Church Boy

by Kirk Franklin

  She could see that I was pushing, stretching, trying to grow up, so Gertrude tried to get me involved in other things. She signed me up for Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, Boy’s Club, you name it. I was even involved in gymnastics for a while, but that didn’t last long. The only thing that seemed to occupy my energies was music, so she tried to keep me active in music programs at our church.

  Up until the age of eleven, I would sing and play the piano at church for all the programs, but one day just after my eleventh birthday the pastor asked me if I’d like to lead the choir. The church had recently lost their music minister, and the pastor thought it might be interesting—and maybe good for us—to see what a talented little boy could do. So he told the congregation I was going to be the new music leader, and they started to laugh.

  Some of them yelled out, “Oh, come on! He’s just a little boy!” But then I went up on stage, and before long we were doing some good music.

  I was a kind of novelty act, I suppose. But don’t get the idea that everybody at Mount Rose Baptist Church was happy about it, because there were people in the choir who had grandchildren older than I was. For a little while I thought there was going to be some kind of revolt or a mass walkout. But they finally agreed to give it a try, and before long I think they realized it might actually work. The congregation responded to the idea, and the choir came around. They liked the music, and pretty soon they agreed to give me the job as the regular music director.

  It was a gradual process, but now I realize what a powerful impact those experiences had on my life. I literally grew up performing in public. All the time I was singing and playing and leading music, I was also gaining experience and composure.

  I was discovering how to hold people’s attention, and I was pushing myself to do more and better stuff all the time. In fact, that’s why I started writing music in the first place—to fill out a program or to develop some theme that we needed for a choir special. So all those experiences gave me a sense of responsibility, and they taught me how to be a music leader.

  But, as I say, it wasn’t all roses at Mount Rose either. There were some pretty hard times. There were times when I would try too much or times when I said things that the older people would interpret as being insensitive or rude.

  You know I would never have said or done anything deliberately to hurt anybody, but some of the old folks were easily offended by the things I would say or do, and that was painful for all of us. Ultimately, I think they realized I was doing about as good as anybody else had ever done in the job. So they let me stay. And I stayed until I was eighteen years old and near the end of high school.

  By that time I was into my rebellious teenage years.

  GROWING UP TOO FAST

  When you give your life to Christ, you’re supposed to start growing into the image of Christ. You’re supposed to know what’s happening and start living so that God will be pleased with you. I wanted to live so that God could always point to me and say, “See, that’s one of Mine! He’s doing the things that please Me.”

  But, I’m sad to say, that wasn’t always the way it was.

  I think the enemy was trying to plant some seeds in me, even when I was just a little kid—some fleshly thorns. I was just a baby, two years old, when Gertrude’s husband, Jack, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He was in the hospital off and on for quite a while, but eventually they sent him home. Then the nurses would come over to the house and look after him during the day.

  Gertrude told me that one day I wandered into the room, crawled over to where one of the nurses was standing and started rubbing her leg. She let out a shriek and Gertrude came running to see what was happening. She said she knew then that she was going to have to keep her eyes on that little boy!

  “Oh, Lord,” she’d say, “that baby is gonna break my heart someday if I don’t watch him every minute!”

  She watched me, all right, but as I grew older I really began to wrestle with temptations of the flesh. Like most kids, I was curious about what that stuff was all about, and I’m sorry to say I let my curiosity get the best of me more often than I’d like to admit.

  Even as a little child I wrestled with the flesh. I have a half-sister, and we both struggled with the same sorts of things. I was lucky enough to be adopted by a woman who loved me and took good care of me. But my sister wasn’t so lucky, and she told me after we were both grown that she struggled with the flesh even more than I did.

  I think that another reason I got into so much trouble with sexual temptations during those years was that I was trying to fight my “image.” I didn’t talk about my church activities very much at school, but some of the kids found out about them and started teasing me. They called me “Church Boy.”

  I didn’t mind so much when they called me “Church Boy.” But they also called me “Mama’s Boy” and started making jokes that I was gay, and that was painful. In the church, especially the African-American church during the seventies and eighties, homosexuality was a big problem. It still is in some places.

  It’s a problem today in gospel music—a major concern— and everybody knows it. Part of the trouble many artists have in gaining the acceptance of the church is that a lot of people just assume we’re promiscuous and probably homosexual. We’re not, but it’s out there.

  Homosexuality seems to be very common in the arts crowd, and I don’t know why that should be. It seems that more than half the young people involved in dance, music, and the theater are openly gay. In fact, wherever people are talented and expressive there seems to be a tendency toward homosexuality, and the gospel music scene has not been exempt from that.

  I wasn’t gay, but running from the image got me even more involved with girls.

  I used to go down to Gertrude’s hat shop to hang out in the afternoons. But just down the street from her store there were some project-type apartments, and some of those girls would come up to see me. There was always the kind of activity going on that a boy my age shouldn’t have been exposed to, but I was curious and went along with it sometimes.

