Put on Your Crown

by Queen Latifah

  Pearls and Gems

  It’s beautiful to see the transformation that can happen in young people when an adult takes the time to notice them. So many of my students have gone on to do great things, including Shakim Compere, Dana’s business partner. He’s family now. One of my favorite students, Irisa Leverette, was such a quiet little thing when she joined my class. She kept her head down and barely spoke. She wasn’t much more than four feet tall and so desperately shy. Unlike my Dana, she didn’t walk around with her head held high. But there was just something about her. Her work was brilliant. She had such intelligence and character. I made it my mission to bring her out of her shell and encourage her academically. Her family didn’t have much money, so I made her one of my first scholarship students through our education foundation.

  Irisa did us proud. She went to Kean College (now Kean University), and she is now a history professor at that same school. Her sister was caught up in drugs, so Irisa took custody of her nieces and nephews, including one who is physically and mentally challenged. She adopted three children outright. This little thing turned out to be a pillar of strength. A true queen, she’s walking tall today. But when I first met her, it was as if she wanted to hide, and she might have, all her life, if somebody hadn’t noticed her. What a waste that would have been! If Irisa had stayed invisible, it would have been the world’s loss.

  That’s why it was so important for me to understand my children as individuals from an early age. I always knew my Dana was extraordinary, and I wanted to understand exactly what it was that made her tick. I wanted her specialness to come out in the safe, nurturing environment of a loving home, so that when she left the nest, all too soon, she could be proud of who she was—proud and unafraid to express it.

  At times, I must confess I’ve resented having to share my daughter with the world. She’s wonderful about making time for me and calling regularly, but her life’s path takes her across the country and around the world. I’m not one of these mothers who get to have her children and grandchildren with her at the dinner table every Sunday. I always worry about her and hope that the people who are there to comfort and care for her when she’s far away from me truly have her back. But God made me Queen Latifah’s mom for a reason. It gives me the opportunity to bring out the potential of thousands more children than I could ever reach in my classroom—through our scholarship foundation, the Urban League, even forums like this book.

  I hope and pray that the moments my daughter shares with you will help you stop, look, and appreciate yourself for all the unique and wonderful qualities you bring to this world. I hope you will understand that in many ways, Queen Latifah is just like you. She’s suffered the same losses and made many of the same mistakes. And just like my Dana, you will find success and happiness on your own terms when you embrace your authentic self and love and believe in who you are. Keep your checklist by the bathroom mirror. Repeat that list every day until it sinks in and becomes part of your DNA. Even if you don’t think anyone really sees you… see yourself.

  Love,

  Mamma O

  CHAPTER 5

  Fear

  Open your eyes ’cause it’s time to get live…

  —LATIFAH, “LONG ASS MOUNTAIN”

  Stepping onto that board, I had no idea how small it would be. There wasn’t any room for me to take a running leap. The only thing to do was take a deep breath and jump straight in. But as I stared down the thirty-three-foot drop into the swirling turquoise water below, I couldn’t breathe. Damn, it was far! My heart flew up into my mouth. The thought flashed through my mind that it might be best if I just backed out gracefully. Maybe, just maybe, I could slink away, and no one would notice.

  I was visiting Jamaica with some friends—Shakim and some of our crew from New Jersey, including my boy Timmy, who practically lived at Rick’s Café in Negril. Timmy and his sister, a real girl’s girl, were up for any adventure: fishing, scuba diving, you name it. So when Timmy and his sister took turns jumping off the cliff like it was nothing, I just had to follow. At first, Shakim was going to join me, but when he got close to the edge and saw what he was in for, he said, “Oh, hell, no!”

  He begged me not to do it. A long time ago, Shakim made a promise to my mother that he would never let anything happen to me, and he was scared. He didn’t want to have to go back home and report to Ms. O that her daughter broke her neck on his watch. But something about that place, with its magical sunset, green hillsides merging into sapphire blue water, dolphins jumping out of the surf—not to mention the free-flowing Jamaican rum cocktails—was daring me to try. I wanted to soak up the full experience, even if that meant getting soaked in the process!

