Purple Reigned on Me

AuthorHouse

Contents

Chapter 1: In the Beginning..........................................1Chapter 2: How I Met Prince..........................................15Chapter 3: On Top of the World.......................................25Chapter 4: Making the Video..........................................47Chapter 5: Prince of Darkness?.......................................59Chapter 6: Tour Time.................................................67Chapter 7: Peering Over the Rose Colored Glasses.....................83Chapter 8: Purple Reigned on Me......................................95Chapter 9: Live, Life, Dream.........................................111Chapter 10: Dear Prince..............................................121

Chapter One

"Don't judge if you ain't lived it ..." Derek Curry II

Before I can even begin to talk about Prince and all of his greatness; I must first touch upon why I decided to write this chapter. In order to get to know a person, you must understand where they came from and how they got to the place where they are today. I stand before you in point asking for your full, undivided attention. I know you are wondering, who is Mikki really? Well, before you can read about Prince, you must first get to know me! If you know me, then you will know the most intricate details that make up who I am and why I actually wrote this book. Throughout my childhood, life was different. I came from many places, which I'll explain to you in a second. Sometimes in life we need to reevaluate where we are, where we went wrong and what we would change if we could turn back the hands of time. For me, this is all about accepting my past and making room for my future. My prayer is that you will be inspired by this book to do the same. Sometimes I laugh at the thought of what you will be reading! I do believe in being myself which many people do not do these days. Everyone wears a mask and that is sad. My life, as crazy it was and still is at times, may be the only way for you to be able to see as I see. So I invite you to laugh, cry with me, and be free to understand the emotional part of what it was truly like to live in my shoes!

See as I See ... I was raised as a devote Christian by my mother and father. Our family always attended non-denominational style churches, where there was much noise and liveliness going on. We attended services at least 5 days a week and there was no option in the matter. It did not matter if we were sick, we would still attend unless we were on our death bed. Besides, we would miraculously all get better after service was over. In our household, if you did not go to church, you would be lying in bed the rest of the day taking medicine. Personally, I was not that serious about faking to the point of staying in bed all day taking nasty medicine. 2-4 hours of service was doable as opposed to the consequences of staying home.

On Sunday mornings, at nine thirty we attended Sunday school. Usually this was the part of our day where stories from the bible were told. Sometimes there was a snack given to us for coming to Sunday School and participating in class. After Sunday School, we were off to praise and worship, which lasted almost an hour in the church where we attended. The funny part about remembering this is that I vividly recall having to stand the entire time, eyes closed, with my hands raised up continually in a mode of worship. It seemed to take forever, as the praise leader prayed for what seemed like the entire congregation. She was amazing, dang near calling on the dead to rise up and walk! She never ran out of words. It was just one continual prayer that would not end. Everybody around church looked so holy. To this day, I have not quite mastered this. I still peek out the corner of my eyes to see what is going on, especially if the person is long-winded. I remember my feet used to be so tired of not moving and body so tired of being frozen-like in a prayerful spirit for so long. My parents were awesome, but we as children were not wearing some comfort shoe with excellent support. Oh no! You better believe we were wearing those Payless high heels that felt like knives were digging into our feet. My toes are still scrunched together to this very day because of having to wear dress heels on Sunday.

After praise and worship, the preacher would preach a sermon for about an hour and a half. The pastor's sermons were so mesmerizing that I personally enjoyed watching him! I love black churches in general because the spirit is always high and the excitement is a constant. Apparently everyone who attended services at our church were also drawn to his eloquent speech and gestures; especially the women! Our Pastor was married, but this did not stop most of his female admirers! Pastor sometimes reminded me of a pimp because his shoes would tend to match his well decorated suits! His hair was processed to give it that curly, permed look, and he kept his goatee perfectly groomed! It was safe to say that he had that grown man swagger about him.

The thing that always got me was what came after the Pastor's sermon! You guessed it. Yet another thirty to forty minutes before the benediction. This time included testimonies, tithes and offerings, and the opening of the doors to be saved. Speaking of dragging things out; if the spirit did come that day during service, it would surely be gone by the time every person made their announcements! When service finally let out it was around one o'clock in the afternoon, but then the big test was actually getting out of the church.

