That Color, Purple

I really don’t want to throw my parents under the bus, but when I was growing up, they did not approve of The Purple One, Prince Rogers Nelson. In retrospect, I can’t say I blame them. My parents were conservative Christian people who were just trying to successfully raise their children. For that reason, Prince and his sexually charged music were absolutely forbidden at my house. To my parents and many of the adults in our community, he was “that strange man” walking around in women’s clothing — boots with heels and sequined low-cut bodysuits. It was a different time then and what was acceptable was very different. Because I was a kid, I really didn’t understand.

On Wednesday, as I reflected upon his life and death, I realized that Prince was actually the first artist I chose for myself. I didn’t inherit his music from my parents. I didn’t borrow his tapes from my brothers. One day, I just heard his music on the radio and loved the funkiness of his guitar, so I sought him out for myself.

He was different. And beautiful. His hair was always finely coiffed as he smoothly delivered an impeccable falsetto range to rival an operatic soprano all while sporting the sexiest five o’clock shadow ever seen.

Anyone with eyes could see that Prince oozed sensuality. His clothes. His voice. His music and lyrics. And it was that sensuality that moved my parents to, for the first and only time in my life, censure my choice of music. It was also for that reason I was not allowed to see the movie Purple Rain. I was devastated. All of my friends and cousins had seen it and were talking about it.

To be fair, I am not a parent, so I can only imagine how awkward it must have been for my dad to come in from work in the evenings to hear me playing and singing songs like International Lover and Darling Nikki over and over again. Today, I realize my parents weren’t really concerned about Prince’s sexuality. They just didn’t want me, a young, impressionable girl, to access his sensuality. My parents did, however, encourage my love for other artists who were considered more “wholesome.” To them, Prince just one day appeared on stage with “all that hair,” screaming and simulating sex with his guitar, and that was a nightmare for any parent of a young girl.

It was for that reason that my passion for Prince and his musical genius had to be my passion for him. If I was going to have his music, I’d have to buy it myself. My parents were not going to do anything to facilitate my access to him and that just made me like, appreciate, and want him even more.

My parents didn’t understand that it wasn’t sex appeal that drew me to Prince and his music. Yes, my friends and every other teenage girl might have been screaming over the provactive gyrations Prince was known to produce on stage, but for me it was something else.

I was an awkward late-bloomer-of-a-tween who didn’t feel as if I fit in anywhere, so I just hid everywhere. I hid at home. I hid at school. I hid to stay safe and whole. But in my own quiet way, I’d venture from my hiding place to make it to the magazine rack at the drugstore, flipping through pages until I found any little article, poster, or picture that gave me more background about Prince.

For me, Prince was a hero-of-a-unique individual who had all these critics, accusers, and haters. Although there was always a new rumor or scandal, he remained consistent in his production of quality music. He always remained true to himself. To quote my sister: “He did things the way he liked them because he liked them.”

At that time in my life, Prince, with his strength and individuality, helped me to become me, comfortable in my own skin.

In a 1998 interview with Prince, Mel B asked the Artist, “. . . So where do you get all of this inspiration to do so much writing, so much music to produce so many albums with such good quality? Where do you get all that from?”

Prince said:

“My gift comes from God.”

Today, I am able to smile as I consider this humble response and I know it is the very reason I followed Prince’s work all these years. Yes, he was different. Yes he was gifted, but it was his persistence to be himself exactly as he was created, with no apologies. For me, Prince Rogers Nelson, in his own admission, was proof that God creates and gifts us each differently, but wonderfully, so that we are able to shine brightly for all to see. . . sometimes, even in a purple way.