  Then the reality of the situation hit me. I tried to gas myself up, but I was terrified. Somebody in the crowd recognized me and yelled out, “Jump! Jump!” Attempting to talk myself into it, I said, “Okay, f—— it! Let’s do this.” (I try to be a lady and keep my language clean, but privately sometimes my foul mouth gets the better of me.) Of course, somebody overheard and started shouting, “F—— it! F—— it!” Meanwhile, a busload of tourists arrived just in time for my spectacle, and they joined in the chanting: “F—— it! F—— it! F—— it!” The whole crowd was into it. Why, oh why did they have to hear me say that? There was no backing out now.

  I jumped feet first, toes pointed down toward the water, my body stiff and braced for the impact. The words “Oh… my… God” are all I remember thinking before I hit the water, hard. Every cavity was flushed out, but the water was invigorating. I felt giddy, like I could do anything. I swam over to the other side of the cliff, where Timmy and his sister were waiting. They’d already climbed up to another diving platform, five feet higher than the first one, so of course I had to join them. “Okay,” we figured, “we can do this again.” At this point, there was no other way to get back onto terra firma anyway. When I landed in one piece the second time, the initial thrill had worn off, and I shuddered at the thought of what I’d just put myself through. I finally climbed out of the sea and back to the bar, never to return to Jamaican cliff jumping again! But I was proud of what I’d done. The overwhelming memory of that experience was the exhilaration I felt as I splashed into the water—not the moment of terror I felt before I took the leap.

  I guess you could call me a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I enjoy challenging myself and testing the limits of my fear. Because life is so short and so precious, you’ve got to take a big bite out of it. That means learning, growing, and being open to new things. It means embracing change. There’s so much out there I have yet to try, and I’m up for anything.

  Fear the Fear

  Fear can be crippling. It can paralyze you and cause you to not move or do things that you desire most in your heart. It can hold you back from love or keep you stuck in a pattern or a place where love won’t ever find you. You might be afraid that the person you love will leave you or won’t love you back. You might be afraid to be your authentic self, believing you’ll be rejected if people see who you really are. Fear stops you from feeling the greatest joys in life. Fear kills the real you.

  The Jamaican cliff dive moment was one of my more extreme adventures, but I love experiencing the rush that comes from doing something that’s way out of my comfort zone. I like to do things that are exciting. There’s something about having that little bit of fear and pushing myself to overcome it. It allows me to do so many other things I might not otherwise consider. It makes me feel alive.

  Making the movie Last Holiday and walking in the shoes of my character, Georgia Byrd, reminded me how important it is to really drop your inhibitions and go for it. Fear was holding this woman back from so much in life. She loved food and she loved to cook, but instead of eating the dishes she created, she’d nuke herself a Lean Cuisine in the microwave because she was afraid of a few extra calories. She had a beautiful voice, but she was so timid that no one in her church choir could hear her sing. She was crazy for a man she worked with, an
d he was obviously crazy for her, but she was so shy that she couldn’t even look him in the eye. Her whole life was stuck inside a wish book in her kitchen drawer, gathering dust.

  It’s only when she gets the news that she’s dying that she really starts to live. That was a powerful message for me, because at the time I was doing nothing but work, work, work, and I wasn’t making enough room in my schedule to just enjoy life. It’s very easy to get caught up and not notice all the good things that are passing you by. You have to live every day like it’s your last.

  In the movie, Georgia decides to cash in all her bonds and clear out her savings account and have one last blast before the end came. With nothing left to lose, she goes on a real adventure. She even goes BASE jumping.

  That’s where I draw the line. No way would I do something that crazy! But I do want to learn how to fly a plane and a helicopter. And I want to skydive. (Okay, maybe it’s not much of a line.) My “to do” list of adventures is constantly growing. Each one I check off the list emboldens me to go even further the next time.

