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CHAPTER 1
HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
Before We Were Mann and Wife for Life
My favorite childhood memory is not paying bills.
— BILL MURRAY
Chances are, if you know me, David Mann, then you know my wife, Tamela Mann. We are a package deal. Years ago, this beautiful woman and I fell in love and made a commitment. We committed to love together, live together, dream together, create together, and play together. And, together, we never looked back! Sure, we have different talents and gifts. Tamela, obviously, is an incredibly anointed singer with a flair for fashion and a heart of gold. I'm the funny one. And sure, sometimes the world says, "Good job, Tamela! Here's your Grammy!" or, "All right, David! Here's an Image Award for you!" Those accolades we get as individuals are valuable to us only when we are sharing the joys — and the sorrows — together. We are first and always a team. I cannot imagine my life without her. When Tam and I talk about where we are today and how much we have been blessed, we see how it all started long before we ever met. Right, Momma?
That's right, David. Tell them how it all started.
DAVID ON THE MOVE FROM THE GET-GO
The beginning of life shapes you for the rest of your life. I might not have enjoyed every moment of my childhood, but I wouldn't change a bit of my journey now. If every twist and turn happened so I could be where I am today, then every tear and every year was worth it.
I was born in Lubbock, Texas, to an incredibly resilient woman.
My mother, Sandra Mann, was not only the rock of our family but also a miracle worker. Somehow, with just a seventh grade education and living on a very limited income, she raised five strong sons by herself. And she taught us to be honorable, honest, and holy.
I am the second oldest of five. Each of us had a different father. From my mother, I learned who to be. From my father, I learned who not to be. In more than fifty years of living, I saw my father about six times. I had one conversation with him a few years ago. Six months after that, my father died.
Mom had her first child at fourteen. She had me at sixteen. She was a baby having babies, and she experienced a lot of difficulty because of it. My grandparents forced her to quit school in the seventh grade. Because she was so young, the family judged her harshly. The community she grew up in labeled her "damaged goods." It's a shame, really. Mom had so many natural talents and skills that she could've become whatever she put her mind to, but she had no one to help her. No one was willing to mold her, nurture her, or see her — really see her. So, like many people who have been overlooked and rejected, Mom searched for love in all the wrong places.
What I remember most about growing up is that we were always moving. Not long after my second or third birthday, we moved from Lubbock, Texas. My mother got married for the first time, and we moved to St. Louis. But that was only a pit stop. Before we could get accustomed to our new home, the relationship between my mother and her first husband became more than toxic — it was outright abusive. So my mom packed me and my little brother up and left with only what she could carry in her hands. We boarded a train in the middle of the day while her husband was at work and headed back to Lubbock, Texas. A year or so later, my mother met a nice young man who ended up becoming her boyfriend. Then came another move — this time to California. The weather there was sunny and hot, but their relationship was cloudy and cold. Within a year's time, child number four was added to the bunch, and we found ourselves circling back to Fort Worth, where marriage number two was now in the mix. After my last brother was born, we moved back to Lubbock, and from Lubbock we moved to Houston. (Too bad I didn't get frequent flyer miles for all of that moving.) When Houston didn't work out, we moved back to Fort Worth — the city where I graduated from the one and only Oscar Dean Wyatt High School. That's where I met a beautiful, light-skinned girl named Tamela Johnson.
TAM'S TURN
I was born Tamela Jean Johnson, the youngest of fourteen kids. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was lighter than any of my siblings, so they called me the "white sheep" of the family. I was the baby too. Most of my brothers and sisters were grown by the time I was born, so I had to figure out a lot of things on my own. Couple that with the fact that I had a different father from the rest of my brothers and sisters. Plus, I was the only one in my family to graduate from high school. So trust me: my family didn't know what to do with me. But eventually they figured it out.
I grew up in Fort Worth, Texas. We moved some, but my family didn't move around as much as David's. My mother tried to keep us together as much as possible, but with fourteen children, it wasn't the easiest thing to do. Momma was a praying woman. She was a faithful woman. She took her walk with God seriously. She knew she couldn't give us much, but she gave us God — and that was more than enough for me. Of the many gifts she gave me as a child, the greatest gift was my relationship with Christ.
I guess you could say I grew up in a single-parent home. I had a couple of stepfathers over the years, and our family was very blended, but my mother was the permanent fixture in my life. My biological father wasn't around, and sometimes my stepfathers were there, sometimes they weren't. The closest thing I had to a father figure was my mother's second husband, Mr. Doll Cooper. Mr. Cooper loved my mother and always wanted her to reach for the stars. He tried to help her rise beyond her third-grade level of education, and I believe he wanted to get Mom out of poverty. But she never did. It's so ironic because my mother had so much faith in God and could believe God for everybody else, but I don't think she had enough faith to come out of poverty. Mr. Doll was sent by God to help her see life differently.
