Manhood: How to Be a Better Man-or Just Live with One (10 page)

“I’m not drinking,” I said.

That was fine. No one was going to force me to drink. But the problem was, all that drinking turned me off from everyone else. I didn’t like being around drunk people, and so there really weren’t many people for me to be around. But I wanted to be around somebody. So I joined the Western Michigan University branch of the Maranatha Campus Ministries, which was keen on a brand of Christianity called discipleship. Given my extremely religious upbringing, this world felt safe to me. As much as I’d wanted to rebel from Trish, now that I was on my own, I was drawn back into the same strict structure without even being conscious of it. I truly believed in my heart that something horrible would happen to me if I didn’t do right by God, and so it felt comfortable to join a church where everyone lived by the same beliefs. It was like the island of misfit toys, a group of people who were hurt and broken, but when we were together it was easier for us than it was in the outside world.

And so, at first, I didn’t protest when my new pastor told me I couldn’t listen to the rap music I loved. And when I was instructed that, if there was a girl I wanted to date, I should go through our pastor to make sure God wanted us to be together, I opted not to date. As long as I had a few people to hang out with on the weekends, I was fine. My main obsession was earning a place on the football team, and from there, a scholarship, and I didn’t want anything else to distract me.

I was working extremely hard and putting a tremendous amount of pressure on myself, and so when I felt overly stressed, I began acting out in familiar ways. When my roommate left for the weekend, I snuck out to the drugstore and bought porn. And then, before he came back to school, I put it in the trash. I felt really guilty and threw myself more resolutely into the church, but my prayers never made me stop. I didn’t share my problem with anyone, and so I just learned to live with it.

———

I DID VERY WELL DURING THE FALL FOOTBALL SEASON, BUT
then the university had a coaching change, and I had to win over a whole new crop of coaches. That spring, we had a second football camp, and this was a major moment for me. I had to earn my scholarship in order to come back in the fall. If I didn’t, that was the end of college for me. I threw myself into that camp. I was outrunning, outjumping, outlifting all of the other guys. I played my heart out. I mean I really did everything I could.

Finally, my linebacker coach had had enough.

“Somebody beat Terry Crews,” he screamed at the other players.

He wanted to prove I wasn’t good enough for a scholarship, but I didn’t care. People were trying so hard to beat me. They were throwing up all around me. They were passing out. But I just worked that much harder. I wasn’t going to let anybody beat me. I knew this was my way out. And I actually impressed the coaches. This was the beginning of me seeing how fitness could help me determine my own destiny. Not only could it change my body, but it could also change the way people viewed me and what I could do. And so it could change the opportunities I had in my life.

I had high hopes when I met with Coach. I sat down across from him and looked at him expectantly. We talked for a little while, and then I came right out and asked him for an athletic scholarship. He broke it down for me.

“You’re not good enough,” he said. “If you want to stay, it will have to be on your own dime. And if you want to leave, well, good luck.”

I was hurt and disappointed. My parents couldn’t afford to pay for another year of school. I’d promised to earn a scholarship, and I’d failed. That summer, I returned to the harsh reality
of life in Flint. The once-booming auto factories that had been the lifeblood of the city’s economy were continuing to be phased out one by one. Crack was the drug of choice for users and dealers. If I didn’t find a way out, soon, I’d be trapped. I heard Coach Lee’s voice in my head, and I knew I couldn’t give up. Football, for me, was never the end goal. It was always a means. Without it, I had no way to go anywhere. I begged my parents, particularly my mother, to give me one more chance, one more semester to try and earn a full-ride scholarship.

Trish was in the kitchen washing dishes. She threw down her dish towel.

“Why do you have to dream so large?” she asked. “I can’t stand to see you be so disappointed all of the time, to always be wanting more and never get it.”

I stared back at her, feeling guilty. I knew it seemed unfair to ask them to focus so much money and attention on what I was trying to do, when Marcelle and Micki had needs, too. But I don’t think I really understood at the time exactly how much of a strain I was putting on my parents. All I knew was that, if I succeeded, not only would my tuition be paid for, but I would also be truly independent of them.

“Please,” I said.

“You know, Terry, I’m just going to give you one more semester,” she said. “That’s all I can afford. Right now, we’re already in debt, and it’s bad. I can’t hold this burden anymore. I really can’t hold it.”

That was a heavy thing to take on, but I was so relieved.

“I’m gonna make it,” I said. “You’ll see.”

THAT SUMMER, MY FATHER SAID I NEEDED TO GET A JOB
. I told him I wanted to be in movies and TV. The only
thing resembling that in Flint at the time was the local ABC affiliate, WJRT-TV12. So Big Terry took me down to the station with some of my drawings and paraded me in front of the receptionist.

“My son’s an artist,” he said. “He’d like to get a job here.”

“O-kay … let me get someone who can help you,” she said, keeping a wary eye on us both. I just wanted to get through this embarrassment. I was sure we were about to get kicked out of there.

The visual arts director came out and Big Terry said the exact same thing. One of Big Terry’s best traits is his consistency. The director looked at my portfolio.

