Gotta Laugh To Keep From Crying (eBook)

I Didn't Start Living Until I Thought I Was Dying

Duane Bowser (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
300 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-9989200-0-4 (ISBN)

Infos

'Gotta Laugh to Keep from Crying: I Didn't Start Living Until I Thought I Was Dying' is a raw, unfiltered memoir about pain, perseverance, and transformation. Told through the eyes of Duane Bowser-formerly known as The Black Dot-this story peels back the layers of what it means to survive trauma while wearing a smile, to laugh when all you want to do is scream, and to find purpose in the very pain that once tried to destroy you. From the gunshots of the Bronx to the quiet, aching moments of childhood neglect, Duane shares a powerful truth-sometimes our loudest laughs come from the deepest wounds. This is not just his story-it's the story of anyone who's ever masked their heartbreak with humor, smiled to avoid crying, or carried trauma for so long that it started to feel like a part of you. In this deeply personal journey, Duane confronts the trauma he tucked away for decades-addictions, abandonment, illness, shame-and shows what it really takes to heal from a life of constantly being in survival mode. It's about the boy who saw too much, the teen who numbed the pain, and the man who had to go back and face it all just so he could move forward. However, in doing so, he found true laughter, love, legacy, and himself. This is a story for the overcomers. The silent sufferers. The heroes who cry behind closed doors. If you've ever hidden your tears behind jokes, pushed through life while carrying invisible wounds, or wondered if healing was even possible-this book is your mirror. You are not alone. This is more than a memoir-it's a movement. A guide. A healing anthem for those ready to reclaim their voice, confront their past, and finally start living.

Duane Bowser, aka The Black Dot, is a writer, author, poet, recording artist, content creator, and entrepreneur. He released his first album in 1988 with a group called 'Tall, Dark, and Handsome' with the infamous B-Boy Record label. In 1991, Duane went on a world tour as a hype man and band member for Columbia Records artists and Bronx legend, Tim Dog. In 2011, he went on to release his first solo album titled 'Walk with Me' with his own independent label, which heavily inspired his memoir, 'Gotta Laugh to Keep from Crying: I Didn't Start Living Until I Thought I Was Dying.' His writing career began with his debut book, 'Hip Hop Decoded,' which became critically acclaimed in 2005. He later released a follow-up book titled 'Urban Culture Decoded,' following the great reviews that his first novel had produced. Later, in 2018, Duane started a podcast with his son, Malcom, titled 'The Urban X Podcast.' It has become known as the #1 father and son podcast and has grown to nearly seventy thousand subscribers, along with millions of listeners. Additionally, Duane is an educator, lecturer, and urban scholar. However, he is most proud to be a father of four, a grandfather, and a loving husband.

---

"e;Gotta Laugh to Keep from Crying: I Didn't Start Living Until I Thought I Was Dying"e; is a raw, unfiltered memoir about pain, perseverance, and transformation. Told through the eyes of Duane Bowser-formerly known as The Black Dot-this story peels back the layers of what it means to survive trauma while wearing a smile, to laugh when all you want to do is scream, and to find purpose in the very pain that once tried to destroy you. From the gunshots of the Bronx to the quiet, aching moments of childhood neglect, Duane shares a powerful truth sometimes our loudest laughs come from the deepest wounds. This is not just his story it's the story of anyone who's ever masked their heartbreak with humor, smiled to avoid crying, or carried trauma for so long that it started to feel like a part of you. In this deeply personal journey, Duane confronts the trauma he tucked away for decades addictions, abandonment, illness, shame and shows what it really takes to heal from a life of constantly being in survival mode. It's about the boy who saw too much, the teen who numbed the pain, and the man who had to go back and face it all just so he could move forward. However, in doing so, he found true laughter, love, legacy, and himself. This is a story for the overcomers. The silent sufferers. The heroes who cry behind closed doors. If you've ever hidden your tears behind jokes, pushed through life while carrying invisible wounds, or wondered if healing was even possible this book is your mirror. You are not alone. This is more than a memoir it's a movement. A guide. A healing anthem for those ready to reclaim their voice, confront their past, and finally start living.

Textauszug

Chapter 3 The Wonder Of Wanda

My little sister Wanda was born on December 3, 1970. She was born prematurely and suffered complications after birth. These complications were due to my mother being on heroin during her pregnancy. This date would become highly significant later in life; we’ll get back to that later. My aunt Vera described that night as the coldest she could remember. My mother’s water suddenly broke. They rushed downstairs to a payphone to call 911 and patiently waited, but no ambulance arrived. Time was of the essence as my mother could feel the baby coming with no help in sight. My mother was about to lose Wanda and possibly her life as well. My uncle Chris, who would save my mother’s life a few years later, was also there. Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a woman who lived on the first floor of our tenement building saw what was going on and rushed my mother into her apartment. The ambulance showed up at the same time, and my mother gave birth to my sister Wanda on the floor of a stranger’s home. Wanda was rushed to the hospital and needed immediate medical attention.

