city, highly at-risk teen girls that have been beaten down time and time again by life, family and everything else?
That was when I made a promise to never give up on the girl’s hope.
GettinOut™ will continue the work started in 2011 by HRW Music Group, LLC to help inner-city, troubled teen girls in the areas of; Artist Development, Personal Development, Community Support / Building Engaged Fan Bases. Girls demonstrating significant desire, drive, talent, coach-ability that have worked hard building a significant engaged fan base will be moved from GettinOut™ Records to HRW Music Group, LLC once reaching the age of 18 (if they so desire) and be provided promotion and marketing support to further their singing careers.
I decided we could not just “almost” do something leaving their dreams to “almost” come true. Four of the contestants on the reality TV show now help with Hit Records Worldwide under HRW Music Group. One member is a VP, one handles makeup, one works on image, and the other is the mom to one of the girls.
My name is Kristian Silva. I am 24 years old. I am a professional musician, and I am Acting Regional Manager of the Artist Intern Program at Hit Records Worldwide. I was born on March 24, 1991 in beautiful, sunny, Miami, Fl. I was raised in a middle class family in the suburbs with my two 2 sisters. I went to school like a normal kid up until the third grade.
I had begun taking gymnastics classes a year before, and I had become very good at it. I decided to do gymnastics all day and get home schooled instead of having to go to school. I trained from 9am to 7pm Monday through Saturday. Wednesdays and Saturdays were half days; we trained from 9am to 2pm.
This was my life for 6 years, until I got an opportunity to travel and compete for the national team of Spain. I moved to Spain at the age of 13, alone, and I lived with my uncles for about one and a half years and half, while practicing at the Olympic training center during the day.
I became national champion of my age group in Spain and went to the 2006 Junior Olympics in Athens, Greece.
Later that year, at the age of 16, I decided to quit gymnastics and go back to public high school in Miami. I wanted to be a normal American kid. I moved back to Miami, and my parents were distraught when I told them I no longer wanted to be a gymnast.
I started school on Oct. 10 2007, and this was the beginning of my new life. My parents did not support my new lifestyle choices, and we did not speak for four months. I got grounded all the time.
This was a new chapter for me, and guitar had already been a part of my life for the past two years. My father got me a guitar instructor at 14. The teacher cost $50 an hour, and I learned a ton in this lesson. My father broke the news after the lesson that the classes were too expensive, so I could no longer have an instructor.
Now, with a single guitar lesson under my belt, I took it upon myself to continue my guitar education, no matter the cost.
I had no money at the time, so I took to the internet and free books from friends to learn to play the guitar. Fast forward two years into the future to my first day of public high school. High school was very easy compared to everything else I had ever done, and I loved it.
I enrolled for my senior year, and I met a ton of kids that played music. I embraced this group of friends and learned as much as I could about the guitar. Some kids made fun of my novice skills, but this didn’t stop me. I graduated high school, and a few months into college, I got a call from one of the best musicians at school. He invited me to start a band with him. The rest is history.
I changed my major in college from Firefighter/ paramedic to Music major.
These were my first music classes ever. The first week was so difficult. I had never read music before, and I felt like the underdog compared to my classmates who had years of middle school and high school music experience. I got over my fears and accepted the language of music, the story of music, and the discipline.
My skill increased exponentially, and the same kids that laughed at me at school were now cheering me on during local concerts, parties, and even our debut music video. We played over 70 shows together in four years. I graduated college with my A.A. degree in Music Education.
I had moved out of my house at the time, and I was living with my girlfriend and another couple in a small apartment with a dog. I rode my bike 10 miles each way to get to my retail job at the time. My parents had given me a car but had taken it back when I decided to move out of my house. I taught guitar lessons at the time as well and rode 11 miles with my guitar on my back to get to my students.
When I was 20 years old, I received a call from my mother with an opportunity to attend my dream school Musician’s Institute in Los Angeles, California with a full scholarship. I had an epiphany; I realized I was not happy with my life.
My mom told me, “If you pass on this opportunity, it will not come back.”
I slept on it, and it hit me the next day like a sign from something larger than me. The light shone through my sliding glass so brightly that I thought I was going to pass out. My vision went from blinding yellow to white light. I felt like a heavy stone was turning in my mind. It was so heavy and significant. No willpower or strength in me prior to that moment could ever stop that stone from moving. It was as if a large switch in my mind had flipped, and there was no going back.
I think I experienced myself grow. Before my very eyes, I was changed.
The song Once in a Lifetime by The Talking Heads came to mind in this moment. The light faded. I look around. The music stopped. I stood in the empty hollow kitchen as the sounds of me breathing bounced off the layers of paint on the walls. I didn’t make a sound. “This is not my beautiful house…This is not my beautiful wife.” To myself I said, “This is not for me.”
