Later I realized that another reason the rumor that I was gay caught on so fast was because I had been hanging out with a guy who people said was gay. He was older than I was and ran around with some friends of mine even before I met him. He had a Z-28 with a T-top, and everybody thought that was cool. He looked like he could be gay—he was effeminate—but I didn’t realize he really might be. Maybe it was only natural that, when kids from school saw me hanging out with this guy, they just assumed I was gay too.
Tenth grade is hard for most people. The peer pressure is intense, and the constant preoccupation with being liked, being popular, and dressing cool makes it a hard time for any teenager. But it was especially hard on me. The effect of all this was an awareness that, even though I wasn’t gay, I was definitely different. I always felt like I didn’t fit in with the kids around me, but in the tenth grade it became clear to me that it was never going to change.
I began to see that I wasn’t really as smooth as I thought I was, and I wasn’t as good looking as I wanted to be. This was also the time I finally realized I was always going to be shorter than other people my age.
Everybody else was into sports. Everybody else was tough and could handle themselves in a fight. They all seemed so much smoother and better dressed, and they had better personalities than I did. I was just the same old kid I had always been, and that wasn’t getting me anywhere.
I was still music minister at my church, still directing the musicals and playing the piano and organ on Sundays. But I also began to realize that the things I had gone through during my junior high years had affected my relationship with Gertrude. During that time, Gertrude was growing more and more distant toward me, and by the tenth grade it seemed as if there was no common ground at all between us.
Except for church and the most basic things at home, such as meals and laundry, there was little to talk about that wouldn’t cause us to get into an argument. So, rather than fight about stuff, Gertrude just withdrew from me.
By that time, Deborah, my biological mother, was not even a factor in my life. Needless to say, after Charles beat me up when I was thirteen, I hadn’t wanted much to do with them in any way. By the time I reached high school, they had already separated and were close to divorce.
From there, I was trying to find out who in the world I was. Marcus was in a different high school, I was living with relatives, and Gertrude and I hardly spoke to each other any more. So, any way you look at it, those years when I was fifteen and sixteen years old gave me a painful reality kick.
TURNING TO THE LIGHT
I was a Christian by this time and had stopped smoking weed. But I still had a long way to go to get to where I needed to be in my walk with the Lord. On top of that, I was having to learn a new way of life. Before, all I thought about was having fun, hanging out, drinking beer, and meeting girls. Now I knew there was a better way, and I wanted to get in step with God, but I didn’t have a lot of leadership. I wasn’t really sure what to do.
So the more I changed and the less I took part in all the stuff I’d been involved in before, the more people started giving me a hard time, and they started telling everybody I was gay. Kids can be brutal, and the more it hurts the more they do it.
That might not have been so bad except that when I looked around I realized that most of the people like me—people who were into clothes, music, drama and musicals, and the arts—were all gay. So that took a little adjustment.
I got into a gospel group at this time. We called ourselves the Humble Hearts, and we played for churches and musical programs of all kinds. Everybody in the band was young. They were all like me, basically, and they weren’t mature enough to realize that they were dealing with damaged goods—because that’s what I was at that time.
I was seeing the young lady who would eventually have my son, but we weren’t getting along either. It was a strange relationship, purely physical, and other than that we weren’t really compatible. We fought a lot; we were both too much into ourselves, doing our own thing, and we didn’t really know how to care for each other. That just added more stress to my life.
I tried so hard to fit in and look normal that I probably made a fool of myself in the process. There just seemed to be no relief, and I still remember that as one of the most painful times in my life.
On the surface, there wasn’t all that much difference between the ninth and tenth grades. But three other things, emotional and spiritual things, came together in rapid-fire succession. I had flunked the year before, my friend Eric got killed that summer, and I gave my life to the Lord. So I was looking at the same old world but with new eyes.
More and more, music was the only place where I could find relief from the pressures that were building up inside of me. Sometimes I would go off where I could just be alone at the piano, and I would play anything that came into my head. Hymns, Sunday school choruses, folk songs, rock and roll, or things I’d just make up out of my head. Whenever I was alone at the piano, I would mess around with tunes and lyrics, working out my own ideas and emotions.
Later, during that long, hot summer, another friend was killed in an automobile accident. This time it was a girl I had dated in high school, so I wrote a song for her and performed it at the funeral.
Shortly after that I wrote another song for The Humble Hearts, using the words of Psalm 51.
The words of that psalm ring out with music. Words like, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from Your presence, and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me.” Isn’t that powerful? Studying those words, I realized David must have traveled right where I was walking.
He said, “Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me by Your generous Spirit. Then I will teach transgressors Your ways, and sinners shall be converted to You.” There’s a powerful sermon in those four verses found in Psalm 51:10-13, and some good music too.
