Last Christmas arrived with a shadow. Five days before the holiday cheer, my mother received her Alzheimer’s diagnosis. The confirmation itself wasn’t a shock, marking the end of a long, emotionally taxing journey of medical appointments, endless tests, and neurologist consultations. The waiting had been relentless. Yet, even with the anticipation, the sheer emotional weight of the reality hit harder than expected.
Knowing what’s coming doesn’t come with an emotional roadmap. It’s not just about the immediate moment, but the ongoing, evolving emotional landscape. My sanctuary has become the gym, even if the elusive six-pack abs remain just out of reach (diet is still a work in progress). There, with my AirPods in, music provides a vital escape. And one song, in particular, has been a constant companion, not just recently, but for two decades:
Kanye West’s “Family Business.”
This weekend marked the 20th anniversary of Ye’s The College Dropout. The album stands as a time capsule of an artist who ascended to global icon status, yet now finds himself a controversial figure. But the album, especially “Family Business,” his most personal track, remains. Lyrics about sharing baths with cousins as kids? Been there, scrapbooks confirm it. Multiple siblings and cousins crammed into one bed? Done that. Family squabbles over trivial matters during holidays? Absolutely relatable. It might sound chaotic to some, but Kanye’s self-awareness within the lyrics was and is profoundly resonant.
“Family Business” isn’t just a song; it’s been a constant presence in my life for years, its meaning and sonic texture evolving alongside my own journey. In 2004, as an 18-year-old nearing high school graduation, the lyrics spoke to a certain youthful nostalgia for family life. Five years later, living in Washington, D.C., a decade after my uncle’s passing, listening to “Family Business” during my metro runs felt like a spiritual connection to him in his city. In 2014, the song became a coping mechanism after the tragic loss of my friend Yusuf to suicide. And now, facing my mother’s health challenges, “Family Business” has naturally returned to my life’s soundtrack, offering a comfort I deeply needed.
“It really gives me chills just thinking of that song and that album. That feels like five lifetimes ago at this point,” hip-hop historian and Chicago native Andrew Barber shared. “Every time I hear that song, it still makes me emotional. It makes me feel a certain way, and none of the other Kanye albums do that for me.”
Who knew that life would move this fast? Ye’s rhetorical question in the song echoes my own thoughts. My mother is thankfully still here, very much alive. While her cognitive abilities have significantly declined, her determination to “beat this” is unwavering. For a condition attacking the mind, her mindset is truly inspiring. She remains the woman I’ve always known and cherished, the one person who has known me longer than I’ve known myself. She is the constant presence who has stood by me through everything, from legal battles to hospital stays. She is, and always will be, my heart.
The subtle shifts began around spring 2022. Months prior, a car accident totaled her vehicle, ending her driving. By summer, managing finances became a source of intense anxiety, bill payments overwhelming her. This was perplexing; my mother and grandmother instilled in me everything I know about financial responsibility. Over the following year, these changes became more pronounced. Her independence gradually waned, replaced by increasing dependence. She started missing significant family events. Her outgoing nature receded into introversion. Witnessing these changes, many happening without her awareness or control, has been profoundly difficult. It remains so, as I grapple with not being able to reciprocate the countless ways she protected and supported me, at least not in the ways she deserves.
Who knew I’d have to look at you through a glass?
This lyric, another rhetorical question from Kanye, resonates deeply. It’s potent because of my family bonds and the artist himself. Two decades encompass a vast spectrum of life experiences: friendships, love, heartbreak, triumphs, failures, betrayals, loss, and countless other moments that shape us. That’s Kanye’s journey, my journey, and likely yours too. These shared experiences mold the paths we navigate.
“It’s really like this is not the same person. And people change. Like I said, it was a few lifetimes ago,” Barber reflected. “But this was Kanye’s make-or-break moment, really.”
