by Kim Fields
We finished the night dancing at a super-private, super-intimate performance by Prince at his 3121 club. We could almost reach out and touch him. Of course, he was amazing—and so was Sebastian, who felt like he danced the whole time in my belly, especially when the Purple One closed his show with “Let’s Go Crazy.”
Speaking of crazy, that is what my doctor called me when I said I wanted to have a water birth at home. “Not at thirty-eight, you aren’t,” she said. My due date was my birthday, May 12. We scheduled a C-section the week before, on May 4, and planned to welcome him into the world with a soundtrack of favorite songs playing in the background. Chris and I put together a special Birthing Room Playlist that included “Family” from Dreamgirls and Cassandra Wilson’s “Someday My Prince Will Come.” Each song was carefully and lovingly selected.
Once in the birthing room, though, we realized we had forgotten our iPod back in our room. The anesthesiologist told Chris and me to relax. “I’ll sing with you,” he said, and the three of us sang our songs and harmonized as the doctor gently said, “Okay, now you’re going to feel a big push, like I’m pressing down on you. Just a little pressure…Sebastian, I’m coming to get you…and…”
A moment later, I was handed this cute little bundle of perfection. He weighed six pounds and change, and his eyes looked wide open and alert as he heard his name, for the first time. “Hello, Sebastian,” I said. “We love you.” Our families felt the same way. Both sides poured into my hospital room to see our prince. Less than a week later, it was time to take Sebastian home. My parents and our friend performer-writer-teacher-remarkable human being Q. Smith, were there. Chris rented a minivan and drove about three miles per hour. “Has Chris ever driven before?” my mother jokingly asked me. “Yes, he has,” Chris chimed in. “But this is precious cargo.”
From the first late-night feeding, I knew motherhood was my favorite role ever. I remember sitting up late with Sebastian, staring at him as he ate, counting his fingers, pinching his toes, and loving him more deeply than I’d imagined possible. Chris was working locally, so he gave Sebastian a bottle before going to work and let me sleep in. I spent my days like other new mothers. I read all the popular baby books, pushed Sebastian through my beloved St. Nicholas Park, the same park where I had played as a little girl. “That’s where Mommy used to run and jump and swing,” I’d say. That blew me away.
One day my sisterfriend Lalah Hathaway sent me a text that said, “Kirk is looking for you.” So I texted Kirk Franklin. “Hey, bro, you looking for me?”
He said, “No, but nice hearing from you.” Lalah then clarified: It was musician Kirk Whalum who wanted to speak with me. It turned out the brilliant saxophonist had heard my spoken word and wanted to collaborate. “I’ll send you a track,” he said. “Do your thing and I’ll play around with whatever you come up with.”
Stunned and flattered, I listened to his track while I did Sebastian’s overnight feedings. His dreamy jazz matched my half-awake, half-asleep state of mind and gradually lyrics came to me until I wrote the piece “In a Whisper.” Kirk put the track on what would become his Grammy-nominated album Round Trip. I still remember one reviewer said of our track, “It’s hot.” I was good with that.
Later that summer, life had settled into a mostly predictable routine. One day, while pushing my napping baby through the park, I was hit with all that had happened since moving back to Harlem. In just two years, I had gone from asking Chris how we could live in the same zip code to caring for our two-month-old. By His grace, we had created a rich life for ourselves in New York City. My old hometown had become my new hometown. New friends were like old friends.
One night we were sitting on our bed, planning the next few months of work and travel. Chris mentioned wanting to give Los Angeles a try after his upcoming gig in Oklahoma City. A few of his friends had moved west to see if they could transition to TV and film from the stage. I said, “All right. I hear you. But what’s the immediate plan?”
It was a loaded question. As Chris knew from previous discussions, I was gun-shy about moving to LA. It would change the relatively stable world we’d created in New York. I feared revisiting the dialogue from my first marriage when I heard of a change in the plan. Chris had a huge career in regional theater and Broadway. Hearing him want to reinvent himself for Hollywood didn’t quite feel like what I’d signed on for. I’d felt like I’d just left LA. I wasn’t interested in going back. But again, I wasn’t going to be anybody’s dream killer, especially this talented man’s. So we talked goals and plans. We moved slowly. I was going to be with Christopher Morgan for the long haul, so this time around I wanted to bring wisdom, not baggage.
