MY LIFE: The Making of Coach Alexander (Section 2a: Shift)

Prior to my father's death, I was the type of kid who got good grades in school and played outside with my friends till the lights came on.  Following my father's death, I was heading into the 5th grade and there was a shift.

I went from dreams of being a student-athlete, graduating high school with great grades, going to Morehouse College, joining a fraternity, marrying a sorority girl, and becoming an architect, to the feeling of not caring about life at all.  I immediately became suicidal at the age of 10 & 1/2 years old.

My family took me to a child psychologist, which I shut down at the first visit.  I told him that there was nothing he could do for me unless he lost his father too, at my age, and that I wouldn't say anymore.  He agreed to terminate the visits.  After that, it was all downhill for me.

In the Fall of 1987, my mother relocated us into a predominately black suburb of Cleveland named Warrensville Heights.  Not only had my father lived there as a teenager, he also lived there as an adult and actually died in the very apartments next to the apartments we moved into.  God was playing a cruel joke on me.

Even though Warrensville Heights was once a flourishing suburb, it began declining right around the time my mother and I moved there.  The crack epidemic was in full swing and was taking place in the area of my apartment complex.  Crack mixed with the beginning phase of gentrification, plus the national gang expansion from L.A. and Chicago, was the perfect recipe for chaos in the black community, especially where I was, and my "I don't give a fuck" mentality adapted well.

Now don't be fooled, I showed great promise, even during those crazy times.  I was on the school wrestling team, I became class president in the 8th grade (didn't last long), I was a DJ for school functions/local parties/groups, and I made a name from my artistic abilities.  I was no dummy, I was just numb to life.  I had no plans to live in the future.  The only thing I spoke of, regarding the future, was owning a record label and being a producer.  However, the streets were calling.  I responded.

MY LIFE: The Making of Coach Alexander (Section 1b: Death)

I'm going to skip from my parent's divorce (when I was 3 years old) to a pivotal point in my psychological development when I was 10 years old.

My father was a mythical person to me like Jesus Christ or He-Man (cartoon character).  I heard a lot about him and saw pictures yet I really didn't get a chance to know him till I was about 8 years old.  He had officially discharged from the U.S. Army and was back in Cleveland with plans to be in my life.

Over a two year period, I became familiar with the man my father was.  He was short, charismatic, muscular, a leader, someone who liked the material aspects of life, and definitely a ladies man.  Within 2 years, things had changed.  My father met a woman named Jan who had a daughter that was a couple of years younger than me.  My father and Jan got engaged.

Starting a new career at the U.S. Post Office with the prospect of marriage and settling down into family life, my father began prepping me for a better life.  At that time, I lived with my single mother in a low-income area while she collected government assistance and hustled (legal and illegal).  The idea of living with my father in a house with a full family was a dream like no other.  He was going to be my savior.

In 1987, my savior was the victim of medical negligence.  My father died by choking on his own blood following a "routine" procedure where a slightly intoxicated doctor (drinking on his lunch break) accidently punctured the bottom of my father's brain.  Just as Jesus was crucified in Rome, and He-Man was the victim of Skeletor's plots, my father had fallen at the hands of another.  Death had visited and ripped my dreams to shreds.  My descent into the abyss had just begun.

MY LIFE: The Making of Coach Alexander (Section 1a: Manifestation)

My government name is Michael Dushawn Alexander.  I was born on December 10, 1976 at Forest City Hospital, which was torn down after my birth, in Cleveland, Ohio.

My mother was 19 and my father was 22 when I was born.  They were married until I was a year old.  Their actual divorce didn't come till I was 3.  My mother and I temporarily bounced around while my father went into the U.S. Army.

A part of that bouncing around included being at my maternal grandparents' house in Shaker Heights, OH.  My grandmother was a nurse with a Master's degree and my grandfather was a HVAC maintenance man for the post office (former U.S. Navy).  Both were from Birmingham, Alabama.  They migrated to the North during the 1950's.  They were the first black people to acquire a house on their street in Shaker Heights (a prominent suburb of Cleveland) during that time.