DR. MAHALIA ANN HINES
“You have a wonderful son.” “He is such a good person.” “His spirit is so great.” These are comments I often hear from perfect strangers. Most of them know my son only as Common, not by his given name, Rashid. But each of them speaks as if they have a personal connection to him. My favorite comment of all, though, is “I want to be your daughter-in-law!”
Every time I hear comments like these, it makes me smile. It makes me very proud to be his mother. Friends and family say, “Rashid hasn’t changed. He’s still the same as he was before the fame.” That makes me feel even more proud. I’m surprised they think he would change. I know he’s an entertainer and some say he’s a star, but in my mind those words only describe what he does, not who he is.
I’m often told that Rashid is who he is because of me. “You are such a strong mother. You’ve taught him so much.” Sure, I would like to take all of the credit for who he has become, but I can’t. He’s always been his own person—even as a child—and he’s certainly become his own man.
Sometimes I listen to him and I have to ask myself, “Who is this? Why is he so wise? Did he really come from me?” There’s so much about him that’s still a mystery, even to me. What I do know, though, is that I like him. I really like him. Of course, I love him, too. As mothers, we always love our children—but we may not always like them. I often tell him, “I would like you even if you weren’t my son.”
What do I like so much about him? I like praying with him, talking with him, and learning from him. He has a way of putting things into perspective for me when I’m stressed out or worried about something. I remember talking to him about my niece, Bianca, who had come to live with me after my sister, Stella, had died. Bianca was only twelve and she was so angry at everyone, angry at the world. She was angry at her mother for leaving, angry at God for taking her away, and she was even mad at me for still being here. I did everything I knew to do for her, but nothing really helped. She barley graduated from high school and I helped her move on to college away from home. It wasn’t long before she was running into problems there.
That’s when I called Rashid. I was so worried. I even thought that if my sister were here, Bianca wouldn’t be struggling quite so bad. I said to him that I thought if she came back to Chicago where her family was she might do better. He said “Mama, I know you want the best for Bianca. I love her, too. You have to do what you think will help her, but you need to understand that wherever Bianca goes she will take herself with her.” It was simple wisdom, but it was a difficult truth. So I let Bianca tough it out away from home and before long, she found her own path with our love and support.
Have I always liked Rashid? Maybe not always. I really didn’t like him when he decided to leave school to become a rapper. I didn’t even know what rapping was nor did I think that one could have a career in it. I am embarrassed today when I say I didn’t know he was even rapping as a teenager. Sure, I knew he could write. He always got As in English. I knew he used to spin on his head to music all the time, but I certainly didn’t know that spinning on your head could lead to a career.
Remember, I came up in the ’60s where doors finally started opening for African Americans to get an education, which would lead to getting a good job. You’d have that job for life. So why didn’t my son want to finish college and get a good job for his life? I didn’t understand it and I didn’t like it, but I loved him and I tried to be supportive as he struggled to follow his dream.
I even went to one of his first shows one night at the House of Blues. I have to admit, I was excited. I was proud that my son was an entertainer. He was excited that I was going to be there, I think. But my excitement started waning early into the show. All I saw were people jumping around onstage and hollering—angry, loud, and more often than not cursing. I wasn’t sure who should have been onstage and who shouldn’t. I even saw audience members jumping onstage trying to take the mic.
At some point in the show, Rashid seemed to feel like he had to defend his own microphone. I think he even hit someone. My excitement quickly turned to fear. My pride turned to worry, but somehow the show went on. My best friend, Barbara, and I just sat there in amazement. I knew she didn’t say what she really thought because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. We sat there in silence looking at one another. Actually, I think by now we were standing because everyone else was standing and throwing up their hands.
With all that chaos going on, I tried to listen closely to the words in Rashid’s rhymes. He wasn’t quite talking and wasn’t quite singing, but something in between. It had rhythm and spirit and a little bit of soul, too. But it sounded to my ears like a foreign language. At one point in his performance, Rashid jumped off the stage and into the audience. Barbara and I looked at one another and we sat down. We had been there since 9:00 p.m. He was supposed to come on at 10:00, but he ended up coming on just after 1:00 in the morning. By 3:00, the show was over and Barbara and I were exhausted.
Well, I thought, at least I’ll get to see his dressing room. We were escorted backstage—if you can even call it that. Rashid’s dressing room was not as big as my bathroom. It was full of Rashid’s loud, smelly, and I think drunk (or on the way to being drunk) homeboys. When Barbara and I entered the room, they tried to straighten up out of respect for us, but there was only so much they could do. I gave him a hug—all the while looking at who was in there—told him he did great, and left.
As I drove home I thought to myself, how could I have not known he was into rapping? His friend Derek’s mother and father knew about it. They were even driving him around to gigs with Derek and giving them money for equipment. I wondered if some of my money had gone toward his early rapping career. I’m sure it did.
But on the way back from that first show, I knew exactly why Rashid hadn’t told me about his rapping earlier. You see, he knew me and he knew that if I had known I would have tried to stop him. Knowing why he kept it a secret didn’t help the hurt. I was disappointed in him for not confiding in me. I was angry with myself because as a mother I should have known. I had really missed the boat on that one. It had sailed, but I was determined it wouldn’t dock. This was not what I wanted for my son, or for me. I was embarrassed to tell anyone my son was a rapper. But this was his life not mine, so I had to step back. I decided I would give him three years of emotional and financial support to establish his career. If he couldn’t do it by then, he would have to go back to school. In my mind, I knew he would be back in school in three years, maybe fewer. Little did I know. . .
Over time, rap changed and so did Rashid. He became a conscious rapper. His lyrics expanded to represent more of what he was about and not what others—be they friends or record labels—thought he should be about. He became his own artist and his own man.
Today I am proud to say my son is a rapper. My friends call me the “hip-hop grandma” because I not only talk about his songs, but about Nas’s, Tupac’s, Jay-Z’s, and Kanye’s, too. Even though I often find myself defending rap in front of people who don’t have a clue about my son or what he does, I’m happy to do it. I have been in social situations where someone will mention that my son is Common and that he’s an entertainer. They’ll ask me what he does. I’ll say he’s a rapper. I can see by their blank looks that they don’t know what to say and they don’t know what to make of him—or of me. So, I make it easy on them. I’ll ask, “Do you have children?” If they say yes, I’ll say, “Ask them who Common is.” Most of the time, their kids will say, “He’s one of the dopest rappers with meaningful lyrics.” And, you know what? They’re right!
But Rashid is more than just a rapper. He’s an actor, an author, a speaker, and according to no less an authority than Dr. Maya Angelou, a poet (smile). As wonderful as all of that is, those are only things he does, not who he is. When I’m asked to describe him I say he is the best son a mother could have, a good father, a great and loyal friend, a fine husband-to-be, a spiritual believer, and a practicing Christian—not necessarily in that order. In this book, you too will have the opportunity to get to know not only Common, but also Rashid. You’ll get to know the artist and also the complex soul I’m proud to call my son.
Throughout this book, Rashid opens his heart. He tells his story. He shares very personal experiences that are sometimes too personal even for me. But, if his openness and honesty can touch hearts, change minds, and help others to reflect on their lives in a way that will allow them to see the God within them, then I’ll even forgive him for telling my personal business, too!