Wanda’s father was a guy named Wendell. My mother said that it was a brief relationship. She described him as a little country boy whom she had met. They hit it off, leading to her getting pregnant with my sister Wanda. What my mother didn’t know was that he was already in a relationship with a woman named Rose. So, after she gave birth, waiting in the wings to get their hands on Wanda were her father Wendell and his girlfriend Rose, who was also a few months pregnant at the time. They would eventually give birth to their child, Wendy, and would raise both girls as their own, even dressing them up like twins even though they were born months apart. I often saw them on Bristol Street and heard whispers that it was my sister. Rose kept both girls so dolled up and pretty with lovely outfits. Rose herself was a gorgeous, tall, and sexy woman. She came from a long line of beautiful women. Her sisters were all light-skinned, tall, and fine. Even as a child, I was in awe of their beauty. The longer Rose had custody of Wanda, while my mother was struggling with a serious heroin addiction, the more complicated things became. Rose grew fond of Wanda and loved her as her own. The fact that Wendell was her biological father also added another complicated element to the mix. Rose did not intend to return Wanda to my mother, and who could blame her? My mother was strung out on this new drug that had just hit the streets in 1970, and she was a casualty of war. She was in no condition to care for another child in her physical state. Rose saved my sister Wanda’s life, even if it was for selfish reasons. There would be many times in my mother’s life when she cleaned up, sobered up, and came for Wanda, but Rose was very evasive. She always seemed to be two steps ahead of my mother’s pursuit. Our families, the Bowsers and the Chandlers, knew each other well from the neighborhood. This would create tension at one point because it became clear that they were helping Rose hide Wanda.

My mother was going through a very tough time during this whole ordeal, but Pee Wee was right there with her. Their love for each other seemed to grow day by day. I loved him as if he were my dad because he was the only male figure in my life at the time, but my biological father was coming home soon, and my mother would have to make a choice eventually. See, the reason that I didn’t know who he was is because shortly after I was born, he was arrested and convicted of armed robbery and second-degree murder and was serving out his time in a state penitentiary. My mother told me that he had robbed and murdered the landlord of his building even when he didn’t have to. He did it to prove a point. That he was a badass nigga! And to send a message to the rest of his gang, don’t fuck with “Blood,” as he was known on the streets. See, my father was very short growing up. I mean, really short. He was so short that when he first attempted to court my mother, she thought he was a young child trying to rap to her. He would yell out the window at her on her way from school every day, begging my mother to give him a play. Finally, they met face to face, and my mother towered over him. My mother was short, to begin with! My mother said he would have to drive with a pillow under his seat to see the road and sit on the edge so his foot could reach the pedal whenever they went on a date.

Back in those days, the landlord of the building would come by on the first of the month to collect the rent from all the tenants. Everybody knew who he was because he was the only white person in the neighborhood other than the Italians who owned the number spot, but nobody in their right mind messed with them. My father and his gang had been checking out the landlord’s schedule for some time. They waited patiently until they felt it was time to make their move. One night, while the landlord was collecting the rent, my father and his crew ambushed him, took him to the roof, and robbed him at gunpoint. They had already made off with that month’s receipts and were heading down the stairs when the landlord started yelling. My father went back upstairs to the roof landing and shot the landlord dead. It was unnecessary, but I think Dad had such a complex about his height that he constantly had to prove himself to his peers, even if it meant killing an innocent person. “Blood” was the leader of his gang. Even though he was short, he didn’t take any shit from anybody. I was told by some of his former gang members from back in the days that plain and simple, “Blood” was a bad “muthafucka.”

Later in life, he would tell me about some of the initiations that wanna-be members would have to go through to become a part of his gang. He and other high-ranking members of his gang would blindfold each initiate and lead them to the rooftop, place them into a garbage can, place the can on the edge of the roof’s ledge, spin the can around so that the initiate inside would lose all sense of direction. Then, when the garbage can came to a stop, you had to make a choice. If you leaned a certain way and your garbage can landed on the rooftop, you were a new gang member, but if you leaned the wrong way, it was a six-story fall to the bottom, and you were dead! He told me that many guys didn’t make it. He was feared so much that when his youngest sister, Louisa, was born, he took her around the neighborhood and would stop everybody they met and say to them, “If you mess with my little sister, I’ll kill you,” and he meant it. But not before he threatened to take his own life after he found out that his mother was having another child, and he would no longer be the baby. He took it hard because, as bad as “Blood” was on the streets, he was a mama’s boy at home.

While he was on the run for the murder of the landlord, my mother went into labor to give birth to me. Even though N.Y.P.D. wanted him, he wanted to see his newborn son. Like any other first-time father, he was extremely proud and wanted to lay his eyes on me. He wanted to know if I looked like he did, so he was willing to take a chance to sneak to the hospital to get all his questions answered. But the police had different plans. They knew that this would be a perfect time to nab “Blood” and charge him with murder. They even went as far as hiding under my mother’s bed in the hospital, anticipating the opportunity to make the arrest. But “Blood” decided to call my mother before he came to the hospital that night. Luckily, he did because my mother told him not to come up to see me because the police were there waiting for him. She said that when she hung up the phone, the police officers looked at her like she was crazy. They couldn’t believe what she had just done! They were this close to catching “Blood” that night, but he got to run another day, thanks to Odessa.

They would eventually catch my dad, whose government name was Stanley Kitt, and he would spend the next four to five years in prison. I remember visiting him in prison when I was about two years old. He was wearing prison greens. No glass was dividing him and me, and I had an opportunity to interact with him even though I still didn’t know who he was. I remember he switched seats with me and put me on the side of the inmates as if I were the one in prison. Visiting my father for the first time in prison would have significant psychological effects on my life. I was often told that this would be my destiny. Even though I would never see the inside of a jail cell, I came close several times. I would not encounter my father for another three years. So, it was back to dealing with my stepdad dope, who was pulling me and my mother further apart, making life miserable for me as a child. While the visit to prison would have its effect on me later in life, being exposed to drugs and street life would affect me at an early age. I knew more about drugs than any five-year-old ever should. I knew the smell of it. I knew who sold it. I could look in your face, and I could tell if you were using it, and what type of drugs at that. I would even participate by holding the string my mother would tie around her arm. The tighter I held the string, the more visible the veins would be, the easier it was for her to get a hit.

Even though I hated to see her sticking herself with needles, I would do anything to see her happy, even if it meant watching her kill herself. That’s how much I loved her. Whenever she went stealing or “boosting,”...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 29.9.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-9989200-0-4 / 9798998920004