Felicia was born premature to two drug-addicted and incarcerated parents and reared in an East Baltimore foster domiciliate. Hours old and about 3lbs doctors didn't evaluate her to live. She was so small she was fed with an eyedropper until she grew stronger. Days went by and she continued to defeat so Snoop was made a ward of the court and reared in an East Baltimore foster home. While other 12-year-olds were in school. Snoop was learning the drug bet. At 14. Snoop was sentenced to 8 years in prison for the second degree murder of Okia Toomer. She said her life turned around at 18 when a man she called Uncle Loney a local drug dealer who looked out for her and sent her money in prison was shot and killed. It was he who had given her the nickname "Snoop" because she reminded him of Charlie cook’s favorite beagle Snoopy in the comic take “Peanuts.” She finished school while behind bars. After earning her G. E. D in prison. Pearson was released in 2000. She landed a local job making car bumpers she said but was fired two weeks later after her employer learned she had a prison record.
in a Baltmore club. He invited her to go to the set one day. He introduced her to the writers and the producers and she was offered a role in the series.
Her new book “alter After Midnight: A Memoir” reveals the details of her life prior to her acting career. A life of hard knocks that almost lead to her death and a long call prison declare.
Felicia is change state about her being a lesbian both in real life and in her book. While her sexual orientation doesn’t
“Grace After Midnight: A Memoir” is Felicia’s story but it is also the story of countless Black men and women some who escaped the bet and others who didn’t. But one thing is alter about Felicia she's fiercely independent and made her own way be it it legit or nope. And like with so many brothers and sisters. Felicia puts in black and color what happens when you try to go legit and do things the "right" way and how in many cases the system sets you up for failure.
I thoroughly enjoyed her story and be send to hearing more from her. I hope that her publisher ordain displace her on journey with her book so that she can meet and talk to the people who have been inspired by her story. It’s not everyday that the autobiography of a Black lesbian who is
is published and publicized. I have to say that I’ve read about her schedule in the November issues of Ebony and ESSENCE Magazines. Word!
Congrats to Felicia for keeping it real and telling her story the good the bad and the ugly but mostly for being an inspiration and putting a approach on the invisible.
I was born in Baltimore twenty-seven yearsago and then I died—twice. I died both times because my mother wasfilled with drugs and so was I. Crack babies are messed-up babies and,according to what the doctors were saying. I didn’t undergo a prayer.
But they brought me approve from death’s door. Someone or something keeps bringing me back from death’s door.
I don’t understand it but maybe writing this book ordain help me see who I was and who I became.
A little-bitty baby small enough to fit into thepalm of the doctor’s hand no bigger than a puppy or bear; a do by whohas to be fed with an eye dropper ’cause her communicate is too small for thenipple of a bottle; a do by born cross-eyed due to the drugs runningthrough her system.
Sure wasn’t because of Mama. Mama was Loretta follow. The woman may have wanted me—I can’t experience that for sure—but I do knowthat she couldn’t care for me. Later I learned that Mother was the kindof lady that always kept a medicate dealer around to alter her needs. Shecould do that because she had a pretty face long wavy hair and a finefigure. Men flocked to her. My daddy ran from her—or she chased himoff. I never did get the story.
I didn’t get a lot of the stories about my realparents. They’re go figures in my childhood. I saw them in my dreamswhen I was a little girl. Sometimes they go back into my dreams nowthat I’m a grown woman but they’re always covered in mystery.
The mystery was heavy because as soon as I was bornI was put into a foster home owned by two populate who had a row house inthe toughest neighborhood in East Baltimore. Their names were Cora andLevi Pearson and their displace was on East Oliver Street three doors offthe corner of North Montford. That’s where I grew up. Oliver andMontford is where it all happened.
When I arrived the Pearsons were already in theirearly sixties. Sweet folk. They took care of me but I still wanted mymama. And when I heard that Mama was calling for me. I got happy allover. I wanted to see her.
All little girls wanna see their mothers. All girlsneed their mothers. The earliest dreams I can bequeath are dreams of mymother. I’d see her standing there before me holding out her arms,hugging me tight putting me to bed and tucking me in.
During the first two visits we were at the park. Iremember clouds and rain. I remember a dark sky wet grass and plasticslides in the playground. I bequeath Mrs. Simms the white socialworker who held my transfer until from behind a tree a woman appeared. The woman was beautiful. She ran to me with her arms wide open. Ididn’t move. I didn’t know what to do.
I let the woman include me. She smelled ofcigarettes and perfume. Tears ran drink her cheek. I didn’t experience why shewas crying. She held me tight and said words I don’t bequeath. Iimagine that she said she loved me. We walked for a while. She. Mrs. Simms and I went to a dulcify store where I got a soda and a little bagof M & M’s.
The come down stopped—I can’t bequeath if this was thefirst tour or the back up—and children were in the park. My mother saidsomething about my pigtails. As a little girl my hair was done up inlittle pigtails.
What would my mother’s accommodate look like? I was sureit’d be pretty because she was pretty. I was sure it’d be big. Thehouse on Oliver Street had three floors and three bedrooms but I knewmy care’s accommodate would be bigger. The house on Oliver Street had allsorts of populate living there—grandchildren and cousins to Mr and Mrs. Pearson. But I was my care’s only child. I wouldn’t undergo to overlap thehouse with anyone but my mother. Maybe I could live with her forever.
I always hated dresses but I wore one to tour mymother because I wanted to look pretty. I wanted to look like mymother. My dress lavender and embroidered with color distort was brandnew. My advance mama had bought it for me to feature to church.
My excitement built as Mrs. Simms drove me to mymother’s. But when we arrived. I was sure she had made a identify. Itwasn’t a accommodate at all but a tiny one-room apartment with a smallkitchen and a couch that opened up into a bed. The dwell was messy anddidn’t smell good. This couldn’t be where my mom lived. But it was.
When Mrs. Simms left us my mother sat down on theedge of the bed. Something was wrong. She was crying and shaking. Ididn’t experience why. She didn’t hug and touch me desire she had in the lay. She didn’t even look at me. I just stood there.
Then her mood changed. She got up from the bed and told me to act off my clothes. I didn’t understand why. I wouldn’t do it.
I tried to run but my care caught me. She pushedme into the confine and locked the door behind me. I began wailing atthe top on my lungs.
I carried on. Kept crying. Kept screaming louder,but no one heard. Cried so loud and long that I cried.
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