Put on Your Crown (8 page)

During the tough times, you have to reach out and attach yourself to something beyond the material. For some, that might be
the Bible, the Torah, or the Koran. Or maybe you just need to read a self-help book or listen to some tape that gives you
positive affirmation. Whatever it is, it’s out there, and those words of hope are free.

For me, it’s also about looking at those who are less fortunate than you are. Sometimes you just have to change your perspective.
In
The Art of Happiness
, His Holiness the Dalai Lama talks about a man who was distraught because he made $40,000 a year and was convinced he didn’t
have enough money to make ends meet for his family. Then he met someone who had the same number of mouths to feed on just
$20,000. It completely changed the way he viewed his own situation. No matter how bad it gets, there’s
always someone worse
off than you. Appreciating that fact makes you more thankful, no matter what your situation.

Giving back is another great way to change up the way you see things. Throughout my life I’ve found that whenever I’m going
through certain changes or I feel down about certain things, giving makes me feel better, despite my situation. It might be
writing a big check for a cause I care about or giving someone my time. There are a lot of causes that matter to me and many
more I want to be involved in.

It enriches me to know that my dollars may have gotten someone in Africa medication for HIV and prolonged a life or rescued
a child prostitute off the streets of Cambodia. Even just doing our annual toy drive for kids in our community brings such
joy to me, my mother, and Shakim. Knowing I’ve made a difference in some small way, I get so much more than I give. It’s almost
like a gift to myself.

Education is another cause that is extremely important to me. Through the Lancelot H. Owens Scholarship Foundation we started
in my brother’s name, my mother and I give out scholarships and
other forms of financial support to inner-city kids so they
can go to college. But even if it’s not a full scholarship, we’ll give a needy child money for books or enough to pay for
lunches for a month. We give what we can. Kids are our future, and we don’t invest in them enough. Not equally, anyway. I
treasure the fact that when you give a child an education, you allow him or her the freedom to dream and to become an amazing
person, because now that child has the knowledge and ability to go out and learn more and create. That person you helped to
educate may come back and help another kid. It moves us all forward.

There are times when I will write a check for $20,000 or $50,000 or $100,000, but if you took a peek at my expenses or the
number on my bank account, you would say, “Girl, you better hold on to that!” But when you give, you get back in multiples.
Of course, you have to treat your money with respect and manage it with care, but cash comes and goes, and you can always
make more. I’ve never regretted giving money away to someone who is less fortunate. I give it with freedom, knowing that what
I am really doing is giving myself a gift. The feeling I might get from
buying a new car just doesn’t stack up to the knowledge
that I may have helped a little girl in Asia who was raped because some guy thought her virginity would cure him of AIDS.

I can’t wait to go to Cambodia to visit the girls rescued from a life of prostitution by Somaly Mam. This woman, a former
victim of sexual slavery herself, has built a safe haven for young girls she risked her life to pull out of those situations.
We were both being honored by
Glamour
magazine a couple of years ago, and I had to follow Somaly after she gave her acceptance speech. I was so moved by her story,
I wrote her organization a check for $150,000 on the spot. Some of that money, as well as some cash from Barbara Walters,
helped build a vocational school and home outside Phnom Penh where the girls could live in safety and learn how to sew and
cut hair. Outside this modest building, embedded in a small garden, there are two fancy plaques with our names written in
gold. The contrast between these shiny black marble markers and their humble surroundings is touching. Gold Grammy statues
are always nice, but knowing that this tribute exists in my name halfway around the world, in a dusty corner of Southeast
Asia I’ve never even seen, means more to me than any industry award.

But giving doesn’t have to be on such a grand
scale. If you pass a homeless person who is hungry and doesn’t have anywhere
to sleep that night, and all you have is a couple of bucks in your pocket, you can still put a coin in his cup and feel good
about that. You don’t even have to spend money to give. Sometimes giving is just a simple act of kindness. I’m the type of
person who will help an old lady across the street or stop when someone’s pulled over by the side of the road with a flat
tire. Giving can just be talking to one of my younger cousins, nieces, or nephews and offering them some advice or support.
Taking the time to just listen can make a huge difference in someone’s life.

Try to incorporate giving into your life as much as possible. Even if it’s just taking the time to have a quick conversation
with a stranger. The other day I was in a Blimpie getting a platter together for my mother’s church. They were having a choir
rehearsal after work and people come in hungry, so my mother likes to bring something. A couple of girls were shocked to see
Queen Latifah at a Blimpie, and one of them asked for my autograph. I was happy to oblige. It was a small thing, but to her
it was huge. She said, “You don’t know how much this means to me. I was really having a bad day, and you just made my day!”

It was really that simple. You don’t know what’s going on in someone else’s world, so you have to try to
be as nice as possible.
You never know what kind of impact you can have on that person’s life with a small act of kindness. You don’t have to go around
giving autographs, but just asking someone how they’re doing and showing you care can make a difference, especially during
hard times. A little compassion can go a long way.

There’s so much more to life than chasing a dollar. Yes, money’s important, and you have to respect it. I learned that lesson
the hard way. But I don’t want to live my life on a hamster wheel, making more money to make more money to buy more stuff.
It’s just stuff, and like I learned when I lost my gold tooth in two days, you can’t afford to get too attached to material
objects. They don’t define you. If you take away my cars and my houses, I will still be the same person. My dogs, Isis and
Sing Sing, will still love me. I will still have my closest friends and family. And I will still be able to enjoy a beautiful
sunset or a walk by the sea and so many other things that you can’t put a price tag on. Mom and Dad taught me well.