On July 23, we called my old friend Pastor Donnie McClurkin, and later that afternoon we were standing in his office, exchanging I Do’s. It was raining like crazy, and Donnie’s church was way out on Long Island. We took a train, a cab, a yak…It took forever to get out there, which was a good metaphor for marriage: There will be bumps and obstacles, but you don’t give up; you don’t get out of the car. You laugh through difficulties, and you make sure there’s a touch of magic.
We were met there by another longtime family friend, Louis Mellini—yup, my prom chauffeur, surrogate big brother, and Donnie’s brother-in-law. He was our witness. Knowing I’d take at least one photo, I wore a nice orange dress and a head scarf. But that was it for formalities. Midway through the ceremony, we paused to change Sebastian’s diaper. When we started up again, Donnie asked for the rings. Both Chris and I traded looks of panic. We’d forgotten them.
Thinking quickly, Chris went over to Donnie’s desk, found gold paper clips, and quickly fashioned two of them into rings—one of which he put on his finger and the other one on mine. “I do,” he said.
“I do,” I said. “Forever.”
And yes, we still have our gold paper clip rings.
19
Mother
I am in awe of my husband’s talent. Truly, as I mentioned earlier, he takes my breath away when he performs. Some of the biggest goose bumps of my life have come while watching him perform onstage. The look on his face when he takes his bow in front of an audience comes from deep inside his soul. It is the picture of someone who is doing exactly what he should be doing at that moment in time. I believe that’s another reason why I was hesitant about moving to LA. Casting in the film and TV business is often about the bigger, better thing, not the most talented person in the room, and I did not want to see my husband’s brilliance tarnished in any way.
I was being protective of both of us, I suppose. I didn’t want him to be hurt, and I didn’t want us to suffer. But Chris was passionate. He was at an age where he wanted to try. He knew it was a risk, but he felt like he had to take it.
As much as I had always feared this sort of life, one without a safety net, I loved this man too much to say anything but, “I support you, Mr. Morgan.”
I had only one condition: I wanted to keep our place in Harlem. Once all that was straightened out, we made a plan and headed west. I wish I could say that everything worked out the way we wanted. Unfortunately, Chris had an extremely difficult time. Despite twenty-plus years of experience, he had to reestablish himself. It was like starting from scratch, which he was prepared to do, but when you are a thirty-year-old man with skills that put you at the top of your craft and no one cares, or they tell you directly that your skills are not enough and that your resume doesn’t matter, it’s painful.
And for both of us. I hated to see him hurt and suffering. It put a terrible stress on our marriage. The challenging times often felt like they would eat us alive, but we held on to each other and hung in there. Finding a church home helped tremendously, not only with caring for our spirit but also with providing an outlet for Chris, who thrived in the music department. We also had (and will always have) our humor…
One day Chris came home to find me ecstatic about an audition I’d just been called in for. I was running around getting my look together,
which included my knee-high white leather go-go boots. The role was for Storm in X-Men. I kept saying how surprised I was Halle was no longer doing the fantastic mutant superhero, but okay, I’m in! I was working on my scene in my outfit when I read the info more carefully and it hit me like a ton of bricks: My audition was for the animated series. This was a voice-over audition. Halle wasn’t goin’ nowhere. When I tell you, Chris and I to this very day laugh our butts off heartily, doubled over, screaming with laughter at that one.
Writing became my outlet, my lifeline to calm and sanity. I wrote a one-woman play titled Black Don’t Crack, but My Soul Does Ache. It was a collection of character sketches, different people inside me clamoring to get out. Through them, I unloaded my opinions on life, love, work, and social issues; deeply cathartic, it was like a year of therapy.
