To Sister Walters — my visionary.

A woman who saw me long before I ever saw myself. Where most would have found embarrassment or inconvenience, you offered gentle correction, open arms, and the kind of nurturing that becomes a blueprint. Your hugs built the foundation for an entire system of reinforcing love I pray will guide a generation after me.

To Sister Ammons — my protector, my mentor, and my friend.

You were the one who reminded me of Proverbs 18:16 — “A man’s gift maketh room for him, and bringeth him before great men.” Your instruction, your example, and your protection arrived right at the moment when I was just beginning to understand who I could become. Your belief steadied me before I knew how to steady myself.

To my mother —

Thank you for the sacrifices no one saw, the grounding I didn’t always appreciate, and the strength you carried when I couldn’t carry my own. You taught me resilience before I even knew the word. Every chapter of this journey carries your fingerprints.

And to my son —

my reason, my reminder,
and the future I refuse to leave unprotected.

May this book give you the shortcuts I never had. May it speak to you in the moments I can’t be there. May it prove that a man can climb from the bottom without losing his heart, his faith, or his integrity.

When you open these pages, you’re getting a front-row seat to how your father wrestled with fear, hustled with purpose, balanced his music and his God, and fought through the echo of his upbringing… and still found a way to rise.

This isn’t just my journey. It’s your inheritance.

And to my village —

the teachers who believed in me, the friends who challenged me, the elders who prayed for me, and the quiet heroes who held me up when I couldn’t hold myself.

Every progress I’ve made has fingerprints on it. Every victory I’ve had has a story behind it.

If I stand tall now, it is only because I am standing on the shoulders of people who refused to let me fall.