Life Is Not a Fairy Tale (7 page)

Although I got to ninth grade, I forgot a lot of things. I had never made good grades except for that one time in Charlotte, when I actually sat and listened to what the teachers were saying, but that was a long time ago. It was the only time that I wasn’t distracted with dreams of B. cloudin’ my brain. I know that I’m smart. I’m just not
educated.
I used to say that I was never blessed with “smarts.” But I feel differently now. I’m blessed with “smarts” because I haven’t given up and I will learn to read all of the words there are to read someday soon. That is my promise to myself.

You must think I’m crazy to put my business out here like this, but the reason I’m doing this is to go behind the gossip and let you know that this is one mistake that
no one
should ever make.
Ever.
In those days, when I was thinkin’ I was being cool by not going to school, I didn’t realize that the coolest part of my life should have been spending my days at Montlieu Elementary School. A Laurin Welborn Middle School, and T. Wingate Andrews High School. The coolest part of my nights should have been struggling with math homework and writing papers. Most of my friends were actually going to school and learnin’ somethin’, and I was at home lookin’ stupid—watchin’ TV, not being able to read, not being able to count. In those days, I didn’t even feel comfortable counting.

Truthfully, I never applied for many jobs, because I couldn’t fill out the application. Whenever I tried, I left so many questions blank because I couldn’t read them that the applications always ended up in the garbage. That is dumb,
plain out dumb.
This is how you see that one big mistake just creates another one. It’s a chain reaction.

I was embarrassed and ashamed and I still am, despite the
Idol
competition, despite the pictures in magazines, despite my improved self-esteem. I was stupid for not stayin’ in school. And the private part of my shame is that I want to be as smart as everyone else. I want to be wise about my own money, I want to be able to understand a contract that’s presented to me and not have to ask someone else what it means. I want to be able to read a script and take it home and think about it on my own time instead of needing someone to go through it with me. I want to be able to think for myself and not have to walk around with people all the time, helping me get through the simplest things. My public mistake is that I didn’t finish school. My private mistake is that, although I’m talking about it now for the first time, I’m ashamed and hating myself for my choices. I’m angry that my life brought me to this place. I’m angry that my parents couldn’t control me better. I’m angry that I have already missed opportunities in my life. Although my readin’ thing makes a good story, the real story is how I have managed to fool the world into thinking that I could read. The real story is how Hollywood and show business wouldn’t want the world to know that illiteracy is a real thing that affects a lot of young people, like me. It is one of those ugly things that no one wants to talk about, yet keeping a secret just makes a new generation of illiterates. This why so many young kids don’t have jobs—they can’t read a job application. They are not lazy and ghetto, which is what everyone says about us. Is that what they are saying about me? Or are they not saying that because I’m a singer? Is the public image more important than what is really goin’ on with me? Instead of getting a free car, what I could have used was a tutor—but that would have meant that choosing me as the American Idol was their mistake.

I don’t want anyone to lose faith in me, but I decided to be honest so that all of the other young people like me will know in advance what droppin’ out of school really turns into. My life looks like a fairy tale in many ways, but you have to remember that life is not a fairy tale. I’m the American Idol, which seems like a fairy tale, but I can’t even read a fairy tale to my four-year-old daughter.

While I’m tellin’ the truth and admittin’ things, I should tell you that I don’t even have a driver’s license. J.B. was trying to help me get one, but the real work of learning how to drive and knowing the rules of driving, I had to do for myself. I didn’t even know where to start. When I won the car on
Idol,
they handed me the keys as soon as I stepped off the stage. I was filled with mixed emotions of joy, pride, and the fear of someone finding out that I couldn’t drive. I was afraid that they would take the car away. I was also filled with dread because holding those keys in my hand meant that it was really time for me to learn to read in order to get the driver’s license and to be able to live this new life that was right before me, that I was holding in my hand. I knew right then that I would have learn to read before I could really enjoy this blessing of having my own car.

