Nowhere but Up (20 page)

Like Gideon, I had fleeces of my own. I asked God for two things: confirmation that Scooter was supposed to be Justin’s manager (my pastor’s peace wasn’t confirmation enough) and an entertainment attorney. The latter may have seemed premature, but I didn’t want to even consider meeting with Scooter unless we had legitimate representation. I also didn’t want an attorney who was just a little bit familiar with the entertainment industry. I had been warned by a friend who had been burned; she strongly urged me to get a good lawyer. I wanted a big shot, someone who represented major players.

Justin’s talent and the massive amount of attention he was getting from his YouTube fame motivated me to make sure we were prepared, that we weren’t walking into a minefield wearing a blindfold. I didn’t want to find myself getting cornered or locked into a contract or deal, despite Scooter’s assurances there were no strings attached to our meeting. The fact was, I didn’t know a thing about contracts, negotiations, or anything relating to the music business. I knew absolutely nothing.

It seemed like an impossible fleece, at least in my eyes. I barely had enough money to put food on the table. I’d heard top-notch entertainment attorneys cost up to $900 an hour. Nine hundred dollars an hour? Are you kidding me? That year I barely pulled in $10,000 between all the jobs I worked. I couldn’t come up with $900 in a month! I would have to either win the lottery, get an impossibly high raise, or find an attorney who would work with us for free.

It wasn’t long before one of my prayers was answered. Scooter called one day to see if I had been thinking about his offer and how I felt about moving forward.

I was up front with him. “I can’t even think of making a commitment until I have an entertainment lawyer. I’ll be honest. This whole thing sounds exciting and glamorous, an amazing opportunity. But I’m not making any decisions or even entertaining the offer without a lawyer, and frankly, I can’t afford one, so I’m not sure how far this can go.”

Scooter didn’t hesitate a half a second. “Oh, that’s easy, Pattie. I’ll make some calls. I know a couple lawyers who work on a percentage rate. They don’t require any upfront costs. I know how talented Justin is, and I’m confident once they see his talent, plenty of attorneys will want to represent him.”

A few days later, I got a phone call from one of the top entertainment lawyers in the business, who agreed to take Justin on as a client. He told me that he’d worked with Scooter for a long time and had a lot of faith in him. “If Scooter thinks your son has potential,” he told me, “he’s probably right.” This lawyer had also watched Justin’s YouTube videos and could see for himself how talented Justin was. After we got off the phone, I did some research and found out that he represented a lot of big names in the industry. He was legit, exactly what I had in mind.

I was shocked. There it was, my fleece, right before my eyes. When I had thought of the idea of possibly having a top entertainment lawyer to give us advice, it sounded preposterous. Impossible. Against all odds. I never imagined it would realistically pan out. But somehow, and without much effort on my part, I found myself with a well-versed, experienced, and sharp attorney who knew the entertainment world inside and out.

One fleece down, one to go.

I still had to talk to Justin before confirming the trip to meet with Scooter. Surprisingly, it was one of the easiest conversations I’ve ever had with my son, considering the topic was such a big deal, so life changing.

I had just come home from work, ready to get out of my business casual clothes and into a pair of sweats. I sank into my favorite spot on the living room couch and opened Justin’s YouTube page.

A hundred more comments on that one video. Wow!

Hmm, someone wants Justin to do something by Michael Jackson.

Ugh! How could that guy say that about Justin? He’s just a kid.

Oh my gosh! We got another award for “Most responded to” video.

As I started eyeballing the new emails that had come in the last few hours, I heard the key jiggle in the front door. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” Justin barreled through the apartment and made his way over to me wearing a backward baseball cap and a hoodie. He looked like he was coming home only to go right back out. He was always busy doing something—playing sports, going to the skate park, playing video games at his friend’s house. If he wasn’t singing and I wasn’t holding a video camera, it was like pulling teeth to get him to sit with me and talk. He was the same two-year-old boy with wild energy, a toddler always on the move.

“Sit with me for a minute, Justin. I want to talk to you about something.”

Justin plunked down on the couch, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I took a deep breath, fully intending to keep the conversation light and casual. I didn’t want Justin to feel I was pressuring him in the slightest. “Do you like singing?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Do you love singing?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Justin?”

“A professional hockey or soccer player, probably. I don’t know. Why?” He started fiddling with his shoelaces.

“All right. Now, if you had the opportunity to sing and play music as a career, would you do it? Or even think about it?”

Justin sighed, annoyed at the litany of questions. I wonder if he had an inkling where I was going with this. “Yeah, probably. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

I looked at my just-barely-a-teenager boy. I doubted he understood the magnitude of what I would be asking him. I doubted he understood some of the sacrifices it would require. I doubted he understood that this wasn’t a joke, something we could afford to take lightly, like picking a new hobby or deciding which pair of soccer cleats to buy.