  The problem was that everybody I knew was messing around, and anytime I’d wonder if the stuff I was doing was bad, the other kids would say, “Yo, son, that’s what’s up!” Not only did they not condemn what I was doing, but they actually applauded it. And most of them were probably doing the same thing—or worse. Still, it’s not something I’m proud of.

  I don’t mind being honest about this, because I believe that deliverance comes from being transparent and that a lot of times deliverance means resting in your testimony. I want people to know they can have victory over temptation. I admit I’ve made mistakes in the past, but God has given me a new start and a clean slate.

  Today I encourage young people to make a promise before God and their peers to stay away from sexual sin. It can be very tempting, and it can look exciting, but you’ll be sorry if you give in to it. Young people need to know that the enemy is a liar who wants to break their hearts and destroy their lives.

  Don’t let him have the satisfaction of defeating you!

  THE MAIN THING

  You know, I could sit around all day and talk about Grammys and Image Awards and all the honors this world can give, but that’s not the main thing. Of course, I know there’s a sense of accomplishment in having your peers and the public recognize what you’ve worked so hard to achieve. But that’s just so much junk if your head’s screwed up.

  The world is only too ready to screw your head up, and if you think about it, that’s its main objective. I often think that the secular world, the popular media, and the music crowds have been designed by the enemy to destroy the body of Christ.

  The forces of evil can’t stand the presence of good. If you get eight boys together and one of them is clean-cut and doesn’t mess around, the other seven will start working on him until he finally gives in and starts acting just like them. That’s how the enemy works.

  In my own case, I was wrestling with all kinds of emotions durin
g those growing-up years. Not just promiscuity, but I was different; and I mean different! I was the kind of kid who would crawl up on the roof at night, look up at the stars, and just start crying. You know, a strange kind of kid.

  Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and stare out the window for hours, watching the stars and the clouds pass by. I’d watch the way the light would change when the clouds would pass in front of the moon, wondering what it was all about. Other times I’d get up and go across to the living room and just play my heart out on the piano.

  Now, we lived in a very small house, and even if I played softly, the noise of the piano carried all over the house. My room was up in the front, near the living room, and right across the hall from the kitchen, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. If I couldn’t sleep I’d just get up and go in there and play for two or three hours at a time or until Gertrude would finally come down and stop me. I was strange that way.

  STRANGE ENCOUNTERS

  I also remember seeing some other strange stuff at night. You may not believe this, but I’m convinced that what I’m about to tell you is true. I believe it happened just this way. Gertrude had a washer and dryer in the kitchen, and I remember that I always used to see—not just once but all the time—a little boy who would come out of the dryer in our kitchen and come in to see me.

  He was like a little ghost child. He would come out of the dryer and walk up to my bed. He was my size, just a little boy, but he had no face. It was just this ghostlike image that would come over to where I was sleeping and look at me. This happened many, many times.

  I’ve thought about that for years, and I don’t have the slightest idea what it was, except that I feel it was something spiritual. I guess it may have been some sign of God’s protection over me, or an angel maybe. I don’t know. It never did anything to me, never said anything, but I can tell you, it used to scare me.

  Anyway, I was always a strange kid. I remember going out into the back yard and staring up into the night sky. I’d sit on the roof or the back porch steps and just sing or make up little verses or talk to myself about what was going on in my life. I was a strange kid, always living in a fairy tale.

  My wife, Tammy, tells me that was the poet in me trying to come out. Maybe it was. But it doesn’t make me feel any better to know that. I was never content, never very secure, and I was never well liked by the other kids when I was growing up.

  I was the little kid who always gave the speeches. I was the one who got to give the Christmas address. I played the piano for programs, and all the adults would smile and applaud for me. But I think that’s one of the main reasons most of the kids hated me.

  On the inside, I think I was always looking for something bigger. I knew there had to be something out there, something I was supposed to do, something I had to get hold of. Whether it was the effect of childhood loneliness, having a musical background, or just my unusual upbringing, there was something always lurking there and making life hard for me.

  Was it the poet in me? I don’t know.

  Somebody suggested recently that maybe God was shaping me as a musician by putting pressures on me that would force me into the mold He had already designed for me. If I had been the best looking or the most popular guy in class, and if every time I walked into a room the whole place lit up, then maybe I wouldn’t be here today. Maybe I’d be back someplace in West Fort Worth, hanging out in crack houses, or maybe I’d be down at the county jail right now. Who knows?

  It has been my experience that God never shapes me through pleasure; He only seems to shape me through pain and sorrow. I don’t necessarily like the way He does that; maybe I’ll get a chance to ask Him about that someday. But He doesn’t ask for my opinion on the matter!