Kanye’s urgency was palpable then, and it still is. Back then, it was about self-discovery and purpose. His aspiration to be a world-changing artist created a powerful sense of musical kinship. Even if his message didn’t directly speak to everyone, his raw vulnerability was captivating. He dared to create an album exposing his deepest insecurities, resonating with universal human experiences, certainly my own. Decades and numerous personal transformations later, what endures in “Family Business,” more than anything, is the theme of loyalty.
“We’re a lot more alike in more ways than we are different, depending on race and culture and religion or whatever else. We all have family problems, we all have issues within our family,” Barber observed. “We have good family members, bad family members, but at the end of the day, they’re family. So we do love them. And it was cool to see somebody put that in that type of context.”
My mother is afraid. My wife is afraid. We are all navigating fear. Throughout my life, my mother eagerly anticipated becoming a grandmother and mother-in-law. She often spoke of her mother, and my paternal grandmother, as her role models. Her excitement was infectious. It’s still there now that I am a father, but intertwined with fear. This isn’t the future she envisioned. She fears her condition will worsen, which it inevitably will. But her deepest fear is that my son, and our soon-to-arrive child, won’t remember her fully. That thought brings me to tears.
Justin Tinsley with his mother, highlighting the enduring family bond and love that resonates with the themes of “Family Business Lyrics.”
In every conversation, I reassure her with two promises: “I love you, and I will never leave you.” Often, as I say this, the haunting choir from “Family Business” echoes in my mind: “All these fancy things/ I tell you that all my weight in gold( All, all that glitters is not gold. All gold is not reality. Real is what you lay on me.)/ And all I know, I know all these things.” Memories flood back: Mom driving me to basketball practice, helping with homework, Friday Blockbuster trips for wrestling tapes.
Closing my eyes, I can still hear her voice declaring, “It’s Friday, so I ain’t cooking,” followed by her laughter. I can picture her piling into a car with her friends for road trips to their alma mater. I can see her accepting my college degree, joking, “I paid for that. That’s coming with me.” I remember her face when she delivered news of my uncle’s death and my grandmother’s cancer diagnosis. She calls herself a “scaredy cat,” but she is one of the most courageous people I know.
Nothing truly prepares you for a parent-child role reversal. She will always be my mother, deserving of my utmost respect. But things have shifted. This is the new reality. Dwelling on the past is unproductive, as therapy has taught me. We don’t control the cards we’re dealt; our choices lie in how we hold, fold, or play them.
In 2024, “Family Business” remains a source of solace, even from an artist who hasn’t offered personal comfort in recent years. The song isn’t a cure-all for grief, nor a perfect guide for navigating hardship. It doesn’t need to be.
“This album was really the beginning of the end for this version of Kanye because he just became something completely different after that,” Barber noted. “But whenever I hear this .. it just always gives me chills and takes me back to that time in my life when I was unsure about everything. I was unsure where life was going to take me or what I was going to do in life.”
That uncertainty is present in my life now, and the past two years have taught me it’s likely to remain. It’s not about overcoming uncertainty but evolving alongside it. Worrying about the distant future is futile. Regarding my mother, the present moment is paramount. Every phone call, every text, every shared photo and video becomes deeply significant. Each trip home carries immense weight.
“Family Business” serves as a potent reminder: turmoil cannot extinguish love. Love encompasses shared history, hardships overcome, and the strength to share our stories. That is what I see when I look at my mother, and what I feel when I think of her. I cherish countless memories with a renewed intensity, not because of a sudden realization, but because of a deeper understanding of life’s fragility. Alzheimer’s can never diminish the woman who nurtured me and whom I am now privileged to protect.
Kanye West may no longer be my personal guiding light. Over time, paths diverge, and musicians, like all people, are flawed and complex. This is about something beyond Kanye’s missteps, focusing instead on what he captured so authentically in “Family Business.” College Dropout remains a lifeline, and like my mother, “Family Business” is a record I will never forsake.
Because, like my mother’s love, the debt I owe to it is immeasurable.
Justin Tinsley is a senior culture writer for Andscape.
