'The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl' Kept It Real

The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl logo.

Nothing seems more relatable than the classic The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, a two-season web series of 25 must-watch episodes. J (who shares my nickname) has been one of the most iconic characters ever invented, especially for nerdy Black girls looking for quirky images of themselves. 

The first episode was an instantaneous "you get me," like when love hits a person in a full, cataclysmic force.  After a breakup from a long-time boyfriend, J cuts off her hair, her ex comes back, and doesn't see her as desirable anymore. It brushes on most men's long hair fetishes, equating hair with femininity. The Black community is further problematic. When Black women break free of relaxers and pressings, glorying in their natural hair, Black men weren't necessarily on board at first. For darker skinned women, historically seen as closest to masculinity, wearing cropped hair was foolishly viewed as a great evil. J doesn't let the ex's opinion hurt. Her short hair is a defiant statement that never changes as the series progresses along. In addition to her deep brown skin and beautiful short natural, J represents the average Black woman, our bodies, our interactions with the world around us. Such a golden, honest reflection.

J (Issa Rae) often found herself in wacky tough spots, but her TWA and earrings were always on point.

Unfortunately, J has to deal with an awful work environment. Hanna, her boss is an inappropriate culture vulture, Nina is a particularly nasty bully, Germy Patty holds snotty tissues like safety blankets, Darius's whisper voice is irritating, and lovesick A follows J around, not taking the politest of rejection hints. J finds endearing highlights in her best friend CeCe and adorable, seemingly unrequited crush on Fred, the new guy. With CeCe, J has found a great companion, a gal just as awkward as her. In fact, their hallway interactions were delightfully humorous and a spot on testament of office discomfort. 

J (Issa Rae) smiles often, even in situations that don't call for smiling.

J's other office favorite-- the kind, supportive Sir-Smiles-A-Lot, Fred, then begins a big triangle. She has much in common with anger management counselor White Jay, whom she met at Fred's birthday party. Fred realizes much too late that he likes her. She ultimately has to decide between the two, leading to a sweetly surprising season one finale. If including A and the lesbian receptionist in the whirligig of J's love life, J was quite the catch. 

The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl dishes out a fully thought out curriculum in a smart, refreshing way. It daringly brings up all the things we ever thought about, going over: proper car behavior (if it's someone you don't like or regrettably slept with), dance party etiquette, dating, job interviews, boyfriend's terrible friends, and all those finicky situations in between. Yet displayed through the eyes of a girl that looks so much like us. She doesn't have it quite together. And that is okay. Her rap flows are legendary and her killer internal dialogue is the stuff laughter is made of. 

J (Issa Rae) is every young woman whoever feels out of place-- whether it be at a public function or where we are in our lives (financially, emotionally, physically).

While network TV has room to catch up to Black women in leadership roles and cable is slowly becoming a space, the web series remains the most solid place to find us. The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl inspired a longing for other great Black women characters in this short digital format. American Koko's Agent Koko, Sam Bailey's You're So Talented, and Hermione and the Quarter Life Crisis's Black Hermione showcase Black women in all faucets of individuality. 

Issa Rae has taken over HBO with award-winning Insecure and is currently in Little (which reunited Rae and Tracy Y. Oliver-- The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl's Nina and the web series producer/writer). Up next, Rae stars in The Lovebirds with Kumail Nanjiani and Stella Meghie's The Photograph. Insecure's fourth season has been pushed to 2020.

Issa, the bonafide star on the left. The Misadventures of Black Girl cast: Fred (Madison Shockley III), Jesus (Michael Ruesga), J (Issa Rae), White Jay (Lyman Johnson), Jerry the Temp (Ricky Woznichak), CeCe (Sujata Day), and Denise (Devin Danielle Walker).

Every time the desire to binge The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl comes on, the temptation cannot be denied. Stories are funnier, wittier. Above all, the world of J will never stop resonating.

The First Time I Saw Myself Onscreen

Adepero Oduye in Pariah.