My mother was a woman of God and had many Christian women that looked up to her. Immediately after church service, they would seek her out for more prayer and spiritual support. I always liked to sit around and observe the whole process. This would always amaze me. It was beautiful how my mother could command attention in a room. Everyone loved her because her personality was so magnanimous, and I am most definitely my mother's daughter (considered to be the known favorite by my parents and my siblings)! My mother was such an anointed woman of God. She loved the Lord and took pride in being a Christian woman; this was not show for her, the Lord permeated throughout her entire countenance. Her tall stature and commanding spirit was a gift for all eyes to see. It was nothing for her to start speaking in tongues aloud or to pray for someone in a loud commanding way. She did not give a hoot about who was listening. I believe that I got my spunk and boldness from her.

If you took a look at my Dad, who was then a Reverend as well as a Deacon in the church, you'd see him talking after service to someone, anyone. He was always talking. Especially if you were a person he liked. I guess being long-winded was in our family blood because many of us had the gift of gab. My daddy was and still is a very handsome man. He is light skinned, with a salt and pepper type of coloring to his moustache. He carries his six foot three inch slender frame very well. He has the look of a reverent man but he is also someone you would not want to cross. There was only one true weakness my dad had and that was my mother. When my mom spoke, daddy was like putty in her hands. Mom was worthy of such respect and throughout their entire lives and up till now, she has been my daddy's rock and he has been hers. Forty three years of marriage and they are still going strong. I believe anyone could see how strong their relationship was and still is. It truly speaks for itself.

Boy did my daddy know the bible! He could sit at a table, holding the bible in one hand while scratching either his head or picking the skin from his face, with the other. His face would turn pink from the digging he would do as he would dissect the bible with all of its intimate details. In our own private bible studies at home, which occurred quite frequently, daddy would ask us question upon question about the bible. Once there was a time when daddy kept asking, "Why does the holy spirit comfort you"? I responded, "To remind us what is right and of Jesus?" Now, instead of saying yes, he would say, "but why does the Lord want us to be reminded of him?" One of my other sisters added, "so that we wouldn't sin?" Dad then continued on that same line of questioning forever or until he got the exact wording he wanted to hear or until he answered the question himself. Most of the time dad answered his own questions. All you really had to do was wait him out. Then again he might just ask us to interpret a bible verse. My siblings and I used to try to find the bible books first so that we could read it. Whoever would start reading it first would be the winner. The other siblings would give each other nasty looks in a funny way, of course. This was one of the many games that we would play in order for us to be entertained in what was a strictly religious home.

There was always this underlying competitiveness about all of us. Everyone who knew our family recalls they did not want to play any games with us. This is mostly because we took things too seriously and I had a winning complex. Even today, as an adult, I am marked with this stigma. I guess it was then and still is apart of me today. It was funny though. We would joke about this continually. I reflect back at times and understand why I am so knowledgeable about the bible because I had parents who dang near walked on water in my eyes.

Normally my sisters and I were either running around the church after service getting hugs or playing around with other children our age. Personally, I was always drawn to the elders of the church. They were so much more interesting than chasing some boys around. Most of the kids my age did not like me that well. Being held to a higher standard was always something we did not have in common. If we did, it was not to the magnitude of what our parents expected from us. Talk about living worlds apart from the other children ...

After leaving church, we would eat out somewhere most Sundays. We grew up in a middle class home, where both parents were educated. My father received his degree in Chemistry, and my mother was a foreign language teacher in a middle school. I still remember some of the stories that I would hear my friends talking about being poor. They would discuss things like eating peanut butter when nothing else was available to eat and not having ample food. This was not my story; I never really knew a life like that. Throughout my childhood, our family was denied government programs because my parents made too much money. We were comfortable, but not rich enough to move to an upper class. I used to be jealous of my friends who had less. They were able to take advantage of the programs that I could not. Growing up middle class rendered us just enough financial security to pay all taxes. We never received any real tax breaks from the government.

On Sundays after church, one of my favorite eateries was Red Lobster. When our family would walk in, everyone would be so nice. All of the wait staff wanted us in their areas, as we were a family of seven. My parents were pretty good tippers, and we were well-liked customers. Standing on the outside looking in, I can see now why we were envied. So many parts of our lives looked cool. We were taught to be respectful and we were fashionable as a family. We had to say yes ma'am to all adults, and our parents made sure that our subjects and verbs agreed in every conversation. All of my sisters were beautiful and my brother, well-spoken, and attractive. We were a very handsome bunch, you might say. If we did not speak correctly, we were not allowed to talk. We all had to memorize bible scriptures, as well as know how to pray using those bible verses. None of us ever talked back. If we did we knew our mouths would be on the floor. I have some wounds to show that I did my share of challenging authority. We all had scars as reminders that we could not get indignant, or we would have to spend one night behind closed doors! If you were smart in my family, you learned quickly. I learned real quickly not to get in trouble and never press my luck too much.

