By: Joseph Fanfan
“I used to pray for times like this, to rhyme like this
So I had to grind like that to shine like this
In a matter of time I spent on some locked up shit
In the back of the paddy wagon, cuffs locked on wrists
See my dreams unfold, nightmares come true
It was time to marry the game, and I said: “Yeah, I do.”
Meek Mill, Dreams and Nightmares, “Dreams and Nightmares”
The verse you just read sent me to the University of West Florida. What I am trying to say is that these lines gave me the purest form of motivation to pack my 2000, rundown, Mazda 626 and move out of Poinciana, Florida, for good!
Meek Mill has an impact on us, the dream chasers, which no other rapper would ever; the bars that he rhymes are something that you can just feel. Unfortunately, Meek’s legal battles and fall to Drake’s diss track “back to back” often portray him as the butt of the joke in the media — “he’s an L”, as the kids would call him nowadays.
But I am here to argue otherwise.
Before Meek’s claim to fame, he earned his name in the streets as a battle rapper; he was representing the streets of Philadelphia at a young age, ever since he wore the nappy braids. Meek has a lot of street credit, in fact, the kids from North Philadelphia who dream of making something bigger out of life look up to him. I, too, was trying to figure out a way to make it out of Poinciana and Meek’s dream chaser narrative was the adrenaline to my focus.
Growing up in Poinciana, I did my very best to stay out of trouble by working a part-time job and participating in after-school programs. But, I was curious to hear from someone who can better interpret the origin of the things that I was seeing and experiencing at school and surrounding environments.
Poinciana was a deserted, boring, town, during my high school years that left teenagers with the nearby Walmart parking lot or the local KFC as options for “fun”. There were not many exciting activities at school other than the pep rallies, the fights, our struggling football team, and this group of boys who called themselves the “Hollywood” crew who would get in trouble from time-to-time.
Just like most high schools that you watch on television, there were cliques based on shared interests — the drama kids, the cool kids from New York, the athletes, and the self-proclaimed gangbangers. For a better perspective, I am one of the 400 something kids who makes the second graduating class in Liberty High School’s history; the school initially opened its doors in 2007.
Still, adjusting to American norms was a challenge for me because I moved to the U.S. at the age of 13 from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and for the first time in my life, I was interacting with kids who were different from me in all aspects. I was learning what it’s like to be an American teenager and everyday was a culture shock because of things like public display of affection, which is only acceptable behind closed doors where I am from (now is a good time to LOL).
I got into a fistfight midway through my sophomore year that did not end well which was the turnaround point for me.
I realized that I was becoming a young man, a young black man, and needed to not only figure out a way to defend myself but incorporate some level of “streetness” to my personality to prevent kids from trying me. That’s how I formulated a relationship with Meek’s music — a library of street rawness, cadence, male dominance, and charisma made visible through rhymes. Through Meek’s music, I learned about the importance of maintaining a trendy appeal while maneuvering in situations like being challenged by a peer or fitting in the crowd; I became more socially conscious the more I listened to his music.
I realized the power of his lyrics after experiencing this real-life scenario:
It was the first day of my junior year, I was wearing a long sleeve Hollister t-shirt; a pair of slim straight fit jeans from Pacsun; the new Air Jordan Retro 9 Playoff; and my iPod Nano was playing a song called “In My Bag”. The reaction that I got from my peers that day made it seem like Meek was talking about me; I felt like Michael Jordan after scoring “the last shot” against Utah in 1998, like swish! Like Meek said, I felt in my bag and my level of confidence grew immensely from that day forward (you have my permission to LOL once again).
Meek turned me into a disciple, a dream chaser, by helping me understand the unwritten rules that I must abide by and how to manage through unforeseeable challenges that life may throw at me. I spent all of my teenage years and early adulthood away from my father due to complications with his career, so Meek’s stories about not having a father always resonate with me. I felt emotionally broken every time I heard stories from friends about the cool stuff that they were doing with their Dads, especially during the holidays.
But you know what they say, “MAN UP”!
I had to figure out to become a man on my own and I am still learning.
On the third volume of his Dreamchaser’s mixtape series, Meek stated on the intro of Dope dealer:
“There’s three types of men in life
Men that make it happen
Men that watch it happen
And Men that don’t even know what’s going on
Choose one…”
As a dream chaser, it has to be the first choice. #FreeMeek