“Well, we have the opportunity to go to Atlanta to meet with some people and check it out. What do you think about that? You want to give it a shot?”

I closed my eyes, almost hoping he wouldn’t be interested so we could wrap up this talk and call it a day. We could go back to our normal lives without me needing to wrestle with these unique decisions about his future. I could continue living in my comfort zone. If Justin had said no, I would have called Scooter that very second and pulled the plug on that and future offers. And I would have kept making and posting videos of Justin only for as long as he wanted.

But Justin didn’t say no. His eyes lit up. He said, “Yeah, sure! When do we get to go?”

I set up a Skype call with Scooter. I wasn’t going to make the two-hour flight without Justin first meeting Scooter. The two of them hit it off immediately. Scooter’s young at heart, fun, and great with kids, and Justin quickly took to him. It was settled. Though I wasn’t going to make any decisions about Scooter until I got confirmation, we were going to Atlanta.

All systems were go, but I still wondered about my second fleece, my prayer to know without a doubt that Scooter was meant to be Justin’s manager. From the outside, he seemed like a pretty good guy. He sounded like he knew what he was doing. But still, I needed clear confirmation, not just peace.

A few days before our trip, I was running an errand downtown. I wanted to pick up some chocolate at Rhéo Thompson Candies, our world-famous local chocolate shop. I parked my car by a cute café and walked a few extra blocks, grateful for the sunny day and fresh air.

“Hey, Pattie,” I heard someone call out. I turned around and saw my friend Nathan, the same guy who organized a fundraiser for Justin for a drum set. He was walking with a young man I didn’t know. The guy he was with was looking at me weird. Not in a creepy way, though. It almost seemed like he wanted to say something but kept choking back the words. Finally he said, “I’m not sure how this is going to sound or if you’re going to think this is crazy, but I really believe I have a word from God for you.”

My heart started pounding. “Sure, let me have it,” I answered.

“I feel like you have been thinking or praying about working with a Jewish man. And I feel like God is saying ‘yes, yes, and yes.’ The favor of God is on him. God blesses everything this man touches.”

I was in awe. It couldn’t have been any clearer. This was someone I had never met telling me the answer to my prayer.

“Wow! Thanks! You are right on. I’ve been praying about this very thing.” I marveled at how God can operate in the strangest of places, in the strangest of ways, and through the lives of perfect strangers. We spoke for a few minutes, and I shared with them about the potential opportunity that was awaiting Justin and how reluctant I had been to pursue it.

God had answered my second fleece. It was official. I knew that at least for this season, Scooter was the right choice. I knew he would be the one who would play a significant role in Justin’s life and music career. I was expectant but somewhat nervous. I hadn’t a clue what lay ahead. I hadn’t a clue what doors our trip to Atlanta would open. Frankly, I would never have even imagined the possibilities in my wildest dreams.

Justin and I boarded the plane for our two-hour-plus flight to Atlanta. Right before we stepped into the aisle to make our way to our seats, a pretty flight attendant tapped Justin on the shoulder. “Would you like a tour of the cockpit?” she asked, winking discreetly at me. “We’re not allowed to do this, but the captain said you can come and check it out.” Only moments earlier, I had mentioned to one of the crew that it was Justin’s first time on a plane.

As the rest of the passengers squeezed past us, many of them with carry-on bags that looked way too big for the overhead bins, Justin exploded in a mile-wide smile. “Sure!” I thought it was unusual, in light of the security aftermath of 9/11, that the crew allowed Justin in the cockpit, but we definitely appreciated the gesture.

Surrounded by an endless array of buttons, lights, and switches, the captain and co-pilot gave a brief overview of the flight systems. Spellbound by the flashing lights, Justin didn’t say much except “Cool” and “No way!” I rummaged through my purse to find a camera, the one I’d have glued to my hand the entire trip, and snapped a photo of Justin. My son grinned with one hand clutching the airplane throttle. His long, dirty-blonde hair peeked through the oversized hat the pilot was kind enough to let him wear. I had a feeling being able to tour the cockpit was the beginning of many firsts for Justin on this trip.

As the roar of the engines sounded when the plane started down the runway, Justin pressed his face against the window. We started picking up speed, the jet rumbling louder. The nose of the airplane began to lift, gently pushing us back into our seats. Justin was thunderstruck. “We’re going! We’re going! We’re going! We’re almost there!” The plane continued to rise, the last touch of the wheels grazing the runway. Hit with a sinking feeling in his belly as we soared into the open blue sky, Justin moaned, “Oh, my stomach. My stomach is like, bleahh!” But he quickly recovered, staring out the window as the city below became smaller and smaller. “This is awesome,” Justin burst out. “I can see everything!”