In reality, there wasn’t any sort of plan to my writing at that point. It never crossed my mind that someday I would use my writing as the means for taking care of my family. And even though I loved to play and even though I had always said that I would like to be a musician if I ever got the chance, my writing and composition at that stage were pretty simple and straightforward. I was dealing with a lot of perplexing emotional and spiritual problems, so the music just seemed to be the most natural way for me to express my feelings.
The musical group I was playing with at that time, the Humble Hearts, was a local group, but we were getting a little exposure. Best of all, we were finding out what it was like to be professional performers and musicians. Going around to play at churches all over North Texas gave us a lot of practice performing praise and worship music, and I started developing a real interest in writing my own songs.
During one period I was into the whole charismatic scene, shouting and praising the Lord and dancing. Believe me, it was a new experience for this little old Baptist boy. Going out to perform in Full Gospel and charismatic churches introduced me to other cultures and other expressions of faith. That was an eye-opening experience and an important influence on the music I write today.
Little by little and step by step, I was growing in the faith, moving toward a career in music. I was struggling with my identity and crying out to the Lord. But I soon found out He could handle it. The Lord could overcome my trials and temptations, and I was beginning to see the light. But little did I realize what was coming next.
In the coming year, during the eleventh grade, I was in for a dramatic turn of events.
Savior, more than life to me,
You are the joy and air I breathe;
No other lover shall there be
That makes my spirit sing.
Hold me close, don’t let me go;
You’re the only friend I’ll ever know.
That is why I love You so,
More than life to me,
More than life to me.
More, more,
> I’ve been searchin’ and You are
More, more, more,
Yes, You are.
You are more than life to me,
Yes, You are.
That is why I love you so,
More than life to me.
Words and music by Kirk Franklin.
Copyright ©1995, Kerrion Publishing / Lilly Mack Publishing (BMI).
Used by permission.
5
More Than Life to Me
Even though I felt like an outcast most of the time, and even though I was going through some bitter disappointments, I believe that O.D. Wyatt High School was one of the best things that ever happened to me from a musical standpoint. The music and performing arts programs were so strong that they pulled me along. They gave me a sense of purpose and an emotional center, even when everything around me seemed to be falling apart.
My teachers must have realized some of the troubles I was going through; they would just let me steal away sometimes to be alone with my music, and that was very important at the time. My academics were lousy, and I was fast on my way to ending my high school education without ever receiving a diploma, but I had the sense that I was getting a first-class music education.
Now I realize it was all God’s design. He knew I wasn’t going to grow up to be a rocket scientist or a CPA. That’s why I wasn’t spending all my time in the biology lab or the math clinic. I knew if I had any gifts at all they were in music, and the lessons I needed most had to come from my own musical experiences and soul searching. However, don’t get me wrong. A good education is very important. You can’t just rely on gifts.
From the ninth through the eleventh grades, the teachers who did the most to shape my skills and interests were Jewel Kelly in music, Rudy Eastman in drama, and our band teacher, James Hamilton. All three of them spent time with me, hammering stuff into me along the way and giving me a glimpse of what it means to be sensitive to the gifts.
The person who encouraged me the most as a musician was Mrs. Kelly. She was a gifted teacher and musician who taught me a lot about composition and performance. She was hard on me and wouldn’t put up with poor or sloppy work, but she helped me understand the medium of musical performance in a way I don’t think I ever could have learned without her help.
By the time I got to the eleventh grade, most of my relationships were in turmoil. I had to take the city bus to school and transfer twice to get there and back. Spending time with my son’s mother was painful too, but it was one of the only regular things in my life. Along with all the hassles of high school, people kept saying I was gay. Sometimes the pressures were so great that whenever I was alone, I would just break down and cry.
But, you know, there was one thing about Gertrude that stands out in my memory. She could be mad at me and could stay mad at me, but if she saw that I was hurting or sick, she’d be there to take care of me. She could kick me out of the house without a second thought if I wasn’t behaving right; but if she saw that I was hurting, she’d be there.
One morning I woke up feeling so bad, so discouraged, because the situation at school seemed hopeless. Everybody knew I had flunked and was repeating the grade. The pressures of not fitting in, of catching the bus, and of putting up with all the harassment, and all the emotional pressures of the boy-girl thing were just killing me. I was really low.
I was supposed to get up and get dressed so I could catch the bus for school, but Gertrude could see that I was down. She came over and sat down beside me and said, “Baby, if you don’t want to go today, you don’t have to go.”
As rare as it was for her to let me take a day off like that, it was reassuring to know that Gertrude cared about what I was going through. She didn’t approve of everything I was into, but she loved me. I really needed that.
AN UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITY
It was during all this that we heard about a school for musicians and artists that had just opened up a couple of years before on the campus of Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth. I don’t remember how we found out about it, but Gertrude made a couple of telephone calls and checked into it. She told them all about my musical background then made an appointment for us to visit the campus, where I was to be given an enrollment audition.