In the midst of all of the excitement and rush of being the American Idol (like having to complete an album right away), I still have not had the time to learn all that I need to learn in order to get my driver’s license. I gave the Ford Focus to my mother, who had never had her own car. I bought myself another car, which I let everyone else in my family drive for me. If you can imagine that—I didn’t even get to test-drive my own car, because I didn’t have a license. My cousin, Angelica (we call her “Boo Boo” because her mother was called “Boo” and so she came to be known as “Boo Boo”), test-drove the car, with me in the passenger’s seat. I asked her, “Does it ride well?” Boo Boo said, “It’s a smooth ride.” I said to the salesperson who was in the backseat, “I’ll take it.” If I had stayed in school I would be test-drivin’ my own car. I would be arguin’ with the press when they misquote me. I would have been able to say somethin’ “smart” to Simon Cowell when he said somethin’ “smart” to me. I am missin’ out on that stuff.

On that day when I actually did try to get my driver’s license, the man looked at the mostly blank written test when I turned it in, and said, “Ma’am, go home and
study.
” He didn’t know that I had never learned how to study.

My fourth mistake was turning my back on God. When I needed God most, I completely gave up on Him. I was going through so many things and I felt like He wasn’t listening anymore. It wasn’t God’s fault. He was putting me through these trials and I was doing these things to myself. God could see that I needed to be woken up and brought back to Him. And this is the positive thing about making mistakes. If you do believe that God has a plan for you, while you are going through hard times, you can always know that His plan includes you learning the things that you
need
to learn. Your pain is just God’s reminders and they get
louder and louder.

God has successfully brought me back to Him and to my senses. But now, I worry that by tellin’ it all to the world, people might think badly of my parents. My parents did the best they could with what they had to work with. They taught us manners and the difference between right and wrong and to give our lives to God. Being raised in High Point was just a bad startin’ point, and so what happened happens to most families like ours: too many mouths to feed, too many children havin’ children, not enough money to feed them all, and a million dreams that never get off of Interstate 85.

Some people would say that it’s a mistake to tell my story like I am. I can just hear the ladies from the church sayin’, “I can’t believe that girl put her business out in the street shamin’ her family like that.” I can just hear them! But what they don’t understand, or maybe they will someday, like the Bible says, is that “the truth shall set you free.” And by getting all of this out of my mind and having it stop weighing heavily on my heart, I can finally begin to mend all of my mistakes.

Anyone who thinks that I should not be putting my business out should remember that it is just as hurtful to be the topic of a High Point porch conversation as it is to be on page 20 of a
tabloid
with a made-up story about how I don’t speak to my father. What happens in every person’s life is private and up to the people who are livin’ it, not up to the people who are talkin’ about it to decide what is what. If anything, we should be there to help each other and prop each other up when we’re fallin’ down.

Today, the only thing left to do after acknowledging my mistakes and learning from them is to move on. I have to move on for Zion. All young mothers have to move on and be the best mothers that we can be and not dwell on our mistakes. Our babies are a blessing. Truth is, our children are here now and they don’t want to live in the shadow of our mistakes. It’s our job to make life bright, finally.

I want Zion to have all the things that I couldn’t have. I want her to love her own life. I want her to feel happiness all around her. I want her to have the vision of what she wants in her own head so she is not influenced by anything that she sees that someone else is doing. I want her to focus on God. I want her to be involved in sports because that will give her discipline. My main focus is her schoolin’. I want to see my baby graduate from high school and go to college. When I’m gone, I want to know that she can depend on herself, because she will be educated. Zion is smart.
She
can do it.

I also want her to carry herself with respect. I don’t want her to make any of the mistakes that I made. Of course, all mothers want this! I want her to experience the things that I didn’t get to experience when I was younger. I don’t want her to learn these things when it’s too late. Not after the fact, like both my mother and I did.

I want for Zion to be able to stand up for herself in relationships with men. I want Zion to be around good male role models. I want her to grow up around men who are married and love their kids and their wives. I want Zion to know how to pick a man for herself. My dream is that Zion will never let a man yell at her or put his hands on her. My dream is that the man in her life wouldn’t even think about that. In a relationship, I want Zion to look for a man who can be her friend and prayer partner. I hope that she meets a man who will never cheat on her. I don’t want her to accept a man cheating on her as normal like many women do, including my own mother.

I wanted Zion to be able to say, “I didn’t see my mom go through abuse.” But she did, and now it’s up to me to paint a different picture in her mind. I want Zion to be a woman who demands respect. I want Zion to be a truly strong woman—not just look like one.