I know it’s been tough for many of you. Maybe you’re a single mom who’s facing foreclosure. Maybe you lost your job and you
don’t know what to do next. Maybe you can’t go to the college you were hoping for because a parent lost a job and the college
fund has to go toward paying the bills. Maybe you have a child who’s sick and you’ve run out of health insurance. These days,
everyone in America has either been touched by the recession or knows someone who’s going through some kind of hardship. You’re
not alone.

All I can tell you from my own experience is that valleys don’t last forever. They really don’t. Life has its peaks, its valleys,
and its plains, too. And none of them is going to last forever. It’s all about persevering through that time and how you handle
yourself through those valleys. That’s why you need a connection with something higher and deeper than a dollar. Money alone
won’t sustain you. Have faith that things
will
get better. Look out for yourself, but also know that God is going to look out for you. He has your back, and somehow, some
way, He will provide.

Even when you don’t think you have it, it’s there.

—R
ITA
B
RAY
O
WENS

E
verything was neatly and conveniently packed in boxes. We were planning to move from our housing project in Newark, New Jersey.
While my brother and I were in school and my mother was at work, a truck pulled up to the door of our unit and everything
we had was loaded up. There was just one problem: These weren’t movers. Some lowlifes from the neighborhood knew we were leaving,
and they helped themselves. They took everything we owned—all the belongings that my mother worked so hard to buy for us so
we would have a comfortable home. All our toys, books, electronics, artwork—gone. It was broad daylight, people were watching
what was going on, and nobody did a damn thing about it. It was like someone had stamped and sealed one final insult to a
life we were leaving behind for good. Now we were really starting fresh.

My mother protected my brother and me from a lot of what was going on in Hyatt Court. I was eight when we moved there, but
Mom kept telling us, “You may live in the projects, but you’re not
of
the projects.” We were clear about the fact that the situation was temporary. For my family and me, Hyatt Court wasn’t a
place to settle down; it was a place you strove to get out of! My mother was determined that we wouldn’t get locked in that
ghetto mentality that infects so many inner-city children when they feel their situation is hopeless. When school was out,
she’d take us down to Virginia to spend the summer with her family, so we would see there was a life outside our immediate
environment. She took us to museums, encouraged us to read, and worked three jobs to send us to private Catholic school, where
it was safe and the academic standards were high.

But other people in the projects
hated
her for doing this. They thought we thought we were too good for everybody else. They saw my mother send us to school every
day in our little uniforms, with our
white shirts all crisp and freshly pressed, and said to themselves, “Who does this woman
think she is? Does she think she’s better than us?” To her face, they called her a “snooty yellow bitch.” Not the immediate
neighbors, because they got to know my mom somewhat, but the ones who saw her from a distance. They didn’t like the fact that
my mother was just passing through. Even though my mother was scrubbing toilets to make ends meet, people assumed she had
a silver spoon in her mouth. They resented her for wanting a better life for her kids.

She promised to move us out of there within the year, and she delivered in just eleven months. She worked her ass off to get
it done. That Christmas, my mother took extra shifts to earn enough money to buy us presents so we wouldn’t feel deprived.
She hid our toys, already gift-wrapped, in the trunk of her car so we’d be surprised Christmas morning. But somebody must
have seen her doing this, because they gave my mother her own nasty surprise. They broke into the car on Christmas Eve and
took it all. So during our short year in the projects, we were robbed not once, but
twice
.

Our previous home was in a quiet area outside of Newark. So when we first moved to Hyatt Court, my brother and I saw adventure
everywhere. I’d say, “Look, Winki, smokestacks!” My brother would say,
“Oooh, ’sis, I wonder what’s over by those train tracks!
Let’s go find out!” We were fascinated by all the activity going on in the courtyard. We wanted to know what all those kids
were doing over in the corner. No wonder my mother was always trying so hard to keep us occupied!

But you’d never know anything was wrong. Mom never complained. She was always pleasant to everyone. She’d say, “Good morning,”
when she passed someone on the stairs on her way to work, and, “Have a pleasant evening,” to whomever she saw on her way back
home. Never “How ya doin’?” or “Whaassuup!” Rita Bray Owens was, is, and always will be a lady, and she wasn’t about to drop
her standards just to fit in.

“You persevere,” Mom said. “You don’t hold your head down and become part of the problem. You hold your head up and keep on
moving.”

This is Mom’s chapter, and it’s all about love. I’m sharing this moment in her life with you because it says so much about
who she is. It’s the strength of character I see in my mother that makes me who I am today. I know I’m blessed to have a role
model like
her in my life. She always had my best interests at heart.

The generations that went before us have lived, and they know a thing or two that we don’t. Respect that, and take all the
wisdom you can from the loving heart of your mother or, if she’s no longer in your life like that, any worthy maternal figure
in your life—be it a mentor, teacher, older sister, or true friend.

We can’t do it all alone. We can rise up only when we stand on the shoulders of those who went before us. You need an older,
wiser person in your life to give you advice, support, and strength. We all need someone who will listen and care, with no
agenda. Our moms can see the beauty and potential that we can’t always see in ourselves, and we need to be open to their unconditional
love to help us as we struggle to accept who we are.