  I finally learned how to ski after making Last Holiday. Around the time we were filming, I learned how to snowboard, but a few months later some crazy Canadian friends of mine were going skiing at Mt. Whistler, British Columbia, and they invited me along. Now this I had to try. As a Jersey girl from the ’hood, I never really saw skiing as a possibility for me. You don’t see too many African-Americans in the Winter Olympics. But when I was little, I used to be fascinated by the ski jumping on ABC’s Wide World of Sports. Watching those athletes soar through the air made me dream about doing the same thing.

  Another Big Ass Mountain

  We rented a big chalet at the ski resort, and the first day I took a lesson on the bunny slope while my friends skied the more advanced runs. I’d just about mastered the snow plow, and thought I knew enough of the basics to join my friends on the grown-up slopes the next day. One of my girlfriends is a licensed ski instructor, so I figured I’d stick close to her. But I wasn’t expecting them to take me all the way to the top of the mountain, and it was a loooong way down to the next chair lift. We’re talking miles of trail. I could’ve killed ’em!

  The only way off of this thing was to ski. I tried to follow my ski lesson from the previous day and do my turns, but everything I tried just landed me in a face plant. I must have fallen ten times over the course of a few dozen yards. I was starting to get wet, and cold, and incredibly frustrated. I could see a couple of my friends in the distance talking and imagined the conversation was going something like this:

  “Oh, my God, do you think she’s gonna lose it?”

  “Yeah, she’s definitely about to lose it!”

  Then my friend the ski instructor shouted, “You can do this, Dana! You can do this!”

  Move Your Head Out of the Way

  I wasn’t so sure. It was like I had some mental block. My body just wouldn’t follow through on what my brain was telling it to do. I stood up, looked around me, and realized that the next chair lift was still about a mile and a half down the mountain. I either had to ski down to it or walk in my heavy ski boots. I was still considering my next move when this little kid who couldn’t have been more than five years old skied past me without any poles. He was skiing alongside his dad, and the little boy asked him, “Dad, do you think we could make this the last trip down?”

  “Sure, son,” the dad said. “You did great today.”

  At first I thought, “What kind of Norman Rockwell painting am I in? Please, Lord, just get me off this mountain!”

  Then it occurred to me: If this little kid could do it without any poles, then, dammit, I could do it, too! And all of a sudden I just started skiing. I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, I was just doing it. I just went for it, and all those thoughts in my head disappeared. It was even getting to be kind of fun. I made it down to the chair lift in one piece, cheering, “I did it, I did it!”

  Looking back, I realize that I was letting my mind block me. Overthinking is just another form of fear. You almost have to give yourself a mantra and lock into it. As soon as I had that one thought—“I can do this”—I stopped overthinking and it just happened for me. Instinct took over. I started trusting in my body to get me down the mountain. Something just clicked inside me. I don’t know how. It was that one moment, looking at that child, and I was thanking God for it.

  I love skiing now. I was always one of these people who went to hot places for vacations, and now I enjoy going to the mountains just as much. Feeling the crisp air on my face, that sensation of falling as you slice through the snow on a pair of skis, swimming outside in the cold and staying warm in a pool that’s hot and steamy… I faced a challenge and found even more in life that gives me joy. It’s just one of many things that have broadened my life. Opening your world to different things, whether it’s art, culture, music, food, even different kinds of people, is so much more interesting than just doing the same thing over and over.

  There’s another benefit to challenging yourself and testing the next limit of your fear. When you do, and you make that leap of faith in yourself and your God, everything somehow falls into place and becomes easier. Then you ask yourself, “What was holding me back? What was all the fuss about?” Pushing past the scary stuff is the only way to move yourself forward in life.

  I was lucky to have a dad and a big brother who never doubted my ability to keep up with them, whatever the adventure. Winki was always encouraging me, waking me up early to include me in whatever trouble he could concoct for us. And when it came to sports, fishing, or camping, Dad never excluded me from the fun. He taught both my brother and me how to shoot. He’d take us to the firing range or into the woods to fire at tin cans, and I got to be pretty good at it.