I dumped my girlfriend and told her I wanted to go to LA. She was so distraught, because I didn’t want to continue our relationship long distance. She got a new man in an instant.
I was heart broken, but my future was soon to change. I made it to LA. I already passed the bachelor’s program entrance exam, and I have started school.
FROM CRUMBS TO BRICKS will always be my motto – something I can call my own, to hold onto me; something from nothing.
I was raised with 13 brothers and sisters. At age five I was molested by friends and family. Child Protective Services yanked me from home and dumped me at a shelter. I’ll be safe here.
While residing at the shelter, again it happened, it was the older teens living at the shelter. At this point yeah I feel lost, lonely, and most of all confused about my situation.
Why so many people? Why always to me?
Yes, yes, yes. I’m free. Moving to a nice foster home. I’ll be safe. The same things kept happening there. I was afraid to tell anyone, mostly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Beginning to stay to myself, now blaming myself, scared.
Finally, I was out of the foster care system. My mom couldn’t get custody so I was placed with my aunt. Jesus, at 13 my brother drugged me and had sex with me. Will it ever end!
I met my dad when he came to visit one day when I was in foster care. After a year with my aunt I moved in with him – he’s the pastor of Mt. Vernon Baptist church in Houston.
This is the turning point in my life.
I fell in love with music. It seemed to be the only thing that would make me forget about any and everything and gave me peace. I started singing in the choir faithfully. But even though I love to sing and clap it was something about those drums. I’ve never taken any lessons before but always felt I had what it took.
I started playing after church all the time and the elders always would run me off the drums saying stop making all that noise! I guess they really didn’t understand my gift that was being born within me at that time.
One day the drummer didn’t show up at church, guess who was there? Me! I played a real simple beat that I had been practicing before, thank God it worked because I started playing for the youth choir after that!
From there my love for music grew. I started playing drums more and more. The more I play the happier my life seemed to be. Since then my life has been on a positive turn because of my motivation, my love for what I do which is my gift of music, and my determination to be something in life.
I’ve had a lot of doors open in my favor that I never would have had if I hadn’t started believing in myself and picking up my self esteem. I’ve come a long way but I didn’t do it by myself. With prayer and my drums nothing is impossible.
The reason I say crumbs to bricks is because at one time I believed that I was crumbs.
I was shattered into pieces. I felt I was nothing. But now my spirit is rejuvenated! Those pieces are now a strong beautiful woman and I’m stronger than I was before. I stay positive, driven, and motivated in everything I do and positive things always come back to me.
Along with my music I am aiming toward being a mortician and fire fighter. I also hope to one day meet new wonderful people and be an inspiration for young woman to be strong internally and follow their dreams.
I don’t want this to happen to anyone anymore. I want to be something more – like Cindy Blackman.
We are proud to partner with Wellspring Living and The Make It Zero campaign in the fight against child-sex trafficking. We would also like to thank MELT for spearheading this effort. From Atlanta to Africa, poverty is a reality for too many people. We would also like to thank Jimmy Wayne for his heartfelt story on how he used his gift to overcome homelessness. Please support his organization Project Meet Me Halfway, a great cause that helps to build homes for at-risk children.
In 1989, the Berlin wall fell; my wall, however was still up and wasn’t about to come down—or so I thought!
I was 16 years old and homeless, living on the streets in North Carolina. I was riding a bicycle that I had borrowed (I was going to return it although I didn’t know when) scouring the neighborhood looking for odd jobs. I needed money to buy food.
I noticed a garage bay door opened on a wood shop that was once a fueling station back in the 40s. An elderly man was standing at a band-saw cutting a dasher that goes inside of a butter-churn. Something told me to go up and ask that man if he had any work I could do. I did.
“Ask the boss,” he said, nodding his head toward a white-haired lady in the back of the wood shop man-handling a radial-arm saw.
She flipped the “off” switch, pushed her goggles back on top of her white hair, wiped the saw dust off her arms, and walked toward me.
“Do you cut grass?” the elderly woman asked. “Yes, Ma’am!” I replied.
“Well, good. Come back this afternoon at 5 p.m. and cut our grass,” she said.
I arrived on time and began cutting the elderly woman’s grass. Halfway through the job, I noticed the white-haired lady had walked out the front door of her home carrying a Coca-Cola. She motioned for me to come over to the fence where she handed me the Coca-Cola and a doughnut.
We talked . . . well, she talked and I just listened. She talked about the weather and complimented the job I was doing. She then asked me to come back the following week and cut her grass again. I became her lawn boy for the remainder of that summer and each time I cut her grass, she brought me a Coca-Cola and a doughnut out to the fence under the apple tree.
