On the first day of our songwriting class, a middle-aged woman who looked more banker than hippie introduced herself to the class. “I’m Teresa. Listen, you can call me Mama T. I do mostly spoken word, and I’m writing rap lyrics for my son.” I was seriously perplexed and looked to her wrist and ears for signs of expensive jewelry or watches. Something to validate my expectations. I think she may have been wearing a beanie, the one boho-esque adornment, but it just didn’t add up. I couldn’t see her on the stage at the Nuyorican Cafe doing her thing, though she seemed pretty out there.

Over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve grown to know Mama T a bit better. It turns out we went to the same grad school, and she did used to be a banker! And then a fundraiser for universities. She was out in LA because her first son had died of an overdose after getting out of rehab, and her second son (18 years old) was in rehab as well. She was going to do everything she could do to save him. Continue reading Mama T →