I figure that the best way for Zion to learn all these things is for me to live them myself. I have made a lot of changes. I had to. I had to change the type of men that I was interested in. Now I’m working so hard on my career in music, I want a man who is also business oriented, someone who is
serious.
I look back and see a very different me and I can really see how much I have changed by how my idea of the man for me has changed. I used to be into guys who were thugs. I liked men with their pants hangin’ low and who were showin’ the bling-bling. I liked men who ran the streets all day, accomplishing nothin’ but seemin’ busy. That turned me on! Now I want an educated, righteous man. A man who looks good as well as a man who has respect for himself, for others, for me and my baby. I need someone who has some common sense and someone who prays when common sense is not enough. These days I want a man who works and who had a dad or a solid role model in his life who taught him how to treat a woman. That is what I really need in my life: someone who was raised right. Now, when I see some guy with his pants down to his ankles, all I can say is “Pull your pants up!”

I’m trying my best to correct my mistakes. I have this incredible chance to change my life and I have my whole life ahead of me. I have started reading and writing at every opportunity I get. I have a lot of people who love and support me and understand why I might not know some things that they know. They even help to push me a little further. And every day, I feel my confidence grow just a little because I know a little more today than I knew yesterday. Now that is real news! I am trying to get my GED and my driver’s license. I am blessed to have my music give me so much, but as I work to write this book and tell my story, I know that my education just started.

After all, I was raised right. I just
chose
to be wrong.

“G
irl, you need
to do something
right
for the first time.” My grandmother’s hard words lingered in my mind. She was right. I needed to get out of my haze, get back with God, and continue my search for my gift, whatever it was. The problem was, I didn’t even know how to begin or where to look. The time I spent being invisible, hiding behind self-pity, had become a bad habit. It was especially hard because most of my family was in some sort of a haze—either in a drug haze, a smoke haze, or just a plain depression haze. I have been surrounded by people growing up who have had their struggles with drugs and alcohol. Family photos always show the adults in my family with a bottle of beer in their hands or a cocktail, as my aunts used to call those mixes of juice and alcohol. When we kids would ask for a sip, my aunts would always say this is “adult juice.” Everyone’s eyes were red and they all had cigarettes in their hands. When we would pose for pictures with our aunts and uncles, the smell of their hot alcoholic breath would burn our noses, making us want to grow up so we could smell just like them.

Smoking was glamorous back then, and it was especially glamorous in the ghetto, where it seemed luxurious because you had to
pay
for it, which meant you had some money. Smoking was a sign of maturity when I was comin’ up.

Although I didn’t have a real plan for my life, I knew I wasn’t going there—or at least not that far. I had some dreams that I had not yet figured out how to accomplish, but I had dreams. My dreams came from watching the people on the television with their fancy new cars and their big houses. I knew that people who sang could have those things, and I was always amazed that my aunts and uncles who sang didn’t have those things.

Yes, I had smoked a little, but not when I was pregnant and not often because of my voice. Everyone else around me sang and smoked, so I thought, by comparison, that I wasn’t that bad. B. started me drinking, and I did drink too much sometimes, but there are no pictures of me in those days. All my friends in the projects were always posin’ for pictures, showing all the “good times” we had. I never wanted to be in those pictures. I didn’t want that to be how I was remembered.

A lot of people had been suggesting that I try out for
American Idol.
They all kept saying it. My father’s sister, Aunt Sheryl, and J.B. were pushin’ it the most. Aunt Sheryl had called me and told me about Kelly Clarkson, saying, “There is a white girl who can really
sing
! And then there is a guy named Ruben who is fat but he’s really good, too!” It went on and on and on. Everyone was talking about this TV show that I had never seen. My aunt Sheryl sounded so excited, it was as if these
American Idol
victories were personal victories. Seeing all of those young people succeeding with music, I guess, reminded her of me and my big voice that was wastin’ away in High Point, North Carolina, only heard by churchgoers and wedding and funeral guests.

Aunt Sheryl talked about all those singers like she knew them personally, and I didn’t even know what she was talkin’ about. I kept wonderin’, What is this
American Idol?

