Yeah…not exactly the same story, but you know what? Both stories are fucked up. His real story includes him dealing crack. Getting busted. Trying in vain to break into the hip hop business. But then, boom…out of the blue he got Eminem to fall in love with him, which paved the way for Fifty’s current gig, selling Vitamin Water. Or whatever.
The thing that struck me about the show was how everyone in the hood knows that when they grow up they want to get the fuck out of the hood. So they hustle and do whatever the fuck it takes to “make it”. And maybe that’s one of the problems with the way I grew up. No one in the suburbs realizes that when they grow up they need to get the fuck out of the suburbs.
We have a society that is full of American dreamers who are fast asleep. Like the start of my story above I slept walked through my little life. I was born in the suburbs and didn’t need to hustle or try hard. I just settled for what everyone else was doing. That guy took a job at Sprint. Okay, cool. I can do that.
But, at one point I was a kid with big dreams. But, after baseball player got ruled out when I went through a whole season without recording a hit and fireman stopped being an option when I found out you needed to be in shape…I found that thing that I love. It was writing.
But, breaking out of the suburban mentality proved too much. Writing wasn’t a realistic dream. But, I fucking hated myself and who I became when I gave up on my dreams. The feeling I got when I got a few letters to the editor published in the Kansas City Star was so great. And the night I finished my screenplay I was on top of the fucking world.
But, unlike Fifty, when things didn’t initially work out, I gave up. I settled. Everyone else is doing things this way. I better get in line. But, that wasn’t me. I’m different. I have mental problems. :) I need to metaphorically get the fuck out of the suburbs and take on that hustler mentality.
Everyone has a story worth telling. I’ll get in that line. And I won’t fucking rest until my story gets told. I see my story all over the place. In Magnolia. And American Beauty. And Almost Famous. And so many Mumford and Sons songs. People will relate to the story I tell.
When we tell the truth, good things happen. And the truth is we were all raised by imperfect parents. And they passed down shitty family traditions. And we can choose to keep sleep walking through life and accept the hand that’s been dealt to us. Or we can flip that shit and say enough is enough and live our own dreams.
This year’s been a challenge. But, goddamnit it’s been my favorite year ever. I stopped talking to my dad. And I started new family traditions with my kids. I want to give them what I didn’t get and what my dad didn’t get and what my mom didn’t get. I want them at an early age to know who they are and know that they’re loved and know that they are capable of being anyting. ANYTHING. Anything they want to be. They’re special. I never got that feeling from my parents…that I was special. But, I have it now.
And I’m able to give my kids something a little better. I can be real with them. I don’t need to pretend or candy coat things or try to live plastically. I fuck up. And my kids know that. But, they also know that I’m crazy about them.
On Christmas it was really important to me to make it special. And I’ll be a son of a bitch if it wasn’t quite possibly the best day of my life. I put up paper all over one wall and the kids made a Christmas mural. We decorated cookies. We went to the best gas station barbecue restaurant on the planet for our formal Christmas dinner. We sang carols, including the crazy Norwegian ones that include dancing and bowing and spinning around. And you know what? It was home. It was safe. It was fun. And it was real.
That’s what our family is about. We fucking nailed it this year. It sucks that the rest of my family wasn’t involved, but it’s important that I create home for the kids. Home is whenever they’re with me. They need to feel that. And they do.
Ahhhhh…just had one of those moments. The next time I saw the kids after Christmas Blake was watching for me out the front door of his mom's house with his backpack on. And Riley called me out of the blue at bedtime last night just to say goodnight. I’ve come a long way…as a human and a dad. Four years ago I had little to give those kids, but I’ve worked on myself and it’s been great for all three of us.
And now what’s next? Letting them see me go after my dreams. My own fucking dreams…rising above the suburban mentality and dreaming a dream that's even better than the American one...I'm going to write until Eminem falls in love with me. My name is Fiddy Blake Atkinson.
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