Toward the end of the summer, I started getting nervous, wondering how I was going to earn money and where I was going to live. I showed up at the elderly woman’s home and just as always, she brought a Coca-Cola and doughnut out to the fence, but this time she did not compliment the job I was doing and or talk about the weather. She simply asked, “Jimmy, where do you live?”
Without giving away too much information, because I did not want this 75-year-old woman to know anything about me, I responded, “Ahh, up the road.”
The elderly woman, whose name was Beatrice Costner, but preferred that I call her Bea, was very wise.
She smiled and said, “Well, my husband and I have been talking and want to know if you would be interested in moving into our home?”
I knew it wasn’t going to last; it never lasted. I’d been allowed to stay with a few kind folks before, and always had to leave. But at least it would be a few days that I would not have to sleep outside, I could wash my clothes, eat, and take a shower. So I showed up at her home that evening, carrying a plastic bag filled with my clothes and other items such as poems, letters and drawings.
I rang her doorbell and Bea walked up to the glass storm door, opened it, and told me to come on in. I stepped into her home; it smelled amazing like pie. I walked across the living room, down to the spare bedroom, and put my bag down. I did not unpack.
I waited the next four days for her husband, Russell, who was also a World War II veteran, to make me leave. He hadn’t said a word to me the entire time I was there and I knew it was only a matter of time before the 79-year-old man was going to send me away.
Sure enough, Russell stopped me in the hallway and told me he needed to talk to me about something.
I knew what he was going to say. Nevertheless, I sat down in his chair and he sat across the living room in a small chair beside the front door. The sun was shining through the window behind him, creating a silhouette of Russell.
He held up three fingers and said, “Jimmy, if you’re going to stay in my home, there’s two things you’ve got to do.”
I wanted to correct him, but that voice I’d heard many times before said to me that I needed to keep my mouth closed and not say a word. I listened as Russell explained, “The first thing you got to do is cut off all your hair just like mine.” He lowered the first finger. “We want you to go to church.” He then lowered the second finger. “And if you don’t do those two things, you’ve got to leave now.” He emphasized the last statement by lowering the third finger.
I couldn’t believe my ears. They were going to let me stay!
For some foolish reason, I thought Russell would let the haircut slide.
He didn’t.
As soon as I said, “Okay,” he said, “Then get in my truck.” We headed to the Dixie Village barbershop.
When we walked in, the barber said, “Hello, Mr. Costner. What can I do for you?” It was very obvious that Mr. Costner did not need a haircut.
Mr. Costner said, “This boy needs a haircut.”
The barber looked at me and grabbed his clippers as if he couldn’t wait to plunge them into my long hair. The barber said, “Get up here, boy.” He wrapped a cape around my neck and the next sound I heard was the buzzing of clippers zipping around my head. Twenty seconds later I was nearly bald.
After the haircut, Mr. Costner took me next-door and purchased some school clothes for me.
When we returned to their home, I dug through my plastic bag and found a phone number that belonged to my seventh grade guidance counselor, Ms. Cindy Ballard. I told her that I had found a home. Ms. Ballard said, “We need to get you back in school.”
With her help and so many other wonderful people’s help, I enrolled in high-school and from that day forward, I never missed one single day of high-school. I was even there on senior skip day!
This family single-handedly changed every cell in my body.
They gave me an opportunity to go to high-school, attend a community college, and pursue my dream of writing and performing music. After having some success in the music business, I decided to use my experience growing up in the foster care system in conjunction with my success and raise awareness for the 30,000 foster children who age out of foster care every year in America. Most of these young people become homeless, imprisoned, pregnant, or dead.
On January 1, 2010 I began walking from Nashville Tennessee to Phoenix Arizona, simulating being homeless. I called the campaign Project Meet Me Halfway. Although I predicted it would take me only three months to walk the 1700 miles, it took me seven months.
It was approximately 9° the day I left Nashville and 117° the day I arrived in Phoenix on August 1, 2010. As a result of the walk, California, Tennessee, and North Carolina extended foster care to age 21.
My goal is to get every state in America to extend foster care to at least age 21. Each state will save money by extending foster care.
But most importantly they will save a child’s life.
You can help me help these vulnerable and valuable children by getting involved in Project Meet Me Halfway. Log onto projectMMH.org and share this information with your friends. Thank you all for taking time to read this blog. If you would like to discover the entire story, please pick up a copy of my “New York Times” bestseller, Walk To Beautiful.
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rought me a Coca-Cola and a doughnut out to the fence under the apple tree.