J.B. did more than talk about it. He came home with all the information about the competition, the upcoming auditions, and the seven cities they were going to that year. One of the cities was Atlanta, which was only four hours away. J.B. knew I could get to that one. Suddenly, this thing called
American Idol
seemed more possible than I thought. I was curious about it, since the only thing that was needed was that you sing, and that I could do, without any fear. For once, I could do something without any help from anyone.

My family had never watched the show on television. All we knew was that my aunt Sheryl and J.B. had watched it and recommended it and we trusted them. So I went to my brother Rico and said, “Let’s go to this audition. I want you to take me.” Rico is a singer, too, and he plays bass and drums and he has a natural talent for arranging music. He has a great “ear,” as my father used to say. He has always been interested in auditioning for anything that would get him into the limelight and out of High Point, so he was the perfect driving companion.

As always, we had no money between us, so my grandmother gave us money for gas and Daddy gave us eatin’ money. My mother offered to watch Zion while I was gone. My mother didn’t realize what it would mean, so she offered to take care of Zion without even thinking about it. Now she jokes with me that she never thought I would even get into the competition, so she thought she was only going to have Zion over that one weekend.

A couple of weeks later, Rico and I were ready to head to Atlanta, Georgia. I walked around the house with a new sense of purpose.
I was going to a singing competition.
I was practicing my Aretha Franklin tone and my Patti LaBelle riffs and my Ella Fitzgerald scats and my own dance and church moves. My mother feared privately that I was setting myself up for a major disappointment, so she just walked around shaking her head gently.

The drive to Atlanta was pleasant because with Rico and me, it’s always jokes. We make fun of each other, imitate each other, and sing songs from the radio together. Other times we just talk about our family and our kids. We would always laugh at the stories that our uncles and aunts told us about drinkin’ and all the crazy things they used to do. The whole family thought those stories were so funny, and so Rico and I told them again and again. It was harder to tell them without acting them out, but we did the best we could while driving and being confined in our seatbelts. Other times during the drive, I would tell Rico stories about Zion and the cute things she would say and the way she would hang around my neck because she never wanted to be away from me, even when I was just going to the store.

When we arrived in Atlanta, we drove straight to the Georgia Dome. We were excited just to be a part of something so huge. The Dome seats seventy-five thousand people. All we knew about the Georgia Dome was that it’s where the Atlanta Falcons play football. When we arrived the first night at the Dome, I was shocked by how many people there were. Rico and I had no idea of the magnitude of this competition. They were auditioning seven thousand people in Atlanta that day alone. People had begun lining up two days before because they thought it was important to be the first in line. Most people don’t realize that Kelly Clarkson and I were both the last to audition in our cities. Being first means nothing at all.

The way that the audition was set up was that everyone was sleeping on the floor of the Georgia Dome on the concourse level, waiting on their chance to sing.

When we got to the building seven thousand people were singing, sleeping, talking on cell phones, and making sure that they looked good. There were beautiful black girls with long legs, big voices, and perfect teeth. There were handsome guys trying to be the next D’Angelo or Maxwell with their hair in braids and Afros and locks. They wore nice shirts and sunglasses to make them extra cool. There were gorgeous blondes, brunettes, and redheads. They had blue eyes, green eyes, and eyes that were dark as night. There were short girls, fat guys, even singing twins. I had never seen so many people in my life, and I could never have imagined that that many people thought they were singers. I was confident because those years singing’ in church choirs made me know that my voice was big and that people really loved to hear me sing. I was just overwhelmed that the world was so big and that so many people also thought that they could sing.

The morning of the audition was spent getting people into the building and into the bleachers in the stadium. Once we were seated, there was a huge TV screen that showed the images taken by a giant camera scanning the audience from overhead, showing how large the crowd really was. There were a lot of production assistants, which I learned meant anyone who was associated with the show but did all kinds of things, from little jobs like getting coffee to big jobs like trying to control a crowd of seven thousand desperate singers.

Someone on the production staff was giving us instructions and information about when the auditions would actually start and what to do in the meantime. The way that it was set up was that people could come and go as they pleased once they were checked in. There was a door on one side for entering the Dome and another door for leaving the Dome, in order to control the traffic flow and avoid the press. The production staff wanted to make sure that the press didn’t get any footage before the show aired. The production staff was also afraid that people who were told that they should go home, based on their audition, would then leave the stadium and try to come back in to audition again.

