During a 2002 ABC interview Whitney Houston told an inquiring Diane Sawyer that “crack is wack.” She was correct: Crack is wack, and in the final analysis, abusing it (and many, many other drugs and alcohol) whacked Whitney.
This past Saturday Whitney Houston joined the ignoble ranks of Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, Frankie Lymon, Bon Scott, Elvis Presley, Keith Moon, John Bonham and literally hundreds of other musicians who died base and appalling drug- and alcohol-related deaths. What a shame.
For the life of me, I don’t get why New Jersey Governor Chris Christie wants to award this unheroic, pathetic and scary tale with flags flown at half-staff. Are we going to honor the life of every other singer who dies a drug addict with that which I believe is supposed to be reserved for presidents, vice presidents, chief justices, speakers of the House of Representatives, governors, members of Congress, leading citizens such as Martin Luther King, Jr., or people who have died while serving the United States? How is Whitney Houston on par with the aforementioned? Sure, she could croon, but she also funded drug dealers aplenty with her vast capital and long years of abuse.
Look, I’m neither a fan nor a foe of the deceased Houston. What I am a fan of is our kids not following her self-destructive path. Instead of Christie flying flags at half-staff he ought to come out and use his bully pulpit to drive home these seven lessons from a woman who had it all and crashed and burned.
- Talent and mega money equals squat and can be your undoing if you do not have godly character undergirding your natural gifts. Just because you have talent, little children, doesn’t mean you’re bulletproof. Matter of fact, insane talent opens one up to insane temptations. Be afraid.
- You’re responsible for your actions. All the talking heads on various talk shows are yapping about how Whitney had a “disease.” A disease, my backside. If her lifestyle was the result of a disease, well, that’s a disease I’d like to have because I could do something about it—unlike cancer. I had this drug-abusing “disease” from the ages of 13 through 21, and I got cured; I smoked weed every day, snorted tons of coke and dropped a lot of acid … and my disease went away. You know how I did it? I repented of my sins, begged God to change my life and put myself under accountability … and boom! … I was cured of my “disease.”
- Don’t hang out with, nor marry, a moron. Get around people who’ll rebuke you when you are acting like a tool. Yes, hang out with friends who’ll hit you with a tranquilizing dart or whisk you off to an exorcist when they see you torching a rock.
- If you find out your friend or spouse is a death-dealing dbag, run in the opposite direction of said enabler. Like, right now. And if you get lonely and want a friend then get a dog. I recommend a pit-bull. They’re loving pets and will scare the crap out of any Bobby Brown trying to weasel his way back into your life.
- If you’re a 48-year-old parent that means you cannot act like an 18-year-old freshman during pledge week.
- Also note that when you toy with the demonic that the powers of darkness play for keeps.
- And lastly, I don’t care who you are or if you can sing like a canary: When you die—and you will—you will have to give an account of your life before God, and you cannot sing your way out of that tête-à-tête.
Doug Giles
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