I had five brothers and sisters. Four of them older, and some of them played instruments, and we would get together and have family recitals and raise money for the church. I belonged to a wonderful church community that encouraged me to sing.

Talent needs permission and purpose

There's something specific about growing up in a house full of music and purpose that shapes how you move through the world. Al Jarreau wasn't just surrounded by talented people—he was surrounded by talented people working together for something beyond themselves. That combination matters. It's the difference between having a gift and knowing what to do with it.

What strikes most people about this memory isn't the technical skill being passed around, but the infrastructure of support. A family that plays music together, a church that actually encourages participation rather than just consuming performances—these aren't luxuries. They're the invisible scaffolding that helps young talent recognize itself as talent. Many people grow up with real ability but no audience, no stage, no community that says "yes, do more of that." Jarreau had both the skill and the permission.

The less obvious part is how this setup teaches you that excellence serves something. You're not practicing alone in your room to prove yourself to strangers. You're preparing for your family, for your church, for a goal everyone understands. That early linking of ability to purpose—to community, to fundraising, to giving back—doesn't just create better performers. It creates people who understand their talents as something inherently shared.