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Why did I start writing?

It’s coming up on the 1 year anniversary of my very first blog post. So why not start a “Why” series explaining why I started this crazy adventure. So here’s a story on how I first got into the blogging game.

Failure

It all started the first time I got kicked out of college. I actually failed out, but saying I got kicked out boosts my street cred by +5. One of my coaches who went bald at a young age came up to me pretty aggressive. It was a weekend where we had to work the Special Olympics. So, I just assumed he was in a bad mood because he had to work on the Weekend. Not because he went bald at the age of 17. Bald Prick. A.K.A Midget Mr. Clean, A.K.A Smeagal, A.K.A Dobby is a free elf, A.K.A Homer Simpson with a Visor. Hate that guy.

He comes up to me and says, “Do you plan on playing on this football team next year?”

“Yeah?”

Why would I be here on a WEEKEND, during the SUMMER if I wasn’t? Did a Broncos scout get in touch with you, saying they need a 4th string offensive linemen? Did you show them my scout bowl tape?

“You better get your ass up to the Administrative office and appeal to get back in school.”

“Ok…” Probably a better way to tell one of your players he failed out.

Anyways, I go see my Adviser because I don’t listen to no bummy ass special teams’ coach. I get there and she informs me that I have indeed, failed out of college. She also goes on to tell me that there was a huge possibility of me not attending this school come Fall. Which again, is a lot to drop on a kid.

She tells me the only way I can get back into school is if I write an appeal letter. There were other forms I had to fill out of course, also had to make up some sorry excuse as to why I did so bad in school. But the main thing was the letter.

She tells me she had done this countless times before and to be honest, a lot of kids don’t get approved. So, prepare for the worst.

Thanks for the pep talk coach?

So, I go to work. Spent a whole hour writing that letter. Which is probably the longest I’ve ever spent on writing back then. I poured my absolute heart and soul into that essay. Gave them some above average sob story. Typical black people stuff.

  • My mother raised us by herself.
  • Divorced at a young age.
  • Dad isn’t in the picture.
  • Stepdad didn’t care about us.
  • Grew up with our parents fighting.
  • Alcohol abuse.
  • Don’t have a home to go back to if I drop out.

Blah, Blah, Bullshit

I actually wish I had a copy of that letter. My adviser and one of the enrollment committee members read my paper before I turned it in. This isn’t an exaggeration at all, they were in ACTUAL tears.

So in a way, my passion for writing lead me to finding my passion….for writing.

Graduation day bay-bay!

Let’s fast forward a couple years. 4 to be exact and my Graduation day is finally here. Thank God for waking me up in time to participate in it. We were out drinking the night before and I didn’t even set an alarm to wake up.

I woke up in a panic and scrambled around to find clothes. Tossed on my Cap and Gown, slammed a warm ass beer that was left out from the night before. And with the worst hang over I’ve ever had; I make my way down to the auditorium with my buddies. Before I know it, it’s my turn to walk across the stage.

Everything prior is a blur. I see President Borack O-Jackson. (I call him that because he’s black) And it looks like my mans was out drinking last night too. Going through the motions and everything.

It literally looked like he’d shake the persons hand, take a picture, tell them “go on, fuck off.” And proceeded to do that with everyone.

Then finally they announce my name and his face lights up.

Mind you, this is a life changing moment for me. All the hard work with working 2 jobs, going through the trenches (Football), constantly struggling through school. Has led me here, to this moment. That, and me not having a single conversation with this man. Has made me extremely nervous. As if I would go to grab my Degree from him and he pulls his hand back and says, “Sike!”

Like, the work has been done James, why are you so nervous?

 They announce my name and we make eye contact. I walk up and he hands me my Degree in one hand and shakes my hand with the other. We pose for a picture, at this point I don’t know if I imagine this or not. But everybody is losing their mind. Can’t even hear myself think. I wanted to throw my hands up or scream or something that would entertain the masses. But I’m frozen, then President Borack O-Jackson pulls me in close. He says something in my ear that I’d never forget.

It took me a while to fully process what he says. Since we missed the rehearsal the day prior I didn’t know where to go. Obviously, you walk off the stage but apparently, you’re supposed to pose for another picture. Yeah, I didn’t do that.

At this point my head is rolling. The hangover is about to completely claim me. I either had to keep drinking to counteract it or cuddle up with a trash can the rest of the day. Thank God my Zbar Coworker had shooters on deck.

It wasn’t until after we got done taking pictures with friends, coaches, professors, baby mamas, pretty much anybody who wanted a snap. That I really processed what President Jackson said.

My buddy comes up to me and asks, “What’d he say to you? He didn’t do that with anybody else.”

I think back to the chaos of walking across that stage with everybody losing their minds. I think back to the split second where he said a couple words to me, like a secret.

In the Calm of his voice he says, “Use your gift.”

My Gift

For the longest time I struggled with understanding what he meant by that. What was my gift? The things that actually kept me afloat in school was, talking and writing.

I was funny-ish when I was on camera for my Media classes. On air I got into a mood where it all just came natural to me. Which is absolutely bizarre because I stumble over simple words in normal everyday conversations. I don’t think I’m much of a public speaker. But writing, writing was what I decided was going to take me far in this world. Because I have a message, I have ideas, I have things to say, more importantly, I have a voice. Blogging was going to be my microphone to reach people. So, I started this blog a year ago and haven’t looked back.

Stay woke y’all