It was February in Atlanta, and so it was actually warm outside and sunny enough that people wanted to go outside. On the official Web site of
American Idol
they had mentioned what we could bring and what we couldn’t. They suggested sleeping bags, folding chairs, and water. The Dome also had a menu especially for all the aspiring singers, like Rico and me, who only had enough money to get there. The two-dollar burger special and the one-dollar nachos special that they offered was all we could buy, and we were appreciative that they had anything on the menu that we could get.

Rico had forgotten his identification, so I was the only one who could audition. I stayed with Rico for a minute after he realized that he had left his ID in his other pants. He was very upset but trying hard not to show it. Because I’m his sister and I know him so well, I knew that he was near tears, but don’t ever tell him that I told you that.

I went up to the registration desk and received the number that would be my new name throughout the competition. I was hoping that I would make it far enough that they would use the number a lot. My number was 34572.

There were three rounds of auditions to be held out on the enormous football field. Across the field there were about twelve tables with three judges at each table. There were three lines of singers in front of each table. The producer at each table was responsible for the initial selection. This selection process was just to narrow down the number of contestants. These producers are not musicians, they are TV people, so this initial round was just to create a group that would be ready for the executive producers to see. It looked like the other thing that these producers were doing was looking for talented singers as well as not-so-talented singers, but ones who would make good television. These auditions are the ones that you see on the outtakes of the audition process. It made me sad when I heard that they take some people just for the sake of making good TV, but then again, I’m not a producer and I have no idea what makes people watch a TV show. They must know what they are doing. With seven thousand people and only twelve hours, the first comments to the people auditioning were very brief.

There were two auditions before you actually got to sing in front of Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul, and Simon Cowell, the show’s main judges. I was slightly nervous because there were so many people auditioning. All of them were practicin’ and warmin’ up their voices as well as primpin’ and makin’ sure that they looked good. I was just happy to be there. I was just happy to be doing
something.
I really hadn’t had time to consider how I looked or what I was wearing. I had been removed from the real world for so long that just getting there was a big deal and figuring out what to wear never really crossed my mind.

I was wearing a pair of tight jeans, a pair of black boots with high heels that I usually wore with my shorts in the projects, and a T-shirt with revealing holes in it. Three people at a time went up to individual microphones to be heard, each by a different producer. I went up and sang the classic Stevie Wonder song “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” The producer listened to me and said, “You are going to the next round.” And that was that. I was expecting a little more from him considering the distance that I traveled and how important I thought that being on that show was.

I was relieved to have made it to the next round, but restless and needed to get out. After all, we were in Atlanta. Rico and I decided to go to the karaoke area that they had set up downstairs with the snack bar. We relaxed and had some fun. We hadn’t been too nervous about the audition, I guess because with so many singers there, I figured in the back if my mind, like my mother had, that I wouldn’t make it anyway. Rico and had made a serious bet in the car: If Rico won the competition, I would sing backup for him, and if I won, he would sing backup for me. Because he couldn’t audition, my audition would determine what the both of us would be doing with our future.

Rico and I started to dream. If you win, we’ll stay in hotels and order room service, he would say. And I would say if I win, I’ll be able to buy Zion all the teddy bears in the world. And Rico would say, If you win, you can buy us all a mansion, and I said, If I win, I will buy Mama some clothes. And Rico would say, If you win, I will be your bodyguard and backup singer on tour. And the dreams just kept going and going, growing and growing.

After we returned from singing karaoke, an older black security guard called me over and said, “I heard you singing. I suggest that you take the pierce out of your lip. You would be much prettier without it.” He looked like my uncle Jute, so I said, respectfully, “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.” People say I am old-fashioned to refer to people as “ma’am” and “sir,” but that is the country way in which I was raised, and it is one thing that was easy to remember and even easier to do. “Sir” and “ma’am” go a long way where I’m from.

The piercing was just one of the things I had done because I was so bored. I had gotten it when I saw an advertisement for a piercing place. I just went in there to ask about it, and I ended up having them pierce my face, just over my top lip. Someone in the piercing place recommended that I get the piercing exactly in the same place where Marilyn Monroe’s mole was, right above her lip.