Put on Your Crown (7 page)

Shakim and I totally restructured our business, and it’s been great for us both personally and professionally.
Our label has
been thriving ever since. We’ve branched into movies, merchandising, and production. We’re seeing steady growth just as many
major labels are teetering on the brink of disaster. Had we gone that route, our gravy train would have reached the end of
the line by now. We’re both still a little too softhearted when it comes to employees and the occasional venture with friends,
but for the most part we’ve been able to separate our feelings from our finances.

I also made a point of educating myself on the subject of personal wealth. A lot of us weren’t raised to know why one type
of savings account is better than another. Shakim and I got on-the-job training. Life has been our college, and sometimes
we had to learn the hard way. But if we’d been more proactive about getting our hands on the right information, we could have
avoided a lot of pain.

I went to the bookstore, as I often like to do, and browsed the shelves. There weren’t too many offerings catering specifically
to women, which is why I decided to write this chapter. Somehow, money isn’t supposed to be something women worry about. But
one title did catch my eye: Suze Orman’s
The 9 Steps to Financial Freedom
. Several captions in the table of contents spoke to me. I started reading it right there in the bookstore. She writes about
all kinds of things that never even occurred to me, but made perfect sense. Even the fact that you should keep all the bills
nicely folded and organized in your wallet, not crumpled up and scattered all over the place. It’s a small, simple thing,
but it’s about something bigger: taking care of the money that takes care of you and not taking it for granted. Wealth is
a blessing from God, and it needs to be handled with respect on all levels.

Eventually I bought the book, took it home, and made copious notes about insurance policies, living wills, trusts, how to
save, and which 401(k)s, annuities, and IRAs would be best for me. I called my accountant and grilled him about all these
financial products I’d only vaguely understood before. I was determined to reach a level of financial sophistication. Nothing
less than my future was at stake. I thought long and hard about my financial goals. I don’t want to work this hard when I’m
sixty-five. I want to kick back and enjoy life, knowing I’ve taken care of my family and built a legacy for the children I
hope to have one of these days.

I wouldn’t wish that phone call on anyone. But as frightening as that going broke moment was, I feel
like God was trying to
tell me something. Often in church, the pastor says that God is going to give you only what you can handle. He’s not trying
to put money in the pockets of people who haven’t gotten to a place where they can take care of it. He wants to bless you,
and He wants you to make the most of His blessings. I think He wanted to bless me even more, but He also wanted me to wake
up and pay attention to what was really going on.

This isn’t just about materialism. For me, affluence doesn’t represent fancy cars, nice houses, jewelry, and all the toys.
Sure, I enjoy these things, but they don’t define me. I care more about the financial security that wealth brings, to me and
to my family. I want to be debt-free. I want to be able to provide for the people I love, as well as myself, and ensure that
I have the freedom to do things for my spirit and not just for my pocketbook. I want to be able to travel, pursue creative
projects that aren’t necessarily commercial, and support causes I care about, like education for inner-city kids. Accumulating
personal wealth and taking control of your financial future is about empowerment, not stuff.

This last recession just proves to me that we as individuals have to pay more attention. With all the greed on Wall Street
and crooks like Bernie Madoff allowed to run wild with our investments and gamble our futures away, we can’t afford to be
passive about our finances anymore. I know plenty of people who had millions and lost it all because they gave up control
to so-called investment experts, money managers, accountants, and lawyers and got robbed. By not paying attention, they cheated
themselves.

I’ve made similar mistakes. It was a steep learning curve for me. I have a semester of college, and I’m street smart, but
money came to me at a very young age, before I’d acquired any real investment savvy. I had some of the basics down. My mother
opened an account for my brother and me at the Howard Savings Bank (which no longer exists) and taught us both how to write
a check—something many adults in our community never learned how to do. Every week, we’d set aside some of our allowance and
put it in the bank. Every birthday and Christmas, our grandmother, my mom’s mom, Katherine Bray, would send us a crisp new
five-dollar bill (come to think of it, Nana Bray still does). That wasn’t money to blow; I might have taken out a dollar or
two to buy candy, but we stashed most of it into our savings account. And I continued that saver mentality all through my
teens.

