My Birth Story

Okay, it's my birthday, so I am going to tell all of you a story. It's my birth story, and the first two years after. It's a story about miracles, and living despite all of the odds stacked against you, about faith, and the power of prayer. It's super long, but today is my day, so I am reclaiming my time; you can reclaim yours tomorrow (smile).
As most of you are aware, my mother was 17 when I was born, and a high school senior. To be more specific, she was only three weeks into her senior year because in Faison (Mayberry), because we were such a large agricultural area, school always started the Tuesday after Labor Day.
So after nine months of morning sickness, the doctor gave my mother some pills (apparently that is how things were done in the 1970's), to put her into labor. Did I mention the doctor in question (I am not mentioning his name, because woosah) was a general medicine practicing doctor not an OB-GYN? He just added delivering babies as a specialty. This story gets better.
My mother was instructed to take the medicine early that morning and meet him in his office, not the hospital, at 8am. She was there on time, but he didn't meet her there until 11am. I was born at 11:45am! 5 pounds 11ounces 19 inches long.
So 250 stitches later for her, and jaundice for me, we were sent home later that evening!
For the first few months I thrived, as much as a baby with a teen mother, born at a doctor's office, severally jaundiced can! My mother returned to high school in December a few weeks before Christmas break, and I was cared for by my maternal grandmother (Ms. Queen), who is about six weeks shy of turning 61, as she was nearly 44 when she had my mother and twin brother. I was almost 3 months old, and weighed nine pounds.
One morning in January, a few weeks after Christmas, my grandmother gave me a bath, put me down, and I become immobile. No baby cooing, no muscle movement, still as a statue. She immediately took me to the doctor, and the doctor hypothesized that possibly I might have had a few strokes prior to birth, and those were just some after effects.
I was referred to Duke and Chapel Hill hospitals. Now this is pre-I-40, so a trip to either one of those towns from Mayberry, was an entire day trip. Did I mention neither my grandmother or mother had a driver's license, my mother has already missed three months out of school, is a senior, and we didn't have good health insurance?
Doctors ran test after test. All kinds of specialists were brought in. They repeated the pre-birth stroke theory. Told my mother that I had a 10-20% chance of survival. If by some miracle I did survive, I would be "retarded" (People were a little less politically correct in the 1970's apparently), and I would never walk. At this point, I lost my ability to suck a bottle and had to be tube fed through my nose. My mother was 17; my grandmother tube fed me, until my nose became so sore and bruised that she couldn't take it anymore, so she enlisted the help of my Cousin Margie Darden. She left her bed many nights in the early morning hours to tube feed me (she worked full time, and had four girls of her own at home).
So from January 1977 until September of 1978, I spent more time in hospitals than I did at home, being tube fed, and weighing nine pounds. My mom was distraught. Seventeen, having a baby that you didn't plan for, and to be told that the child was going to die or be "delayed" was a bit much, but I had a praying grandmother, who was strong in faith, who believed her God could do anything. So she assembled a group of women who she called her prayer warriors (Evangelist Maxine Teachey, Evangelist Emma Gray Oates, Evangelist Maybelle Marable, and Evangelist Oliver). I am sure there were many others, but those are the ones who come to mind at this point.
One day along this journey, my grandmother went to the hospital, walked into my room, as I laid there hooked up to various tubes (I was completely naked except a diaper). My grandmother noticed that I was so cold, that I had turned blue. So my grandmother asked the nearest nurse who she could find, "Why does he not have on any clothes, or isn't being warmed properly?" The nurse replied, "He's not going to make it, and doctors told us just to keep him comfortable." So my grandmother (who was a much better Christian than I am...hallelujah somebody), asked the nurse, "If I promise to wash his clothes, will just please put him on at least a sleeper?" So the nurse went against her superiors and did what she asked.
One day, my grandmother was at home (She and my mother took turns staying with me at the hospital) in the bathtub, and she said a voice spoke to her, and said, "This is Corey's breakthrough."
At the time, she was alone, so it couldn't have been a human voice. So now this is where faith has to kick in! So she calls later that morning, to get an update on my status and is informed that there isn't any change. She calls the next morning, and is informed that there is still no change. But faith! She calls the third morning, the nurse on duty said and I quote, "Ms. King, he is emptying bottles faster than we can give them to him." (At this point, I had been tube fed for somewhere around eight months). From this point on, I continued to thrive, and I took my first steps one week before my second birthday! This, the baby who had a 10-20% survival rate. This baby, who doctors said that if by some miracle I survived, I would be retarded and confined to a wheelchair.
By the way, I am 41 today. I was in the academically gifted program beginning in 4th grade, took Honors classes in high school, attended college on an academic scholarship, have two degrees, and next year, I celebrate 20 years in teaching.
Why? Because I had a praying grandmother who knew a man, who can do anything!
At this time, I would like to thank each of you for reading my story, your birthday wishes, and the outpouring of love on my special day! And remember that with the right people in your corner, faith, and a praying grandmother, you too can do anything!

