Manhood: How to Be a Better Man-or Just Live with One by Terry Crews Page A

you’ve got everything,” he said. “There’s nothing you can’t do. I see these other kids doing it at these big schools. You’ve got all those traits right here. I see them. You can do all that.”
    “Really?” I said again, too stunned to say anything more.
    At first, I couldn’t process what he was telling me. I drank in his praise like a thirsty man. No one had ever encouraged me like that before. It was all I needed.
    I always tell everybody: All a kid needs is one good wordfrom someone he believes. It’s not necessary to have anything more than that.
    Coach Lee literally changed my life forever. And he was only my coach for three years. After my ninth-grade football season, another coach forced him out, which was devastating for me. But it didn’t really matter by that point. Even after he was gone, I held on to his words forever. He had said I should be playing football on a Division One scholarship, and that was what I was going to do. As far as I could tell, it was going to be the best way to get out of Flint. It was perfect for me. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be athletic. I wanted to be a superhero. Who’s closer to that than an NFL star? I began to see myself as a football player.
    Of course, not everyone else in my life was as supportive of my hopes and dreams, and not all of the experiences I had were so positive. As soon as Marcelle and I were old enough, Big Terry had us working every weekend, and all summer long, shoveling snow in the winter and mowing lawns in the summer. We hated it, but not because we had to work hard. I didn’t mind making an effort when it came to painting, or lifting weights, or doing football drills. I resented the fact that Big Terry dropped us off and left us out there all day. Sometimes we did two or three lawns, and then, even after we were done, we had to wait for him to come pick us up. By the time he finally showed up, our whole Saturday was gone, and I was fuming.
    The people we did work for gave our wages to Big Terry, and Marcelle and I never saw any of that money. So we had worked all day for nothing, not one single cent. As far as Big Terry was concerned, this was part of our lesson.
    “I’m teaching you what it’s all about,” he said. “This is what it is.”
    Well, my takeaway from that was:
What’s the use? Why bother working hard if you’re not going to see any benefit from your endeavors?
It was clear to me from that moment on: If I was going to be working, I needed to be working at something I enjoyed. I made a promise to myself at a young age that I would always love what I do. Now, that’s a wonderful, noble philosophy to live by, but it got me into some trouble down the line. When you’re coming up in the world, sometimes you’ve got to do things you don’t enjoy. Good luck telling my thirteen-year-old self that, though.
    Anytime Marcelle and I did get a little bit of money, we had very different approaches to our finances. If I had five dollars, I went to McDonald’s, and just like that, it was gone. On the other hand, Marcelle squirreled his money away under his mattress. I was a big spender. He was a big saver.
    But then, without fail, Big Terry always came into our room at some point and stood there swaying in the doorway, looking back and forth between us.
    “You guys got any money?” he asked.
    “Nope, I spent mine,” I said.
    I looked at Marcelle, waiting to see what he’d do, knowing it would probably be better for him to lie and say he didn’t have any money, either. But he couldn’t lie. Even though it was obvious how badly it was tearing him up, he nodded his head.
    “I got some,” Marcelle said.
    “Let me see it,” Big Terry said.
    Marcelle went over to his bed and pulled out his money. I’d watched him be disciplined for weeks and weeks, going without the treats I indulged in, until he’d saved a couple hundred dollars. Just like that, Big Terry held the bills in his hand.
    “I’ll give it back to you,”