My single mother wasn't the affectionate and maternal sort like Clair Huxtable, let alone affluent and married. So the television raised me on exclusive beauty, slowly and subliminally forcing me to admire fictional characters that looked nothing like me. I grew up watching an endless amount with a preference for soap operas and addressed that in prelude to last year's series on Best TV Couples here. I didn't go to the cinema until around age seventeen, but always had a Halle Berry haircut (though my hair didn't like perms at all, lasting for a week or two before unapologetic nappiness returned). Every boy in school desired Halle Berry. Unfortunately, I (and most of the other Black girls) didn't resemble her at all.

On Saturday mornings, Lisa Turtle (Lark Voorhies) taught me about funky style and fashion on white centric Saved by the Bell.

Her outrageously fabulous wardrobe and dreams for fashion school truly resonated with me. 

When last summer Ava Duvernay asked the question, "when did you first see yourself depicted on screen?" I simmered on the thought for a while, remembering the biracial and non-black women still heralded, still put on higher pedestals in all forms of media. I do recall childhood animated icons: Punky Brewster's Cherie, Jem and the Holograms' Shana Holsford, and The Magic Schoolbus's Keesha Franklin (the later two having been recently turned into racially ambiguous characters). Yet I couldn't hold onto them forever.

Although I didn't watch Felicity, it was special seeing Tangi Miller in those memorable "Oh What A Night" WB commercials. She would the only Black woman, essentially playing the role of spokesperson for our notably absent presence on the network. 

The teenager years were absent of Black girls. I escaped into the WB network (didn't have cable) and eating disorders, wishing to banish the newfound curves alongside my "problematic" short hair and distinctive face that looked like countless masks in the Africa sections of museums than anything on TV or film. It felt entirely wrong to be dark skinned with a broad nose, plump cheekbones, thick lips, and size 0 fantasies. Yet Tangi Miller's sepia skin, dark brown eyes, and long box braids in the commercials between consumptions of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Roswell soothed a great inner belonging. She was in the Seventeen and Teen Vogue magazines, but never graced the covers. Always the support, the sistah girlfriend to Keri Russell's lead, Miller lingered in my mind, my spirit, constantly reminding me that we deserve to fit somewhere. Funnily enough, at the time, she was also dating Angel's J. August Richards. I imagined them as the Black King and Queen of the WB, that they clung to each other on a network lacking the very definition of inclusivity.

Adepero Oduye in Pariah.

Thus, the first time I saw myself depicted on screen was poignantly nestled in Adepero Oduye's performance in Pariah as Alike, the shy writer coming to terms with her sexual identity. I remembered racing down to the Neon Movies-- the only art house theater in Dayton, Ohio-- to watch a film that many heralded online, knowing full well that Black films, especially Black films with strong leads directed by women (Night Comes On and Fast Color) tend not to stay in theatres long.

Oduye's character not only looked similar to my physical (skin tone, prominent African features), she didn't wear makeup, loved English, wrote poetry, rode public transportation, and was constantly ridiculed by her peers for not appearing feminine enough. I sought solidarity in Alike hiding her true self, admiring the authenticity shining through Oduye's performance. She began my search for other similar multifaceted characters, for finding those that don't fit the European gaze, their expectation of Blackness, whilst also looking for validation in gifts they could offer the world.

In addition to Oduye, Whoopi Goldberg and Akosua Busia in The Color Purple, Alva Rogers in Daughters of the Dust, Mouna Traore in Brown Girl Begins, Karidja Toure in Girlhood, Samantha Mugatsia and Sheila Munyiva in Rafiki, Dominique Fishback and Tatum Marilyn Hall in Night Comes On, and Marsai Martin in Little all come to mind as to how I see myself portrayed in both past adolescence and current adulthood on the film screen.

Awkward Black Girl, one of the best web series' ever, conveyed my experiences in the workplace. Plus, Issa Rae's expressions are on point.

Whether it's having a deep dark brown skin complexion like Issa Rae or Lupita Nyong'o, an impressionable gap between teeth like Uzo or distinctive negroid facial features and kinky hair like Viola Davis and Danai Gurira, finding these parts on another person in Hollywood has become a new source of unexpected joy. The representation of Black beauty-- the unapologetic, unambiguous African ancestral pride-- is taking phenomenal shape and putting us all on notice in a big, unforgettable way.

'Fast Color' Uniquely Mends What Is Broken From Superhero Origin

Fast Color film poster.

"Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home

She stood in tears amid the alien corn"-- John Keats, Ode to the Nightingale

In Fast Color, the invisible umbilical cord binds the women's ancestral line. No amount of distance-- both living and dead-- can change the course of that destiny, a destiny that is still an unraveled mystery. The mother, the daughter, and the granddaughter will need each other for different resources, but the most important tool for survival is togetherness.

In a dry, barren dystopia, water is no longer a complimentary luxury, costing as much as an astronomical forty bucks a few gallons, twelve dollars a pint. The rain hasn't touched the earth in years, leaving behind an unloved, unfulfilled world. Enter Ruth. She is a very special woman with some very eccentric abilities-- like causing earthquakes. She constantly rushes place to place, obviously on the run from militant evil. She gets into a stranger's car and immediately finds out he is anything but a white savior.

Gugu Mbath-Raw (Belle, Beyond the Lights) puts on a fantastic performance as Ruth, mover and shaker of the earth.

Ruth manages to escape and finds aide in Sheila, a kind bartender before reaching to a place she had abandoned-- home. The home is a whole other character, nonverbal. On the outside, it looks like a plain, ordinary barn. Inside, the walls overflow with historic pictures, drawings, and paintings. Many objects fill the rustic, charming spaces of Ruth's mother Bo's family inheritance, a living, breathing heirloom seemingly as old as the women's exceptional gifts. The most precious sentiment is the huge book that all the women write in, entailing their magic and illustrating colors-- colors that Ruth cannot see. Thus, migration is apparent-- Ruth's return, the sacredness of Black home/land ownership passed down, and the shared diary from one woman's hand to the next.

Bo (Lorraine Touissant) tells Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) about the importance of the house and the family diary. The inherited house served as a protective barrier, a serene solace for many generations. Unfortunately, no place-- no matter the familiarity or history-- can shield their secret forever.

Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is trying to build with her daughter Lila (Saniyya Sidney)-- a path to forgiving herself for the past and making it up with a promising future.

Bo doesn't seem excited by Ruth's return and Lila is reluctant and naturally distrustful to form a relationship. Still, the three manage to set a routine, dividing the food and water, practicing their manipulation skills. Ruth is fascinated by Lila, falling more in love with her daughter. Ruth accidentally breaks Lila's window and suggests that maybe they can place it back together-- although their powers never fix broken things. The glass surprisingly comes together at their joined effort, but then shatters, relaying that mother/daughter have kinks to sort out. Through time and patience, Ruth and Lila could potentially have a strong, resilient bond.

Three is the magic number: Bo (Lorraine Touissant), Lila (Saniyya Sidney), and Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw).

The talented trio force of Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Lorraine Touissant, and Saniyya Sidney give such phenomenal performances that cannot be ignored. The juicy script lends them opportunities to convey suspicion and doubt, love and tenderness. By having considerable weight to their parts, these actresses are able to fully render character's individual actions, the causes and affects. Mbatha-Raw's former drug addict Ruth has expressive eyes and spurts of vulnerability, haunted by regret. Touissant's Bo follows her own stern mother's footsteps, but her warm, valiant heart realizes that the past cannot deny future. Sidney's Lila showcase that beneath the iron rebellion streak, she wants true belonging. These women lead in a refreshing and phenomenal way, leaning on each other, learning to trust and sacrifice as do their engaging characters.

The score is melodic and powerful, setting appropriate moods and Nina Simone leads an eclectic soundtrack. Beautifully shot in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the visual effects are also a dazzling highlight, especially the significant moments of molecules transforming into objects and these objects breaking down into tiny particles-- Bo's cigarettes, Lila's tools, the broken ceramic bowl. In fact, two noteworthy scenes stand out.

Ruth coming into herself, finding something nestled deep within, and it all comes down to Lila. She is Ruth's heart, her ultimate power source. When Ruth finally embraces her gifts, free from seizures and shackles, seemingly joining with the earth in a profoundly internal intimacy, Ruth is as phenomenal as X-Men's Ororo Munro aka Storm.

Oscar winning filmmaker Barry Jenkins (Moonlight and If Beale Street Could Talk) with Fast Color co-writer Jordan Horowitz, Fast Color director/co-writer Julia Hart, and film stars Saniyya Sidney (Lila) and Gugu Mbatha-Raw (Ruth).