When I was twelve years old, Mr. Doll Cooper died. He had plenty of land, houses, cars, and property, but when his family came to the funeral, they claimed all of his possessions and left my mother with nothing. She had helped him to build and sustain his life, and they left her with nothing. She was there when he took his last breath, and even though they had their ups and downs, his family didn't think enough about her or her fourteen kids to leave her a car to ride in. Mr. Doll was my mother's everything, so when he passed away, she had nothing to build from. Man, he was a gift. He wasn't perfect but he was a good guy. I always felt like if Mr. Doll had lived, not only would he have helped my mother to change her mind-set, but he would've also helped me to take my education more seriously. I believe I eventually would've gone to college.
But we were poor. Who was going to pay for college? My brothers had social security checks coming in, and my mother received a welfare check every month. That's how we survived. My family made it on two fish, five loaves, and a lot of faith. I guess that's why ownership is so important to me now. My mother never owned anything, and I believe that affected her. She didn't own a car. She didn't own a house. She rented houses and borrowed cars, but she never had property in her name. My uncles and aunts did, but my mother didn't have anything to call her own. As a result, she settled for what people told her she could have instead of dreaming big enough to get what she deserved.
SALVATION SONG
When I turned eight, I accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior of my life. Though I was young, I was serious about my journey. I'll never forget my first choir solo, "I Don't Feel No Ways Tired," by James Cleveland. I sang it all the time, and when I got to the bridge, "I don't believe He's brought me this far to leave me," tears just rolled down my face. I wept and wept as I sang. My ad-libs reminded the congregation that God had kept my momma, and God had kept my family, and before I knew it, the church was standing and praising God with me!
Now, remember, I was eight. I hadn't been through a whole lot, but I had seen enough to know that God was faithful. Faith is funny like that sometimes. Some might think, How can an eight-year-old girl be able to have faith like that? To that I'd say, Jesus said you have to have faith like a child. And with God all things are possible!
Around the same time that I got saved, my mother was diagnosed with pneumonia. Her illness kept her bedridden for a long time. Since most of my siblings had moved out, I had to learn how to fend for myself. This pushed me into survival mode. As a young girl, I learned to cook for myself, clean for myself, and take care of myself. I had to take care of myself when nobody else was around. But the truth is, it wasn't me. God kept me — even when I didn't know it. Experiencing God's faithfulness as a child helped me to trust him as an adult.
I survived some painful things as a child. Some memories were so painful that I blocked them out. But through the pain and struggle, I never let go of God, and I never let go of my song. God used my singing to draw me to him. I was so young, but God used my voice to save me from myself. He used this gift to protect me from the dangers of life. Whenever I sang "I Don't Feel No Ways Tired," I knew that a brighter day was coming — even through moments of darkness. It was instilled in my heart early on. I believed that God was going to use me beyond my wildest dreams. So, for as long as I can remember — from the time I was eight until right now — God's been building my faith, giving me a testimony to lean on when the road got rough and the going got tough. I knew God was for me and with me, even when I was alone.
Tough is a perfect word to describe how it felt to be a man without a father. Me? I was like a father for my younger brothers during a time when I needed a father myself. My oldest brother went to live with my grandparents, and since I was the oldest at home, I became the father figure. I was the disciplinarian. I was the example. But I also was a child.
Today, many people see me as an outgoing comedian and a social butterfly, but surprisingly I was very shy when I was growing up. I didn't talk much in class — my, how things have changed — and my teachers were so impressed by my behavior, I was named the good citizen of my school. That pretty much meant I was the best kid in my school.
When was that?! And how old were you — five?
You can't just say, "Congratulations," Tam? Always trying to steal a brotha's shine (LOL).
Sorry. Congratulations, Bae.
Thank you. That's better.
In fourth grade, I figured out that I could make people laugh, and it was downhill from there. They say people who like to make people laugh do so to keep from crying. In other words, most comedians entertain as a way to mask, hide, or use their pain for a greater purpose. That's what I did. I saw a lot of painful things in my home, and I channeled that pain into something helpful and useful. Ultimately, it made me the guy I am today. That's why I say every painful experience became a necessary ingredient for the life I wanted to live. Because my mom moved us around so much when I was a kid, I vowed to be a stable man. Because my dad was absent for my entire life, I vowed to be a present father. Because my mother was married three times — and each time the verbal and physical abuse got worse and worse — I vowed to be a committed, loving husband. All the painful experiences of my past helped me to become a better man in the future.