The Professional Youth Conservatory, or PYC, had opened its doors for the first time in January 1985 as a performing arts high school for young people who showed promise of achieving careers in the entertainment and performance industries. It offered programs in dance, theater, and music, and in addition to all the standard high school requirements, they were going to have arts classes taught by professionals from the Dallas/Fort Worth area.
Dr. Steve Schooler, the headmaster, had been involved in theater, dance, and opera for many years. He knew practically everybody in the arts community in Fort Worth. He was a teacher, former TV personality, and production director for a chain of dinner theaters in the area. The school was his idea, and he was the main one putting everything together.
He had earned a doctorate in fine arts from Texas A&M University, and he was involved in a lot of stuff that I was interested in. The goal, he said, was to keep the enrollment small—no more than fifty students—so that everybody could have personal attention. Every graduate was expected to go on to a career in the arts.
With the help of the university and with classroom facilities provided by Polytechnic Methodist Church on the university campus, he had created a real conservatory right in my own backyard.
The program seemed perfect for me. But the problem was that the tuition was going to be thirty-five hundred dollars a year, and there was no way that Gertrude or I could have come up with that kind of extra money. When we realized we wouldn’t be able to pay for it, I gave up the dream and went back to Wyatt for the eleventh grade.
But one day, just a few weeks after the semester started, the headmaster of the arts school called our house and asked if I could come back by his office. It turned out that some unknown donor had made a bequest to the conservatory to help deserving young people who couldn’t afford the tuition. Dr. Schooler said that if I was still interested, there was a place at the conservatory with my name on it.
I can’t even begin to tell you what kind of rainbow that was for me at that moment. Not just because of the musical education I would be receiving at the school but because it was a chance to get away from an environment that was killing me. PYC came at just the right moment, and it was like a drink of cold water to my thirsty soul.
Suddenly I had something to commit myself to—a place to go where they understood creative people. There is no question that the scholarship changed things for me—overnight!
If I had stayed at Wyatt High School where the pressures were so intense, I’m not sure I would have made it. I would probably have gone back to drinking and smoking pot and other things that would have held me back and kept me from ever discovering my potential. So, for the chance to break out of that and to get a good, practical education at a school dedicated to the performing arts, I will be eternally grateful.
My academics were bad; the teachers at PYC could see that from my transcript. But they were willing to help me. The lucky thing was that there were only about thirty students in the whole school at that point, so they had time to work with me individually. Everybody there was an artist or a performer of some kind.
All the way through school, right up to that moment in the fall of 1987, I had felt weird, strange, and like a misfit. But as soon as I arrived at PYC, I found out that everybody there was just like me! None of them had fit in either, and none of them were comfortable in a traditional academic setting. They were all artists, musicians, actors, and dancers. What an incredible relief to find out that, here at least, I could fit in and be considered normal!
I’ll never forget my last day at O. D. Wyatt. The kids in my class were blown away when they heard that I was going to a music conservatory on a university campus. One guy said, “What are you saying? You mean, out of all the
kids in Fort Worth, you’ve been selected to go to a school for the performing arts?” I nodded and smiled, and he grabbed my hand and said, “Yo, baby, I ain’t mad at’cha!” He was excited for me, and so was I.
They didn’t know anything about the school, of course. It had only been open a couple of years, and it was small. But it sounded impressive, and I think they thought I must be somebody special after all. I really got a kick out of that for as long as it lasted.
Mrs. Kelly had arranged a little going-away party for me, and a few of the other kids came by to say good-bye. They wished me good luck and patted me on the back, but they had no idea how important this new opportunity was for me. My teachers and friends had seen that I was unhappy, but I don’t think any of them knew just how stressed I really was or what a great relief the new school was going to be.
A PLACE APART
PYC was a place for me to get away. It was a place where I could stretch a little bit and find out who I was. I mean, these were the days when my hair was all different colors, and I was really pushing the limits. As it turned out, I was the only black guy chosen to go there. Of the thirty students in the school, there were three or four Hispanics, two black girls, and me, and the rest were white. We made an interesting mix.
I developed a good friendship with two of the guys, Perry and Jason. They were my boys. Perry was a singer, and Jason was an actor. Unlike me, they both came from families who had money. Obviously, anyone who could afford the tuition for a school like that would have to have a little extra cash. But money or class was not really an issue. We were all artists.
I was seventeen, and hanging out with these kids was a trip. I even dated one of the girls. It was the first time I’d ever gone out with somebody who wasn’t black. By this time I had a certain spirituality about me and was trying to live a Christian life, but I was still young and immature in my ability to express it.
Every now and then I would spend time with my son’s mother. Even though neither of us was very happy and the relationship was extremely difficult—we were like oil and water and didn’t mix well at all. I feel the main reason we continued to have any contact is because we knew and hung out with some of the same people.
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