Bo admits fearing her own strength. Yet she defiantly faces down the men with guns pointed at her and her child and dissolves the threat. This excruciatingly intense scene froths with metaphorical allegory. These people aimed weapons at women, placing their selfish, malignant intentions for "science experiments" far above the validity of human life-- women who are callously the more violated sex. Sasha Avonna Bell comes to mind-- one of the first to file a lawsuit against Flint, Michigan, whose death remains unsolved. Yet it also ushers in the history of Sarah Baartman and other Black women's bodies paraded, exhibited, and dissected for their unique "parts," viewed more as scientific curiosity than human. Ultimately, Bo had to be the one to stop government interference.

While Marvel and DC alternately push out their annual big budget comic book films, Fast Color wedges between the tough industry cracks-- a worthwhile triumph. The small budget film has an independent spirited heart placing a generational line of women at the crux and deserves all the buzz and praise received. It shows mothers and daughters repairing fragile damages, challenging authority together, venturing down the road to something once forbidden, and leaving all wounds to the conjured wind.

'The Twilight Zone' Laces Supernatural With Political and Social Context

The Twilight Zone ad.

Academy Award winner Jordan Peale has rebooted Rod Sterling's The Twilight Zone and it appears to be lighter fare than its original predecessor or the darker copycats The Outer Limits and Tales From the Crypt. Peale sleekly narrates these new/revisited stories in fine tailored suits sans the smoky cigarettes. 

J. C. Wheeler (Golden Globe nominee Tracy Morgan) gives Samir (Academy Award nominee Kumail Nanjiani) some wisdom.

The Comedian begins in a jarring tale about the hunger for fame, the side effect that simple wishes could bring, and how much of the self is ultimately sacrificed to achieve it. Samir Wassan is a dreadful standup comic. After a bad act, Samir meets the famous J.C. Wheeler at the comedy club bar. Wheeler advises Samir to make his act personal. With that Samir names names. During these acts, the people disappear and only he holds the knowledge of their existence. 

Didi (Emmy nominee Diarra Kilpatrick of American Koko) teases Samir (Kumail Nanjiani) quite often throughout. It is her "suck my vagina" that secures a hilarious catch phrase. 

Sure, it is a predictable morality scheme, but there are moments that must be highlighted. Diarra Kilpatrick has a bunch of hilarious one-liners as Didi Scott. It is a nice touch to show an Indian-American couple in love. As Samir and Rena's modest lifestyle bellows down the drain, jealousy, resentment, and greed taking over, Samir is forced to choose between himself and the last person he intimately knows on earth. The only vicious beast here is the human need to find the backdoor access to infamy and skip the boiling, seething hatred rejection grants everyone. Isn't that scary enough? 

Justin (Adam Scott) believes the MP3 player knows his every move before he does.

However, Nightmare at 35,000 Feet, the second episode, has that Sterling spirit soaring high above the clouds. After all, it is based on the actual William Shatner starring episode, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet. PTSD passenger Justin listens to an anonymous MP3 player that sequentially narrates real-time events of his flight as they occur. Panic-stricken Justin then causes continuous ruckus that alarm the people around him, the flight attendants especially. 

This solidly illustrates a heightened terror sensibility. Up in the sky, one certainly feels the most vulnerable, powerless. The MP3 player operates both like Justin's conscious and a misleading navigator. Moreover, it suggests that, "you can't always believe what you hear." 

Nina (Sanaa Lathan) protects her son Dorian (Damson Idris) at all costs. 

Replay stars Sanaa Lathan as Nina Harrison, one of her best performances. Nina is a proud mother driving her son Dorian to college in a very nice car. Before that, they eat at a diner and a white cop is present. Their interactions with him are repeated over and over via an old camera rewind button. Every time, Nina becomes more psychologically and emotionally drained, horrified by the violent encounters. Even at her nicest (she bought the man a slice of pie), the white cop remains a threat. 

Nina (Sanaa Lathan), Dorian (Damson Idris), and Neil (Steve Harris) are backed up by the community against the brutal police force.