That's something you need to know about me to understand me. I'm playful and fun, but when I commit, I'm in it to win it. Everything I did, even as a boy, I committed to it. If I played a sport, I was committed. I didn't let anything stop me. I felt like the moment I stopped would be the moment I failed. Like my mom, I kept going, no matter what.
DRAWN TO THE LIMELIGHT
During my years at O. D. Wyatt, I was pretty involved. I was on the football team and the track team, I sang in the choir, I was on the boxing team, and I was a member of the drama club. My mother was busy working three jobs at one time just to make ends meet, so she didn't have time to come to any of my games or my matches. I think in all four years that I played, my mother may have come to one football game and one boxing match. But she was frustrated and overwhelmed. I understand it now, but I didn't understand it back then. A lot of times my mother took her frustration out on us. Momma wasn't the nurturing type. She was the "if I have to say it one more time, I'm going to knock you out" type. She didn't have time to cuddle and hug us. She couldn't give us her undivided attention and affection.
I think that's why l learned to live for Friday nights in high school. The football field was where I got the attention and affirmation I wanted my mother to give, from fans and friends who came to see me play every week. I'm telling you, Friday nights were the best days of the week! Every Friday during football season my adrenaline ran high. I couldn't wait to get out there and play with my buddies Jessie Hurst, Cedric Smith, and Anthony Brooks, under the leadership of Coach Willie Chris.
Coach Chris was a major mentor to me in high school. He knew I didn't have a father in the home, so he treated me like his son. He didn't just teach me plays for the field — he taught me principles for life. He helped me to see my value beyond the sport I played, and he is one of the reasons I was able to push past my pain and find a greater purpose through it all. Coach Chris was a surrogate father to me, and to this very day, we still keep in contact. Coach Chris and my choir teacher, Jewel Kelly, were my saving graces — both sent by God to help me find my voice.
FINDING MY VOICE
Ms. Kelly literally helped me find my voice in chorus by giving me several opportunities to lead songs, despite my hesitation. I wasn't unfamiliar with singing. My mother was a phenomenal singer and musician. For years she led the choir and played the piano for our church, so with my mother's passion for music and Ms. Kelly's insistence on training me vocally, I now see how God was using each person to mold me in an area.
I never expected to make a career out of music. Soon I was singing in local groups and local choirs, and because of Ms. Kelly, I felt like I sounded pretty good. So good, in fact, that my buddy Cedric and I decided to start a little rock band. Looking back on it, we sucked. But we won a talent show in school that Tam attended. Right, Tam?
Right. And I'll never forget that talent show either. That was the show where you tore off your shirt to end your performance.
Yup, and come to think of it, that's when you fell in love with me.
No, sweetheart. Not true.
You don't have to act shy now. Just tell the truth, Momma. When you saw my strong, muscular hunk of a body underneath that shirt, it was love at first sight, wasn't it?
No, it wasn't love at first sight. I actually felt bad for you.
Why?
Because it wasn't good at all. But the audience loved you, so I figured, If they like it ... I love it.
Well, if that wasn't the moment, how did it happen? How did we meet, and how did we fall in love?
I don't think we would've met or fallen in love if it wasn't for Nicole Jones.
CHAPTER 2
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
And Other Questions David Never Asked
Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you was beyond my control.
— UNKNOWN
Nicole Jones was my best friend from church. She and I did everything together, so, of course, she knew I loved to sing. Nicole told me about this group of guys called the Humble Hearts who sang together. One guy was named Kirk Franklin, another guy was named Darrell Blair, and the final guy's name was David Mann. David and Nicole were classmates in high school, and one day she overheard them all singing around the piano in chorus class. She said, "My best friend can really sing too." David looked at her and said, "Well, if she can sing, bring her to school so we can hear her." Nicole agreed.
THE MATCHMAKER
Next thing I knew, Nicole had me riding up to the school with her to sing in front of these three strangers. I trusted Nicole, of course, and I loved to sing, but I didn't know who I was singing for. The whole idea made me a little nervous. But Nicole assured me that they were great singers, so I figured, You only live once. Let's do it. Nicole's grandmother drove us to the school to meet these guys. If I had never been invited to sing for the Humble Hearts, I would've never met David Mann.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Us Against the World"
by .
Copyright © 2018 David Mann and Tamela Mann.
Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
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