I grew up in a home with two parents who sold me the dream anything being possible. There was no prison for my passions, no cage for my creativity, and I’ll thank them until my dying day for their unwavering support in all my hopeful and hopeless endeavors.
Many months ago, I wrote an article praising the parents rappers who were the backbone careers during the early, uncertain stages. Parents who supported before any money or fame, simply the wind beneath wings that could potentially soar or possibly never leave the ground. I applauded the mother Kanye, the parents Chad Hugo, the grandmother Big Sean―but deep down I knew these stories were rare, and not the norm. It’s hard enough to be an artist, but even harder when there’s no solid foundation to stand upon, no real system support.
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