The true fright among the four aired episodes, this reality has affected Black mothers around the world. The ugly history of the white cop and the Black body has continued growing like an incurable disease-- the blue-eyed white cop Grim Reaper. His constant maliciousness holds up a mirror to the world and the world does not let it shatter.  It is rather brilliant that by facing her past, Nina's older brother Neil helps Nina and Dorian along in an Underground Railroad scenario to the college that temporarily puts the bullets at bay. However, the fear of losing precious time, something rare and fragile in the Black community, will forever haunt Nina and Dorian knows it. 

Pardon me, A. Traveler (Steven Yeun) brings mayhem to a small town in Alaska just around the holidays. 

A Traveler (helmed by A Girl Walks Alone at Night writer/director Ana Lily Amirpour, the only woman director so far) exhibits Steven Yeun's impressive range as the unlikely stranger mixing together contagious delight and sinister intentions. With a smile as mischievous as his Burning character Ben, Yeun's A. Traveler-- decked in a dated pinstriped suit and black hat-- buries the truth beneath the holiday spirit facade. Inuvialuit actress Marika Sila goes toe to toe with Yeun and Greg Kinear's Captain Lane Pendleton. Sila's skeptical Scully like Sergeant Yuka Mongoyak is diligent in her investigation, uncovering lie after lie. She refuses to cower in fear as the bizarre strangeness becomes unhinged. Yuka and the traveler's cat and mouse game is twisted, but not in an overtly perverted way. Yuka swallows the taste for power. A. Traveler knows her innermost desire and hope. However, he instigates doubt and doesn't physically harm anyone. At least not whilst enjoying pumpkin pie in his truest physical form. 

Yuka (Marika Sila) is not fooled by A. Traveler's feigned innocence.

So far, each protagonist must face between listening to their intuition or mysterious devices like Justin's Mp3 player and Nina's camcorder or strangers like the famous comic A.C. Wheeler or Yuka's visitor. What wins over them? The new (or old) startling thing or accepting the reality that awaits? There still remains that stretch of Sterling imagination, of finding no limitation to what lies ahead for these characters. 

Thus, Peale's The Twilight Zone stays the course of Sterling's 1960's creation, weaving modern day controversial political and social undertones and handpicking actors and actresses of all ethnicities. This resurrected series has certainly piqued and encouraged curiosity to wonder what comes next in the mythological otherworldly dimension being reopened and explored anew in 2019. 

'Little' Uplifts And Unleashes the Inner Misfit

Little film poster.

"Kids are mean," many nonchalantly say as though this resolves the huge bullying problem.

Little opens with junior high schooler Jordan Sanders's triumphant moment. Unfortunately, it becomes a perfect time for public humiliation to strike-- not ala dance spectacle like most films surrounding coming of age teen drama. After Jordan's onstage scientific feat, the mean girl pushes back, physically hurting Jordan and singlehandedly traumatizing her to death.

Jordan (Regina Hall) messes with the wrong child. 

Years later, Jordan--a tech company CEO-- is an insufferable, carb-hating diva that treats everyone in her life as inferior beings. No one is safe from her Cruella De Ville-ish wrath-- her robot HomeGirl, her hotel barista, her bellhop, her employees, random children. Jordan's cruel-heartedness is certainly a colossal jump from the sweet, afro haired, bespectacled science nerd who believed that everyone would admire her hard work. Adult Jordan wraps around the cloak that power grants her. Instead of finding much needed aide (like seeing a therapist, formulating real-life girlfriend relationships, cooking or cleaning for herself, and ending reliance on capitalism for meaningless happiness), she abuses power to make others feel insignificant.

On the opposite spectrum, Jordan's assistant April is eerily similar to Little Jordan. The donut lover surrounds herself in art supplies, dresses with quirky spunk, and doubts her creative abilities. In fact, she mumbles a lot. Preston, her co-worker, encourages her to speak up.  Like everyone else in the company, April is terrified of Jordan. However, April seems to fear herself more.

Jordan is only insecure around Connor-- the firm's biggest client is a rich white guy. He sits in her chair, props his feet on her desk, and announces that he is moving his finances elsewhere unless they can keep him interested/invested. At this, Jordan goes berserk in the staff meeting, screaming at someone to have a good idea. April keeps mum. An on edge Jordan threatens to fire them all and eventually yells out to the donut man's adorable daughter. The daughter retaliates with a wand flicker and shouts, "I wish you were little!"