I also began writing for practical reasons. I didn’t want to wait for someone to hire me. I didn’t want to audition and then wonder if they liked me. So I put pen to paper and created a job for myself. I wanted to act. I wanted to stretch as an artist and dig deep inside myself—and that’s exactly what I did. Chris booked a wonderful gig at the Hollywood Bowl, a production of Guys & Dolls. It had a fantastic cast featuring the incomparable Brian Stokes Mitchell (whom I had a teen crush on from when he was on the TV series Trapper John, M.D.—I even had an autographed picture of him in my dressing room) and the lovely Jessica Biel. It was a marvelous boost for Chris. And as always, he took my breath away.
In February 2009, I premiered Black Don’t Crack at a friend’s theater in Dallas. Chris, who helped me come up with an ending for the show, was there with Sebastian. Lisa Whelchel also came to one performance. The audiences ate it up, enthusiastically connecting with the material with shouts of “Preach” and “Yes, ma’am” and “Amen.” It was everything I’d hoped and more.
I believe you create your own breaks, sometimes for no other reason than to keep your mind occupied, as was the case with my play. At the same time, I knew that God was creating alongside me. I called it a one-woman show, but it wasn’t a solo project. He had guided me through everything I’d been through and given me the gifts of being able to write and produce. To that end, the play seemed to put a positive energy into the world that opened new doors for me. One day I got a call from my mom, who said that I was going to get a call from Tyler Perry’s people. Tyler had begun producing, writing, and directing TV shows for TBS in Atlanta, including House of Payne. He was also about to launch Meet the Browns.
With a workload that also included movies, he had started to look for other directors to help with his TV series and he called my mom, whom he’s always loved. Luckily for me, Chip was busy. She said something like, “Oh, I’m not flying back and forth right now. You should call Kimmy.”
My mom is like that—a generous spirit. If she can’t do a job, she recommends who she feels is the next best person. As a result, I heard from Tyler’s right-hand man and executive producer Roger Bobb, who met with me at a restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. We had a great talk and before I knew it, they flew me, Chris, and Sebastian to Atlanta for a couple days so I could observe the way they worked in preparation to direct an episode of my own.
I will never forget that first day I walked into Tyler Perry Studios—actually, forget walking in; just arriving there and standing in front of the gates gave me chills. I looked at his name and was so proud of this person and all that he had overcome. I had met Tyler years before and experienced the brightness of his smile and the force of his eyes when talking to him. The man radiated an energy that was unparalleled. He had seen me in a production of Barefoot in the Park at the National Black Theater Festival and also that night discovered a friend of mine I had put in the play, Cassi Davis, who he then used in several of his projects, including House of Payne.
Tyler’s world was something else. You do not simply carve out your own place in the entertainment industry and build a studio with your name on the gates. The people who did this were named Warner and Mayer and Goldwyn. Oprah had Harpo Studios in Chicago but had not yet launched OWN, her own network. So as I walked in, I took in the fact that somebody had done this. Then add that this somebody was once homeless. And this somebody was abused. And oh yeah, this somebody is a black man.
But those were not my points of entry for admiring Tyler Perry. No, the thing that impressed me most was the thing that got him to this place. He was, quite simply, exceptional.
When I got to the set of Meet the Browns, Tyler jumped right into rehearsal. It was a hug and a kiss and “let’s go.” As Roger had explained, Tyler’s method of making TV was different than the traditional way shows were produced. Indeed, Tyler did everything at his own pace, which was fast; he shot one show a day compared to one show a week. I shadowed him for a few days/episodes and then at the end of the third he said, “Okay, Kimmy, tomorrow you’re up.”
Tyler was and is a complete and utter visionary. He is highly creative and full of enthusiasm and love for what he does. He knows every character and every story line of every one of his movies and TV shows. He knows his audience—what they like, what they do not like, what they will react to. He knows the lane he has created. He is focused, but also playful and a world-class multitasker. He can operate brilliantly in several playgrounds at the same time.