“When can he start?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe it. I worked at Channel 12 all summer, drawing backdrops for newscasts and coming up with ideas for anything that required creativity. I even cleaned up around the station when it needed it. Then I got my big break, replacing their usual courtroom-sketch guy during the biggest murder case in Flint at the time. The station manager loved my work and told me if I ever needed any help in this business, to give him a call. My first job in entertainment was a success.

IN AUGUST OF 1987, I PUT MY CLOTHES IN GARBAGE BAGS
and headed back to Western Michigan University for football camp. The pressure was on. Hustling hard in practice, I would not be ignored. Still undersized and skinny, I worked out in the dormitory weight room on my own and was inspired by the athletes who walked around campus in the letterman’s jackets distributed by the athletic department.

I earned the right to play in games that year and was the only walk-on player to do so. After a five-win, six-loss record, and
with one week left in the semester, I waited for my scholarship offer but heard nothing. Finally, I needed to know where my future stood, so I scheduled a meeting with the head coach.

I entered his office and sat across from him at his enormous desk. He looked up as if he had better things to do. I plowed ahead.

“Coach, my parents can’t afford to pay for school anymore,” I said. “If I’m going to continue playing for the university, it will have to be on scholarship.”

“We don’t have any more scholarships left,” he said.

I could barely make out his words as he said something about “getting on financial aid.” I nodded but couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, already standing.

I got on my bike and rode back to my dorm room. I’d made a promise to my family, and I’d blown it. I’d asked my parents to gamble, and I’d wasted all of their money, which they couldn’t afford to lose.
Maybe I can go to art school
, I thought. I knew asking my parents to sacrifice again was out of the question. I had no choice but to go home and work. But all of the factories were closed. And even though Channel 12 might be a possibility, I didn’t want anything to tie me down to Flint. If I was going to be broke, I at least wanted to be broke in a place I could love.

I was flailing. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Finally, there was no putting it off any longer. I gathered up my clothes and put them into garbage bags. I tied them up and stacked them against the wall. I called my parents to tell them the disappointing news and made arrangements for them to pick me up after my last exam. My college dream was over, and with it my football dream, too.

I HAD PUSHED MYSELF SO HARD. I HAD AIMED TO BE
perfect. And I had failed. I hadn’t earned a scholarship, and my time in college was over. With the threat of my return to Flint looming, and the fear of my empty future pressing down on me, I wanted something, anything, to make the pressure go away.

I thought of the campus ministry I belonged to and the pledge I’d made to give myself over to God. That was what I needed to do, devote myself with even greater dedication to my beliefs and my community. I was in my Zimmerman Hall dormitory room, feeling restless and low-down, when I noticed a girl go into the room next door. We talked occasionally when we bumped into each other around the dorm. I took a deep breath, put on a smile I didn’t really feel, and walked over to her open doorway. “Hey, what’s up?” I said.

“Hey, Terry,” she said, smiling back at me.

“You busy?” I said.

She invited me in, and we both sat down on beanbags near the room’s wooden, loft-style configuration. Her roommate had already left for winter break. We made small talk as usual, but then I started talking about my life, and how I didn’t know what I was going to do next. We were listening to Michael Jackson’s “The Lady in My Life,” and as time stretched on, it was clear that neither one of us wanted to go. The next thing I knew, we were kissing, and then we were both stretched out on the carpet. Even as it was happening, I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t stop. For one perfect moment, my mind achieved that blankness I craved, the one I got from pornography. And then neither of us had any clothes on, and suddenly, I was very aware of being there with her. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. There were many moments I could have stopped. Many moments I should have. But I felt like this was my chance to see what sex was all about. Finally, I was touching a real woman. We kept going and going until, eventually, I just stopped.

“Is that it?” I asked, the question more to myself than to her.

“Are you done?” she said.

“I don’t know, I didn’t …” I said.

I didn’t know anything, really. I was more confused than ever, and now the guilt was sinking in. I wanted to get away from her, away from the place where I’d gone against everything I’d been taught, and everything I’d believed in, and away from myself. I pulled on my clothes as quickly as I could, hardly looking at her as I ducked out of her room.
How did that happen? How did that happen? How did that happen?
The question kept working its way through my mind with no answer, and no resolution, and no end to my torment as I hurried into the shower and stood there under the hot water.

For so long, I’d been waiting to have sex, and fantasizing
about sex, and thinking about the kind of woman I wanted to marry and have sex with, and now it had finally happened, but it hadn’t been at all like I’d wanted it to be. I was so disappointed.
Is that it?
I wondered again.

I felt contempt for the girl I’d slept with, but of course, even as immature and inexperienced as I was back then, I knew the person I really despised was myself.

And the worst part was that my circumstances were just as hopeless as they’d been before I went into her room. At the end of the week, I had to go back to Flint, for good, and I couldn’t stand the thought. Everything collapsed. I was beyond hoping that things would be better once I got home. I was beyond everything.

On Thursday, I was in my dorm room when I was called to the phone at the end of the hall. I figured it was my pastor or someone from home. I didn’t think I could bear to talk to any of them, not with the shame of what I’d done coloring everything, but I forced myself to pick up the receiver and see who was on the line. I was surprised when I was greeted by a deep voice. It was the head coach.