My dad also taught us some valuable lessons about how to manage a buck. When I was ten, my mom was away on a trip and we were
staying with our father near downtown Newark. Dad was working double shifts, so we were basically latchkey kids, which was
pretty common in those days. To keep us entertained, Dad would give us $10 and send us off to the center of town to spend
the afternoon exploring all the toy shops and dollar stores. That money was to pay for lunch and a drink and bus fare, depending
on how far up the street we got.

We had a blast. It was my dad’s way of teaching us financial independence. He wanted to see how frugal we could be. Ten dollars
could buy you a lot in a dime store thirty years ago, and he was interested to see what kinds of choices we were making about
our spending.

I remember getting my first paycheck. I was fifteen, and I found a job at Burger King while I was still in school. I really
wanted that job. There were plenty of fun summer jobs kids could take working in parks and day camps, but this was serious
work, plus I’d get free food. I did everything from working the cash
register to cleaning the toilets. I made $88.46 that
first week. I remember because I knew exactly how many hours I’d worked, and I was shocked by how much of my money went back
to “the Man.” Taxes, Social Security—everyone had to take their cut. I had to ask my mother, “What’s FICA?” “Where did all
my money go?” I gave my mom a couple of bucks, bought myself a mix tape, and put what was left in my savings account. It wasn’t
much, but it felt good, because it was money I earned through my own hard work.

Two years later, the circumstances couldn’t have been more different. I wasn’t even signed to a label yet and my first record,
“Princess of the Posse,” was playing on the radio. I got my first big check, a few thousand dollars, and I blew quite a bit
of it. I even bought gold teeth! My brother and I used to try out these hip-hop looks that were big at the time, with all
the chains and tooth grills, but between us we had only one gold chain, which we had to share, and the rest we had to improvise
with gold foil. But gold teeth? It was ridiculous! I didn’t even get proper ones made at the dentist. I bought them at a jewelry
store in the mall. They were the kind you just snap on. Needless to say, they disappeared within a couple of days. Money down
the drain.

When I was nineteen, I went back to my more responsible ways. I’d just released my first album on
Tommy Boy Records,
All Hail the Queen
. I had four or five singles out, and Shakim and I were having quite the ride. We were on tour and making first $1,000, then
$2,000, then $5,000 a show. We tried handling all our finances ourselves, sending a third to my mother after our expenses
and putting the rest in our account, but eventually it got to be too much. We found an accountant at a big, reputable firm
in Manhattan to manage our expenses. We thought we were straight, but one day we went to his office to meet with him and he
told us there was no money left in our account.

We were furious. I wanted to kill this guy. How could it be that an accountant—someone who is educated and gets paid extremely
well to provide a professional service—would not at least notify us when funds were getting low? It made no sense. But as
history would later prove, we had a lot more to learn. When it comes to your own money, you can’t assume anything. Even accountants
have to be held accountable. Over the next few years, we went through a couple more accountants who were mediocre at best.
Our current guy is great. He’s professional and honest. But we don’t just leave him to it. We treat our relationship more
like a partnership and talk with him regularly about the state of our finances. We no longer let anything slide.

This isn’t about greed. Handling your business and taking care of your money is an important part of loving yourself. Too
often we live in denial about our money situation. We don’t want to face it. We make emotional decisions about how we spend,
maxing out our credit cards to buy shoes to make ourselves feel good. But it never works because the problem we’re trying
to cover up is still there. Meanwhile, we’ve buried ourselves deeper in the hole. That’s not how a queen treats herself. Sure,
she’ll go on a shopping spree now and then if she can afford it. But she gets her money straight first, because she knows
there’s a lot more at stake than grabbing the latest “It” bag off the shelf. Financial security frees you up to take better
care of mind, body, and soul.