When my turn came, I brought my A-game, as I knew I had to. I got the script and ran everyone through their blocking for cameras. My efforts got a thumbs-up from the maestro and I kept going. Once we knew the work was going to be a real gig rather than a two-week trial, they moved us from the hotel to a beautiful condo in midtown Atlanta. A short time later, I turned forty years old. Tyler sent flowers and the show’s cast helped me celebrate with a large birthday cake. That night, Chris and I went to the movies, as was our tradition on my birthday.
But forty.
Wow.
I reacted by cutting my locks. Cliché? Maybe. But I felt like a new level of womanhood was supposed to begin. The problem was, I did not have a vision of what that was for me. I just knew it was supposed to look different, and so, after a decade of my blond locks, my boho glam, it was snip-snip-snip. But there were changes beyond a new do that began to define this new chapter for me. For instance, we moved. After the season ended, we returned to Los Angeles, packed up everything, put some stuff in storage, and created a new home in Atlanta.
In 2010, Chris starred in a touring company of Ain’t Misbehavin’. At home, I drove Sebastian to preschool and then went to the set. We used Skype and FaceTime to stay in contact multiple times a day and visited Chris in San Jose and Phoenix. It was not a traditional life, but it was the life of two working, adult performers. On the plane, as Sebastian played with toys, I leaned back in my chair, one of those rare mommy breaks when I had time to take a deep breath and reflect.
I was so proud of Chris and happy to see his spirit soaring again. He was so present in Sebastian’s early years, it was a blessing to be able to say to him, “Baby, definitely go and take wings.” I was grateful that God provided the opportunity to remind Chris that He still had his back, that He still knew what was in Chris’s heart and created the fire in his belly. As for me, I thought, Okay, this is who we are. This is what we do. This is how we support each other. We create balance—whatever that means.
It meant Chris had a great run in Ain’t Misbehavin’. I was directing Meet the Browns. We had a lovely home in the burbs. Sebastian and I were in a great routine. He loved preschool. We were good.
* * *
“How is it down there?” My mom was calling from California. Tyler’s first choice to direct before I got the job, she was headed to Atlanta to direct episodes of his other TV series, House of Payne. If I am not mistaken, we are the only mother-daughter team to direct network television, let alone do it simultaneously, but that is what happened. Both of us were helming shows for Tyler Perry. There was no time to hang out, even though our soundstages were next door to each other, but my mom’s inspiring vibe permeated the walls a
nd I grooved on knowing she was nearby.
Outside of work, she was able to spend time with her grandson. Sebastian was still a little guy and loved spending time with ‘MomMom’ on the weekends. Back in LA, my sister, Alexis, was raising her own child. About a year and a half after Sebastian was born, she and her husband had the first of their two children, a baby girl named Kaycie. The day Alexis got married and then later brought that sweet treat into the world, she went from being my little sister and one of my best girlfriends to one of my best girlfriends and a woman I admired.
I was content with my life in A-Town, but not so content that I quit hustling. I knew how the world worked, especially the show business world, and I knew it was best to have something waiting in the wings. Chris and I created Holiday Love, the first of what has turned out to be an annual TV special modeled after the family-friendly variety shows I remembered fondly from my childhood. Filled with stars and music and funny skits, it was like Andy Williams’s Christmas specials. It ran on TV One on Christmas Eve as a lead-in to a Beyoncé special and was encored on Christmas day.
The following year TV One aired Holiday Love at 7:00 a.m. Christmas morning. Boy, was I was mad. I was like, “You know the show. You know it did well last year. I expanded it to two hours. You know I’m working my butt off to promote it. Why do you put it on Christmas morning?”
Chris talked me down. “Baby, something’s better than nothing,” he said.
Okay. Heeding the advice of my sage husband, I spun my frustration into a positive: “TV One has your first Christmas gift. It’s Holiday Love.” I envisioned growing this as a brand—and we did. We have continued it one way or another via syndication and in the digital space with our online channel as well as an annual radio special with over a million listeners. In November, Chris joined the cast of Ghost Brothers of Darkland County, a new Southern gothic musical from author Stephen King and rocker John Mellencamp. Workshops began at the Alliance Theater in December and performances, which began with a world premiere in April 2012, were sold out immediately.