Put on Your Crown (10 page)

But I really did disappear for a while. My role as wife and mother had overtaken my life. It was only when my husband
and
I divorced, some ten years later, that I really got to know who Rita was. That’s one reason why, to this day, I don’t like
being referred to as Queen Latifah’s mom, aka “the Queen Mother.” I fought so long and so hard for my own identity. I’m Rita
Bray Owens, Ms. O, Mamma O, teacher, artist, proud mother, and many other things besides—things that I’m still in the process
of discovering.

Studying, going to conferences, plays, galleries, exploring new ideas, and discovering the artist in me again was an awakening.
At Kean College, where I got my teaching degree, I found mentors and benefited from their brilliance. I met Dr. Elaine Raichle,
who saw my potential and believed in it before I did. And Mary Jane Austin, an art education administrator who encouraged
me in my creativity and always made me aim higher. I saw how successful, strong, and independent women of my generation could
become, particularly in a nurturing community of educated and enlightened individuals.

Every child starts out in life with that potential and the self-confidence to realize it. But then life tears them down. They
get distracted and lose their way. I’ve been through a lot of what these kids are going through now. I was also a teenage
mother. I know how hard that is. I’ve made my own share of mistakes. I’ve lost my way. But I went through what I went through
for a reason. Because when they say, “Ms. O, you don’t understand!” I can say, “Oh yes, I do!”

I’m an adult who’s navigated through this crazy
thing called life, and talking to the younger generation about the things
they should be looking out for on their own journey is the right thing to do. That’s why I wanted to teach. To repair some
of those broken links in the chain. To look at each individual child in my classroom and make him or her feel like they’ve
really been seen.

Sometimes that’s all it takes. Just noticing someone, and talking to them like a person of value, can make a huge difference
in their lives. My kids were so shocked when I’d remember some incidental detail about what they did or said, like a pair
of shoes they wore the week before or an interest they showed in a particular period of art. Half the time they couldn’t even
believe I remembered their names, the classrooms at Irvington High were so rowdy and overcrowded. When I remembered one girl’s
name in the first few days of the new school year, she asked me, “How do you do that, Ms. O?” I said, “Because I love you!”
She was so giddy and embarrassed. It’s a word a lot of these kids don’t get to hear very often. They’re used to being just
someone’s pain in the butt. So I made it a point of telling them every day.

My classroom became a sanctuary for those children. But out in the hallways it was another story. As an educator, I can’t
tell you how many times I had to walk down the hallway and ask, “Is there a problem?” This one boy
had his girlfriend jacked
up against a locker, getting ready to smack the daylights out of her. Even girls would brutalize each other, fighting over
a man! And over the years, it got worse. Our nice middle-class community got fractured by drugs, poverty, and the isolation
of immigrant families struggling to adjust to a new culture. Kids from Haiti and the Dominican Republic didn’t know where
they fit. Bright students in their own countries, they had to suffer the humiliation of being put back a couple of grades
here because there was a language barrier. Girls and boys joined cliques and gangs, usually divided up along ethnic and racial
lines, so they felt like they belonged somewhere. But it never solved the problem. Instead it created an unhealthy outlet
for rage and violence.

Some of these kids have so much anger inside them. They want to fight each other all the time for the slightest thing, even
if it’s just a kid accidentally brushing past another down the hallway. But the rage is not just about that fight over something
trivial they’re about to have. It’s about their father who’s never there for them, or their mother who’s been bringing home
a string of no-good boyfriends, and all those things that are happening in their world that they feel helpless to correct.

It got so bad in the Irvington High community that several students had become homeless, and they were faking it so they could
stay in school and graduate. More and more, my students were coming to me with overwhelming problems. They’d say, “Ms. O,
can I talk to you?” I’d say, “You need to talk to me right this
minute?” They’d say, “Uh-huh.” I’d invite them into my “office”—a
broom closet, but it did nicely for these purposes. In the privacy of that little room, they’d tell me about some school bully
who had plans to beat their heads in after school. Girls would talk about boyfriends pressuring them into all kinds of unthinkable
situations, like having group sex with their friends for money. Boys and girls would talk about being smacked around and sexually
abused at home. When it was that bad, and laws were being broken, we’d take certain steps to intervene. Most of the time they
already knew in their hearts the right thing to do, but they needed someone to listen to them without judgment, so they could
think through the situation without the noise and pressure that existed outside that closet door. You’ve got to give yourself
some space and time to quietly contemplate, and if you can find a wise, neutral third party to give you some perspective,
even better. We should all remember that when making our own vital decisions. It might save your life.

The key is to be gentle. Young women, and men, have fragile self-esteem, and they get knocked down plenty already by their
parents and their peers. Some of these students dress so raw. Girls get especially wrongheaded notions about what to wear
to be part of the cool crowd. One young lady in particular caught my attention in the hallway. She wasn’t in my class, but
you couldn’t help but notice her because she was a big girl who was busting out of her blouse. Even worse, she had
on a miniskirt
that was so short, you could see the color of her underwear. As she headed up the staircase, I caught up to her and whispered,
“I just wanted you to know that everyone has a full view underneath that skirt of yours, especially when they get behind you
going up the stairs.”

She looked shocked. “Ms. O, I didn’t know. Nobody told me!”

I was worried that if she didn’t adjust her dress sense, it could set her up for a heap of trouble, so I said, “Girl, you
blessed back there! You don’t need to be too revealing, because you already have those beautiful curves. Bring the hemline
down an inch or two and be a little more mysterious. You got plenty going on. You don’t need to be trying that hard!”

“Oh, thank you, Ms. O.”

She toned it down the next day. All it took was a gentle nudge. I just couldn’t help myself. Saying nothing and letting her
go on exposing herself like that would have been the unkind thing to do. And yet her friends, parents, and teachers didn’t
seem to want to deal with the awkwardness of that conversation. Or they simply didn’t care.

I decided to start an after-school program for these children. I wanted to create a safe place where kids could
come and talk
to each other in a constructive way. We started with 12 students and ended up with more than 120 in just a few weeks. It became
a lifeline for so many kids with nowhere else to go. We did fun stuff like skits, role-play, and exercises to help them in
interview situations for jobs and colleges. One time there was a shooting outside in the schoolyard after hours, and we were
in our classroom, listening to music and having a good ol’ time talking about life. When we stepped outside and saw the local
news camera there, my kids asked, “What happened?” A drug deal had turned deadly, and a boy was killed. They were blissfully
unaware, because they were safe inside. I shudder to think what would have happened if they’d been hanging around outside.

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

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

—L
ATIFAH
, “L
ONG
A
SS
M
OUNTAIN
”

S
tepping 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!