Of course, it’s different if you’ve got children and you’re struggling to put food on the table and a roof over their heads.
It doesn’t get more real than that. My heart goes out to families that are facing financial hardship, especially in this recession.
But even when you think you have nothing, if you educate yourself, you will learn that there are small things you can do to
stretch a dollar and set aside a little money to save. You don’t have to be a slave to credit card companies and those crazy
interest rates. There’s
no need to take out a mortgage you can’t afford and end up in the streets because your home went into
foreclosure. Ladies, you’ve got to own your crown outright—don’t pay for it through some extortionate layaway plan!

When I was growing up, my mother drummed into me the importance of financial independence. She didn’t want to see me end up
stuck in a bad relationship and dependent on some man for my survival. We knew too many women in our community who were trapped.
They got married and had babies, and when their man started cheating, drinking, or being abusive, they didn’t know where to
turn or where to even start. They had to find a job with no experience and no two nickels to rub together. There’s nothing
wrong with being a homemaker, if the marriage stays strong and your husband is able to be a good provider. But that’s just
not the way I was raised.

Both of my parents always worked. My father was a cop, and my mom had a job as a secretary even when my brother and I were
babies. Thursday must have been payday for my dad, because I remember we always got dressed up and went to a nice Chinese
restaurant
for dinner, and sometimes caught a movie afterward. But Mom and Dad invented all these other ways to have fun that
didn’t cost a thing. Sometimes we’d drive to a nice neighborhood to look at the houses and enjoy the peace and quiet. Or my
mother would pack up a picnic and we’d drive to some nearby park, set up the blankets and a tent, and pretend we were out
on some adventure in the wilderness. Or we’d fry some chicken, make up some potato salad and Kool-Aid, and drive to the Jersey
shore for the day. Or my dad would take my brother and me fishing or camping in the woods. It was all free, and these things
gave me some of my happiest childhood memories.

When my parents separated and Dad moved out, my mother could no longer afford to live in the garden apartment in Hillside
we were renting, so we moved to the projects. Mom was too proud and independent to ask her family back home in Maryland for
support, so she made sacrifices. But she had a plan. She went back to college to get a teaching degree. In between classes,
she worked three jobs. She was a waitress and a maid at the Holiday Inn. She worked as a janitor, and she put in hours on
the loading dock of the local post office, lifting boxes until she injured her back. She earned enough money to send us to
Catholic school, feed and clothe us. A year later, she
even saved enough to put toward a down payment on a small house on
Littleton Avenue, far away from the projects.

That whole time, we felt rich because our lives were full and interesting. Mom researched all the fun, educational stuff we
could do for free or for just a few dollars. She took us to museums. She found us piano lessons at a community center for
$3.00. She exposed us to other cultures and ideas. She even decorated our tiny apartment tastefully, so it felt like a real
home. We had no money, but as I child I never once felt deprived.

Even today, I don’t live and die by how much money I have. An expensive pair of sneakers, the nicest car, the latest clothes—these
things are not necessities. Sure, I enjoy having money and I like to spend every now and then, but often we get caught up
in the excesses. Instead, we have to be appreciative of what we do have.

I can’t fathom why someone would blow his brains out over losses in the stock market. Greed makes no sense to me. That’s
someone who loves money more than life. I’ve been watching a lot of CNN lately, and you hear all these horror stories on the
news about what the recession is doing to families. One guy lost his job and all his savings on Wall Street. He had bills
up to his neck, and his house was
about to go into foreclosure. And nobody knew. His response was to kill his wife and children,
then himself. That was a person who was so spiritually empty, so full of despair, that losing all the material things in life
made him think his only option was to annihilate himself and his whole family. He couldn’t see the positive things in his
life—even the fact that he had a family who loved him or the knowledge that everyone was healthy. He couldn’t feel the joy
of simply living another day. And a lot of people get like that.