Black Girl Magic happens.

April (Issa Rae) and Little Jordan (Marsai Martin) aren't too keen on Young Jordan returning to school mostly because April doesn't want to go to jail.

Jordan wakes up to a huge surprise-- reverting to her younger self, an embodiment of her innermost shame-- Little Jordan. Of course, she thinks it unnatural. Everyone sees that she is a nonthreatening girl. Her authority is gone. April comes to the rescue. It leads to a rather farfetched plot involving Children's Services. An agent demands that Little Jordan goes to middle school otherwise the circumstances will be detrimental.

Little Jordan is the exact opposite of Never Been Kissed's Josie Gellar (the overly enthusiastic, twenty-five-year-old journalist disguising as a high schooler versus thirty-eight-year-old Jordan magically stuck in her younger self's middle school body). Little Jordan is cursed into going back to school as opposed to incognito. With the mind of an adult, she develops a hilarious crush on her teacher and finds she has no power over her "peers." Sadly harassed, ridiculed, and humiliated on her first day, she once again faces the unstoppable bullying and links in with the uncool crowd-- three naïve kids who believe that unveiling their talents will make them fit in. It is the same innocence Little Jordan had. Perhaps that need had been buried deep, never fully dissolving. Those of us that have experienced bullying (the straws placed in Little Jordan's massive afro are almost as bad as having spitballs launched at you everyday) can find empathy in Little Jordan's plight. To torment another for the expense of laughter and being a "bigger" person can have weighty consequences emotionally, mentally, psychologically, especially around that seeking age where childhood becomes teenage uncertainty.

After their big climatic fight, April (Issa Rae) and Little Jordan (Marsai Martin) make up and bond.

The three essential characters Jordan, Little Jordan, and April are battling the self-doubts within themselves and take the path to growth respectively. Whereas Little Jordan mentors her new friends, believing that money can resolve their issues, April finds that leadership is a daunting impossibility when the co-workers are conditioned to Jordan's bossiness. Thus, they see April as a pushover and borrowing Jordan's flashy expensive clothes cannot make up for lacking confidence. Eventually, April assertively addresses her boss with the great idea that could save the company....

Brand new, reawakened Jordan (Regina Hall) returns.

Childhood and adulthood role reversal has been told in Big and 13 Going On 30 with touches of Freaky Friday, but Little undergoes a different tactic to convince women to act accordingly. Tracy Y. Oliver and Tina Gordon Chism's screenplay understates that one does not need to become a menacing bully to acquire what is needed to succeed. It is valuing the people around you, to guide those who come after you, and allow them to grow into their strengths. April would have likely not have spoken about her Discover Eyes (Discoverize?) idea for another thirty years. It is not shown who performed the kind deed of buying the app. However, best case scenario theory is that Jordan probably bought it, proving her growth by truly believing that April's creativity could save their company. Secretly, still would have been sweet justice for Jordan to kick Connor's butt though.

Little is a humorously enjoyable film initiated by the youngest producer in Hollywood history-- Marsai Martin. The credits introduce Martin though most audiences know the award-winning actress as Diane Johnson on black*ish. The chemistry between Martin and Issa Rae and between Rae and Regina Hall lights up the screen in absolutely genuine and delightful ways. This charming combination articulately expresses challenges Black women must endure, mostly alone. It is also great that Eva Carlton plays both Caren Greene (Jordan's bully) and Jasmine (Little Jordan's bully), symbolizing that the junior high mean girl will always be replaced by a carbon copy. She will always be there to torment the low self-esteem kids. Teachers like Mr. Marshall (played by Justin Hartley) will never be able to punish spoiled girls like her enough. The love interests start off with promise, especially April and Preston, but fizzle with underdevelopment by the end.

Still, this big screen Blackness is so beautiful and refreshing. All this melanin. For brown and dark brown skinned girls and women with 4C hair and distinctive African features who laugh out loud, are authentic, smart, creative, and bond with other women like them-- this celebrates and uplifts us.

Lastly, Little is popcorn fluff bringing on laughs and blushes, a solid escapism, especially for the Black girls who have been bullied and bounced into adulthood, valiantly holding onto their passions whether it be for science, technology, art, and all the other things that make us special and great. Money cannot buy and manufacture what is natural within.