Green numbers 6-6-6 surround by red flames tattooed on the face of his 18-year-old son were the first thing Demond Lewis noticed in the picture. He sat on his bunk, bewildered, staring at the photo his sister had sent. He wondered why his son would think a tattoo on his face was a good idea. Then he remembered listening to Scarface’s Last of a Dying Breed. He remembered the influence rap music had on him growing up. He remembered that when the state sentenced him to 109 years to life for shooting a man in the leg, he left his son without a positive male role model. Is rap music raising his son?
“Me and my son argue because he put tattoos on his face,” said Lewis. “That’s part of hip hop culture. I had to tell him, ‘Dude, you have a rapper’s look without a rapper’s money. Who is going to hire you?’”
In broken homes, rap music often replaces the male role model at the critical time when adolescents are trying to find their identity. Several prisoners got together on San Quentin’s Lower Yard to discuss whether the influence of rap music is as powerful as the presence of a father.
Antoine Watie views rap music as an influence that replaced his father because it filled the void of a male role model in his life. It was from rap music that he learned about the birds and the bees, what clothes to wear in his community, that working a 9-5 job was for suckers, that all women were “hoes” except his mother, and that “respect was king” to be gained at all cost, even if it meant killing another man.
Antoine Watie: “Every area that my parents dropped the ball, rap was there to pick it up. Rap taught me to love only money. When I should have known that drugs were bad, I was taught by Easy E that the dope man was something to aspire to be.”
John “Yahya” Johnson: “Rap was my daddy. When I ran the streets, I considered myself an orphan. I listened to the OGs (older guys); I considered Ice Cube an authority [on life].”
Richard “Bonaru” Richardson: “You could say rap was sort of like a father figure, but I looked up more to the members of my gang as father figures. I used rap to create an identity for myself.”
David Jassy, the 40-year-old Swedish rapper, has a different perspective.
Jassy: “Rap was my homeboy, not my daddy. My dad was a doctor. I would listen to him more than I did to rap. You hang out with your homeboy and talk about stuff your parents usually didn’t say. Dad has a different role.”
Not everyone on the panel agreed that rap music was their daddy. But one thing is for sure: all of them concur that it was a powerful influence in their lives. For most, rap music was like a father – it taught them how to be “men.” For others rap music was a friend, relating to them in a way only friends can. Either way, rap meant more than entertainment.
Next in this six-part series, the panel will explore what specific influences the genre had on them.
Trenise Ferreira contributed to this story.