After Sunday dinner was complete, the family would go home. Once at home, some of us stayed up and watched television, while the others took naps or talked on the phone. I was always the one who chose to lie down because I knew what was coming (another dose of the Lord in a few hours). Around five o'clock, our parents began rounding us up for the six thirty service. Night services were a little more casual, we could wear pants and it was a lot more relaxed. The service consisted of praise and worship, tithes and offering, choir singing a selection, and then preaching. By the time the day ended for us, it was usually about nine thirty at night, and it was then time to come home and go to bed. No one disagreed on this part of the evening and usually we were wiped out by all the services and other busy parts of the day. This was a typical Sunday for our Family. I remember sitting on a pew mad as hell, one Sunday because I felt that I was sitting in church every time the door opened up. I was so tired of this and I used to say, "When I get older, I am not going to church!" How many folks can identify with these feelings? I am sure many can relate to these frustrations. Even though I tire of the rotation, I do not feel right if I do not frequent service and thank the Lord for all he has done for me as a grown woman. My siblings also shared this same frustration with me. There is nothing like growing up as a preacher's kid. We are raised to a higher level than other people; our lives are always microscopically viewed by elders, friends, rivals, and critics. Whoever cared to take a jab at us, regarding everything we ever did; we felt like we were indeed walking on eggshells. I actually felt them crunching beneath my feet from time to time as a reminder that my whole life was on display.

Alongside this church life was the singing which was an entity of its own. Singing has always been a part of our lives. Since the tender age of 5, I remember singing with my family. I also remember getting into serious trouble if a note was not sung correctly. One would ask, is this the normal life of a child? While growing up, I was not sure ridicule was a normal experience, but I was pretty damn sure on surviving and making it out of what felt like the wilderness experience. I had to sing perfectly and with conviction. I was not alone. My brother and three sisters could sit down and tell a story similar to mine. They could tell of the pure satisfaction on my mother's face when she was happy with a performance. Then again, the fear and trembling we all had when a performance did not go over the way my Mom expected it to. I remember once when we were singing in a huge church in the inner city of Chicago, Illinois. My second oldest sister (let's call her Jade) was leading the song, which my mother arranged, "God's Amazing Grace". I happened to be singing in the background (thank the Lord in heaven), holding down the alto section, using my gestures, smiling when singing, doing my share. My sister was supposed to go back and start to ad lib the song the way Mom taught her, but she did not want to so she did not do it. Jade is very stubborn and when she gets the mind to do what she wants to do then that is what will happen. When we walked backstage, Mom (who normally did all of the whippings), took off her high heel shoe and began beating my sister down. All of us just stood and watched with our mouths open. My sister was screaming at the top of her lungs, "yes ma'am"! I'm sure that Mom did not mean to hit my sister in the head, but she did. This action produced blood. However, this is what happens when a shoe with a very sharp heel swings and connects with one's head. This is only one of a plethora of stories that I could tell on this level. Let us just say that I learned a life lesson. Do not ever disobey Mama! Dad was awesome, but he let Mom do her own thing. He might say, "Honey stop!" or "Please stop!" It made no difference because Mom would not stop. We all learned to give Mom our undivided attention because Dad could not stop our behinds from getting slaughtered. That was a fact that could never be disputed. I remember watching the movie of Michael Jackson's life. I was so taken with his story because I felt my brother and sisters were living it at that time. I was stunned and also a bit relieved when I saw the movie. I wondered did this mean that those people who become famous start out like me. Is this what my family has to go through? It sometimes makes me wonder why people truly come out the way they do. It is the background of your life ... my life which is the reason I am here today. Even after watching that movie, I just accepted who we were. We were called to sing- we were the family that had a certain type of life because we were called for a type of greatness no other friend or classmate would achieve. Instead of being angry, I began to take on who I was. I felt that I now had an answer and could rationalize and make sense of my life a little better. I believed that good things happen to people not by chance, but that it is predestined. So we all began singing and performing in our own city and throughout the Midwest. We recorded Gospel albums and made compact discs of our music. People always commented on our professionalism and ability to harmonize. There was never any formal training, just God given talent. Each sibling was extremely talented.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Purple Reigned on Meby Mikki White Copyright © 2012 by Mikki White. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.