When we touched down in Atlanta and made our way through the busiest airport in the United States, we were nervously excited. Justin darted his eyes every which way, scoping out anything interesting or unusual. He had the same curious and inquisitive look as when we roamed the streets of downtown Toronto when he was six. But he wasn’t a little kid anymore; he was a teenager. Too old to hold my hand as we battled the midday crowd in the terminal, but still young enough that he needed me (though as a typical teenager, he probably wouldn’t admit it).

I sighed.
He’s growing up too fast.

“C’mon, Mom, let’s go!” Justin snapped me out of my musings.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I muttered, playfully annoyed.

We made it through to the baggage claim area, calling Scooter as we walked to tell him we had arrived.

“Awesome! Look for the purple Mercedes out front,” he told us. “You can’t miss it.”

We saw Scooter as soon as we exited the terminal. He broke out in a winning smile when he hopped out of his car to grab our bags. He gave me a warm hug and high-fived Justin. “It’s so good to see you guys. How was your flight?”

As we sped off toward downtown Atlanta, whizzing down the wide expanse of highway, Scooter told us of his plans. “Right before you guys came out of the airport, I got a call from Jermaine Dupri. He challenged me to a video game at the studio, NBA 2K8. You guys mind if we stop in for a bit?”

Justin piped up from the backseat. “Oh, I love that game! Can I play with you guys?”

Scooter looked at Justin in the rearview mirror. “Of course,” he said with a wink and a smile. “But be prepared to lose.”

It was game on for Justin. He wasn’t one to pass up a friendly competition. As the downtown skyscrapers started appearing in front of us on the horizon, Scooter and Justin kept up the smack talk.

I loved how the two of them immediately hit it off. Scooter was silly and had a knack for making Justin laugh, especially when he broke out in his “surfer dude” voice. I was quiet, observing the two of them, still skeptical of the opportunity and where it would lead. I was focused on being a mother, staying grounded and not getting caught up in the whirlwind of what could very well be a lucrative career for Justin in the music industry. I couldn’t afford to throw away my brain. I needed to observe without distraction.

By then, I didn’t doubt that Scooter was successful and had accomplished some big things. I was just a mama bear who wasn’t easily impressed. While I appreciate and respect talent and achievements, my priority was being Justin’s mother. My job, first and foremost, was to protect and watch over him, to keep his best interests in mind at all times. So while I respected Scooter, I really didn’t focus on who he knew or how well he was connected. I was on guard for the sake of my son. In the entertainment business, it’s easy to get swept away in the fame, the flash, and the glamour—all the sexy things most people believe encompass the music world.

Right when we pulled up to the studio, a black Range Rover pulled up alongside us. When Justin saw who got out of the truck, he practically cannonballed out of the backseat. Dressed in a leather jacket and wearing designer shades, Usher looked cool and almost aloof as he swaggered past us into the studio.

“Hey, Usher,” Justin called out, taking longer strides to catch up with one of his music heroes. “I’m a huge fan and I know your songs. Can I sing you one?”

Usher smiled and politely brushed us off. “Some other time, buddy. It’s cold outside.” We wouldn’t see him until our next trip a few months later.

Scooter asked if I could wait in the lobby while he and Justin went inside the studio. Of course I could. But I’ll be honest. Though I knew it wasn’t personal, I was disappointed. I knew Scooter wanted to play it cool and not make a big deal out of Justin meeting Jermaine (I think he even may have introduced Justin as his nephew). But to some extent, it made me feel left out.

Here I was, a mother who had spent the last thirteen years single-handedly raising her son. It had been us against the world. And now we were in another country, facing some important decisions, and we were apart. I never liked being away from Justin, even now. I walked around the lobby while I waited, trying to keep myself distracted. There were plaques lining the wall showcasing platinum and gold records from artists like Mariah Carey and Destiny’s Child. Pretty cool, I thought, but I still wasn’t sold.

Later that day, Scooter took us to his friend’s high-rise apartment, where we would stay for the week. The minute we walked into the posh pad on the thirty-second floor, I felt I had just been transported inside a luxury interior design magazine. The place was a stylish and sleek ultramodern bachelor pad. It boasted shiny hardwood floors, a white plush sheepskin at the foot of a candy apple red leather couch, floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning views of downtown, and Justin’s all-time favorite, the biggest flat-screen TV he had ever seen. The bedrooms were stark white, almost blinding, and uncluttered, with little in them except for more flat-screen TVs and the most comfortable beds we’d ever slept in. It was official. Justin and I had died and gone to
MTV Cribs
heaven.