  I truly believe that I wouldn’t have learned any of the stuff God had for me if my early life had been any easier. In that sense, I’m glad it happened the way it did, but I am also glad the hard times didn’t last forever!

  Let me touch You and see if You are real;

  Even though I know in my heart Your hands can heal,

  But sometimes I get discouraged,

  And I need Your strength and shield, Jesus.

  Let me touch You and see if You are real.

  Sometimes to me You seem so far away,

  And I wonder how to make it through the day.

  But if I can touch the hem of Your garment,

  Your power, I know, You can heal, Jesus.

  Let me touch You and see if You are real.

  When I’m down, let me touch You.

  When I’m lonely, let me touch You.

  When I’m discouraged, let me touch You.

  Like I never have before.

  Lord, I need You more and more, Jesus.

  Let me touch You and see if You are real.

  Words and music by Kirk Franklin.

  Copyright © 1995, Kerrion Publishing / Lilly Mack Publishing (BMI).

  Used by permission.

  3

  Let Me Touch You

  I’ve always had an active imagination, and I’ve always had a million things going on inside my head at the same time. When I was in school, I used to let my imagination run away with me at times. I know I should have paid more attention to what my teachers were saying— my grades prove that!—but I was constantly thinking about other things, other ideas, and I was spending a lot more time wondering about crazy stuff than I was focusing on the subject at hand.

  I remember times when I would be sitting there talking to somebody, and suddenly I’d realize my thoughts were a thousand miles away. Just thinking about something ordinary could set my mind in a spin, and before long I’d be wondering about problems I had never even had or imagining places I’d probably never see.

  In some ways I’m glad I’m wired that way, because some of the things I’d be thinking about were fascinating. Still, it didn’t help me make very good grades in school.

  But that way of thinking—living in a world of imagination— has always been a big part of who I am. Even now, when I’m performing onstage with the Family, I do a lot of improvisation. Sometimes we’ll be performing a number we’ve done hundreds of times and, just on the spur of the moment, I’ll change the words of the song and the Family will follow along with me. If I change them another way, they follow me that way too.

  They know me! They know what I’m like. I think they’re always ready for the unexpected. One of our lead singers tells me all the time that I’m skating on that fine line between genius and insanity, and maybe he’s right! I prefer to think of it as being inspired!

  I also realize now that those escape runs into the world of the imagination were, at least in some ways, a kind of defense mechanism. Life was pretty hard when I was growing up, and the pressures of school, my peer group, and my responsibilities at church sometimes seemed like more than I could handle. So that fantasy world was my only refuge, and it became my mental hideout.

  Even when I try to think about those times now, I find it uncomfortable. It’s amazing how much I have forgotten about my early life. Most people remember a lot more about their childhood than I do, but I think the reason I let so much of it slip my mind is life was so complicated and painful. Even today there are things I don’t want to know about, and I’d prefer not to remember some of the stuff that happened to me then.

  First of all, I wasn’t popular with the other kids, so I was always trying extra hard to make them like me. When I tell you I was always trying to be liked, I’m not kidding! But the more I tried, the less they liked me.

  I remember my first grade teacher whipping me in class, right in front of all the other children. I cried like a baby while all the other kids just laughed, and there was nobody to complain to. There was nobody to take up for me or tell me that things would get better.

  Some people today find that hard to believe, but back in the seventies, parents in our neighborhood would say to the teacher, “If that boy of mine gives you any trouble in sc
hool, you have my permission to whip his behind!” I don’t think they can do that anymore, but in the seventies it wasn’t uncommon at all—at least, not in all-black schools. And I’m pretty sure Gertrude agreed with that philosophy. She wanted me to do right, and she didn’t spare the rod.

  So I was teased a lot. Most of the time, the little girls I thought were cute wouldn’t give me the time of day. When I was in the first grade I was blown away by this one girl, and she didn’t even know I existed. She was the smartest girl in our class—I thought she was brilliant because she was the first one to learn how to write in cursive. But I was just a clown in her book, and that made me feel pretty bad about myself.

  OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

  Practically every girl I ever liked in school did not like me. And, unfortunately, the girls who liked me, I didn’t especially like—at least not for girlfriends. But there was one girl I really liked in second grade. Her name was Tanya, and I can still remember what she looked like. For a couple of days I thought Tanya was going to be my special friend, but it never did work out. And I remember when the whole thing fell through.

  We were learning to tell time. Tanya’s desk was close to mine, and we were both doing pretty well, learning the hours and minutes on the clock. The teacher would move the hands around on this big cardboard clock at the front of the room, then she’d ask each of us to tell what time it was.

  I could usually give the right answer if the hands were either straight up on the hour or on the half hour, so when it was my turn I could tell her if it was five o’clock or six-thirty or something like that. All that first day I was giving the right answers. The kids were giving me applause, and I was feeling pretty good about it. Whenever I’d look around, I could see that Tanya was liking me, and that was really cool.