  I remember one time, when Winki was twenty-one and he’d just been made Newark’s youngest police officer on the force, we decided to go to the firing range. I had my Glock 17 handgun, and he’d just been issued a shiny new SIG P229 Smith & Wesson revolver, and we were ready to shoot some stuff up! I knew we were going to get competitive, and I figured I probably didn’t have a chance with all the police training and target practice Winki’d had. But when we got to the range, put on our headsets, and settled into our booths, I just went for it. While Winki was doing everything perfectly, taking his time and steadying himself between shots, I fired round after round, “Pow, pow, pow!” cursing out the target like it was a real assailant. There was no technique to my shooting, just raw instinct and emotion. When we pulled back our sheets of paper, I couldn’t believe it. I got way more bull’s-eyes than my brother. It was one of the few times I actually beat him! And it was another lesson that sometimes it’s best to trust your gut.

  When You Think, You Stink

  My point is that when you throw your heart and soul into something without overanalyzing it, you can excel. You’re at your best when you’re focused on the task and fully absorbed in what you are doing, not even considering whether or not you are performing the task to perfection.

  Of course, you have to have a little bit of fear. I’m not saying you should be reckless. But fear shouldn’t be the front-running emotion. It’s good to have that smidgen of nervousness that makes you aware of what’s going on around you. But be bold and give way to your instincts.

  I was recently in a Ford Mustang campaign where I got to ride around a track with NASCAR champion Colin Braun. (As a kid, I used to love watching NASCAR on TV, but, as with skiing, I never dreamed a little black girl from New Jersey would have an opportunity like that. You don’t see too many black folks behind those wheels.) First Colin drove me around the circuit, really fast. Then he got out of the driver’s seat and let me take over the wheel. I got the car to a buck thirty on this small track, flying through corners. It was amazing. I wasn’t scared, but I had just enough fear to create an awareness. I was energized. That kind of fear makes everything around you clearer. It heightens your senses and puts you in tune with your body, your han
d placement, what your mind is doing. It’s almost like you are stepping outside of yourself and seeing everything that is going on, while still feeling the speed and every little bump and curve of the track.

  When I ride my motorbike, it’s a similar feeling, except that there’s nothing between you and the road. There’s no metal protecting you, no seat belts, no bumpers. It’s just you and God. Your eyes have to be really focused. You have to see what’s coming up in front of you. You have to be aware of some pothole in the ground in front of you or a car that’s braking three cars ahead of the one in front of you. You’re driving the whole road, not just your bike and the vehicle up ahead. You’re taking it all in so you can keep yourself safe.

  An experienced rider knows how to balance speed with heightened awareness. But when I first started riding, there were times when I had no idea how fast I was going.

  I was about twenty-one when one of my friends brought home a picture of a motorcycle I just had to have. When Shakim saw my bike, he had to have one, too. We tended to do things together. The problem was, neither of us knew how to ride. Shakim’s brother Paul was a biker, so he taught us in the parking lot of his building, and I slowly started to get the feel of it. My brother was a real motorcycle fan, and I knew I couldn’t have this fine ride without giving him one, so a few months later we all chipped in and bought the same model bike for Winki on his twenty-fourth birthday. Pretty soon, a crew of one hundred of us would start riding around together. But my brother was the best. He drove the fastest—too fast sometimes. That was Winki. Nothing was half speed. And he loved that bike like nothing else.

  Drop the Hammer!

  We called ourselves “the Redliners” because we always hit speeds up in the red line of the speedometer. My brother would say, “Come on, Dana, let’s tear it up today!” And we’d hit the throttle and fly. I still wasn’t that experienced a rider, but I liked to stay at the back of the front pack, where most of my friends were riding. Two brothers I knew from grammar school, Phil and Leon, were serious riders, and they were tearing up the road, but there was no way I was going to be separated from them, so I dropped the hammer, going faster and faster, until I looked at the needle and realized I was going 155 miles! I thought, “Whoa! What the heck just took over me?” I slowed back down to my own pace. As much as I like going fast, for me that kind of speed was just crazy.