Kevin Hart and Fake Apologies

I can’t stand fake apologies. If you have done me wrong, I would rather that you remain silent than to insult my intelligence and the sanctity of our relationship, and issue an apology that you don’t mean.

When you apologize to protect your brand, to toss and floss for social media followers, or because you got caught, those apologies are fake and insincere, proving that you are not genuine, and if the circumstances were the same, you would do the same, just be more careful next time.

This is how I feel about Kevin Hart’s apology to his wife and kids via Instagram because his sidepiece threatened to extort him and reveal his abhorrent behavior with her.

As more news comes to light, not only did Kevin cheat on his pregnant wife, his choice was not one, but two strippers, and they only reason why he “fessed up” (confessed for the Ebonics challenged) was because the young ladies threatened him with exposure if he didn’t pay them.

So, let me sum it up for you: Kevin cheated, and only came clean because his sidepiece threatened to expose him. He was too cheap to pay the money that she asked for, so he thought he would get ahead of the story by confessing, and even donated to Hurricane Harvey relief to throw everyone off his story (rolls eyes).

There are those of you who say this is not our business, it’s between Kevin and his wife. I call bullshit. Kevin involved all of us when he posted his personal business via social media. Kevin involved us in his business when he paraded his former “sidepiece” around as his “rib”, which is a biblical principle (read Genesis if you are Bible challenged). Kevin involved us in his business when he made his whole stand up routine, Laugh at My Pain with soliloquies about how he cheated on his first wife, Torrei Hart. He even created a show, Househusbands of Hollywood, where he creates parodies of his ex-wife as being money hungry, loud, obnoxious, and hell bent on making his life miserable, while he tries to move on. However, in this parody, he conveniently leaves out the part where he cheated, but I digress.

Ultimately, what I am saying is that Kevin’s latest shenanigans are not a simple temporary lapse of judgment or bad decision making. It is just simply part of his character. He cheated on his first wife, with the current one, and now he is cheating on her with others. The only thing is that this time he is rich, this wife is younger, and it happened in less time. He made money and got rich off celebrating his cheating, so why should we feel sympathy or run to his rescue now?

But we as the black community love putting on our capes to play Captain Save a Negro, and usually, it involves someone who would not spit on us if we were on fire. Remember OJ? The black community rallied around him in 1994/1995, even though he hadn’t stepped foot in the community since his divorce from first wife, Marguerite! People Magazine did an interview with this same Kevin Hart in 2016. They tried to get him to speak on the disparities in roles for African American actors/actresses, and how unfair the award system was, and you know what his response was, “Stop complaining and do the work.” So, I ask you, why cape for Kevin now? He had the opportunity to use his platform and brand for the good of his people, and he took the coon’s way out, so I say fuck him! He made his bed, let him lie in it, and let him accept whatever repercussions come his way.

I will save my sympathy for his children, both the living and unborn, because clearly, they have a fool for a father. I will save my sympathy for those in the black community like Colin Kaepernick who risked his career to stand up for the oppressed, and all those African American celebrities who despite the harm or threat of harm to their brands and/or careers, speak up for us anyway.

Until next time….