Little Brown Book: Connecting the dots

My senior year of high school, I was asked to give a speech by the mentors of a foundation called Summer Search. Summer Search had been a huge part of my growth and evolution throughout high school, so it was only right I’d say yes. The speech was meant to welcome the new batch of high school sophomores from around NYC, or convince those who still had their doubts with the foundation. I had never given a speech before in front of an audience and the intimidation of a college auditorium. With some help from a few of my mentors, I gathered my words, got on that stage, adjusted the mic and spoke about my trajectory.
When my legs stopped shaking and I was given the chance to sit back down, I was told there was a “very special gift” for me underneath my chair. I tore through the baby blue gift-wrap and came out with a little brown leather book with yellow pages. I went home and put it away until June 15, 2008.
Sometime in early June of 2008, I found myself in Central Park with one of my close friends talking about how life changes and unless you constantly remind yourself of the past you’ll loose yourself in the future. He asked me if he could read me something he wrote, I agreed. After he was done, he starred at his work and said, “man I’ve really been feeling speaking my words, lately.” That, and “see that’s me, that’s how I feel, it’s for me, and maybe you if you let it,” were the two lines I wrote down on my little brown book on June 15, 2008.
Now I don’t want to disrespect my friend’s privacy, so I’ll just say this: If experience and struggle put 25 cents in that man’s pocket-every time they flew in with the winds of life-right now he’d be rich. And I’m not talking about the stuff you see on shows like MTV’s “The Hills” or the overly hyped, mainstream hip-hop lyrics you hear on the radio. I’m talking about the stuff you don’t hear about, unless you find yourself ready to listen, and someone to listen to.
It was dark and a bit windy, there were about 10 benches going left and 10 going right from where we were sitting and one light post right in front. He took two steps left and two right, crisscrossing his legs with his back to the light. Bit his bottom lip, closed his eyes and let the words loose as they traveled from his mouth to my ear, being guided by the movement of his hands like an orchestra leader leading a hip hop beat for the first time.
He didn’t have much skills in the art, what he did have was passion, aggression and motivation. To me, that was a good piece.