We had a blast just hanging out inside the apartment. We were fascinated by the unique decorative accents that adorned the place, like the box of dominoes with real diamonds and the alligator skull that Justin couldn’t stop touching. We must have taken a hundred pictures just of the stunning apartment. Justin was wide-eyed the entire trip, breaking out in “Oh, cool, Mom,” and “Check this out,” every two minutes. Atlanta was nothing like Stratford. It was a fast-paced metropolis and made the small town where I grew up seem even smaller.

In between our meetings with different producers and singers, Scooter got a call one day from his dad who lived in Connecticut. He was on his way home and had a layover in Atlanta. Scooter hoped the four of us could meet at the airport before his dad’s flight home.

Before we ever met in person, Scooter had talked about the importance of morals and family values and how from day one his parents instilled in him good character. But talking and living it out are two totally separate things. So I was looking forward to meeting with his dad to get a glimpse of Scooter’s roots and to see the dynamic of their relationship in action. If Scooter was going to be Justin’s manager and a significant influence in his life, I wanted to be sure he was a man of integrity. And what better way to find out than by meeting his father?

Ervin Braun, a dentist with a thriving practice, met us at the food court. I believe he had just come back from a wakeboarding trip. A tall, handsome man, he had an unmistakable presence, a self-assured but not arrogant ease. He was also remarkably down-to-earth, one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. At one point Scooter walked his dad over to a quiet hallway, away from the clamor of fifty simultaneous conversations and the bustle of fast-food joints, so Justin could sing for him. Ervin enjoyed the private performance.

Over deli sandwiches, I peppered Scooter’s dad with questions, repeating my fears and concerns about Justin being in the entertainment industry. Throughout our entire meeting, he stressed that his son was trustworthy, had integrity, and would take great care of us. I know Ervin’s assurance wasn’t merely a sales pitch. Every word was sincere. I had pretty good gut instincts; I just knew it.

But I didn’t just take Ervin’s words at face value; I read between the lines. I watched him interact with his son. The love between father and son was evident, as was a mutual respect and like-mindedness. Their relationship made quite an impression on me. I knew Scooter came from a good family, and meeting Ervin helped me eventually seal the deal.

We left Atlanta without making any official commitments. Justin was still in school, and I didn’t plan to take him out before the year was over. While I wasn’t ready to rush into anything, Justin was locked and loaded. If it were up to him, we would have signed on the dotted line before we headed back to Canada. I told Scooter we’d be in touch to discuss what it would look like if we did decide to move forward with him as Justin’s manager.

I was honest with my son, doing my best to walk the thin line of encouraging him while still doling out a healthy medicinal dose of reality. “I know all of this is amazing, an unbelievable opportunity,” I told him. “But don’t get your hopes up. I haven’t made a decision yet.” I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, but truth was, I still hadn’t come to a definite conclusion. Yes, I had confirmation by way of the answers to my two biggest questions, but I was still wrestling with the decision. There was so much at stake, and it wasn’t about me. This was about Justin, my only child. I needed time and absolute peace before I took the leap and uprooted our lives to another country.

Two or three weeks after our trip to Atlanta, I made the decision. Between the natural progression of my relentless prayers, the confirmation of my two fleeces, the peace that settled my spirit, Scooter’s diligence, and Justin’s passionate drive, the answer was clear. I called Scooter—we were going to take the leap and move to Atlanta. He started drawing up the contracts.

I was thrilled for Justin, excited to see how this new chapter in his life would unfold page by page. Of course, I still had my concerns about the unpredictability of the music industry and the harsh reality of what can happen to young artists. As a mother those worries—and frankly, worry in general—can entice me. Once the wheels were set in motion after Scooter officially became Justin’s manager, they spun so fast it was dizzying. It was time to plan our move to the United States.

I had plenty of serious talks with Justin during this time. I lavished him with encouragement and love, always quick to tell him how proud I was. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to have a false sense of himself. I never tired of reminding him where his gifts came from and how he found himself surrounded by incredible opportunities. As a mother, I needed to make sure I instilled in him a balanced perspective, a solid understanding of the backdrop of his rising popularity and future career.

I remembered the verse, “A gift opens doors for the one who gives it and brings him into the presence of great people” (Prov. 18:16). So many times, in different ways, I warned Justin, “You can take credit for being disciplined and working hard to hone your talents, but you can’t take credit for being naturally good at them. God gave you these gifts. And the only reason you’re in this position is because of Him.”

Though I never shoved my faith down Justin’s throat, I gave him a strong foundation. I equipped him with certain beliefs and values knowing full well he would have to make the choice how to live his life and what paths he would follow. It will always be his choice.