Nowhere but Up (19 page)

I couldn’t believe the number of emails Justin started getting through the YouTube channel from managers and various record label executives who wanted to pilot his career and turn him into a star. It was all very overwhelming. And strange. I was used to having an inbox full of messages from fans commenting how cute Justin was and how much they loved him. As it was, I couldn’t keep up with those comments and messages.

So I didn’t. But not just because I didn’t have the time. I didn’t want my son anywhere near that path. I figured all the people who were hounding us were determined only to turn him into a cash cow to fill their pockets. Isn’t that how the music business works? So thanks but no thanks. We’re not interested.

I ignored the emails, having no intention of showing them to Justin. The truth was, I had a pipe dream that Justin was going to become a worship leader or youth pastor. All my talented musician friends were worship leaders, so I assumed that Justin’s talent would warrant him treading down that same path. When the emails about music opportunities kept on coming, it challenged me to look outside my bubble.

I was also hesitant because I was afraid. Everyone knows what happens to many child artists. I had heard all the horror stories about the music industry as a whole. I didn’t want to be naïve in thinking Justin would be immune from the dangers and temptations in that business. Almost a teenager, he would have plenty to deal with in high school on his own. So according to my initial calculations, there was no way God was opening the door for Justin to enter the music world.

As a praying mother, I did just that—I prayed about the opportunities. Because of my fear and my then-limited perception of the way God operates, I unintentionally prayed from a place of doubt. “Surely this isn’t Your will, right?” I guess in a way I acted as if I knew better than God. I could better protect my son. I could better determine his future. “And if this is Your will,” I said to God, “You mean You’re opening the door for him to sing in the Christian music industry, right?”

Immediately I was reminded of a verse in the Bible: “You are light for the world. A city cannot be hidden when it is located on a hill. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket. Instead, everyone who lights a lamp puts it on a lamp stand. Then its light shines on everyone in the house. In the same way let your light shine in front of people” (Matt. 5:14–16).

I heard God speak into my heart.
How is Justin supposed to be a light in the world if he’s not in the world?

“But he’s only thirteen,” I argued out loud. “He’s not grounded. I know You have a hook in his heart, but he doesn’t have any roots. This doesn’t feel safe.”

Do you trust me?

Sigh.

Apparently, not enough. The answer was obvious.

When Justin was a baby, I dedicated his life to God in a special ceremony at my church, much the same way that Hannah dedicated Samuel in the Bible (see 1 Sam. 1). I remember praying that day, asking God to raise Justin up to be a leader and a voice to his generation.

This story came to mind as I was praying about Justin’s future one evening. I felt God telling me to trust Him. To let go of my plans for Justin. It was time for me to give up creating the kind of future for my son that I wanted him to have, that I thought he should have. And that’s when I finally started paying attention to the emails and calls coming in. I even considered the possibility that God could be the one opening those very doors.

In the middle of 2007, a manager from Atlanta named Scooter tried to contact me through several avenues. He was relentless. He sent emails to me through the YouTube channel. He tried to get through to other people who he hoped would get in contact with me for him. This guy messaged one of my top friends on MySpace, called Justin’s great-aunt whom my son had never met (in addition to anyone with the last name Bieber where we lived), and tried to get in touch with me via the Avon Theatre, the venue in the YouTube video where he had watched Justin sing. All these people called me and left message after message that some young guy named Scooter with a Gmail address was trying to reach me about Justin.

Probably one of Scooter’s boldest moves was when he called Justin’s school by way of the Stratford Board of Education. It wasn’t common knowledge that Justin had a YouTube identity. He was a jock, a cool and popular kid. Most of the students didn’t know how he spent his extra time outside of sports. Justin kept his entertaining hobbies on the down low. Although his classmates knew he’d competed in the Stratford Star, no one knew Justin continued singing.

When Scooter’s messages finally reached the school, someone on staff started streaming his videos on the TV monitors in the hallway the next day. When Justin walked into school that morning, a gigantic screen blasted one of his YouTube videos. Now everyone knew. Though he was embarrassed by the attention because he had a reputation as a jock, not a singer, there was one advantage—the girls. They were excited for him, proud of their local up-and-coming YouTube sensation. And they weren’t shy about letting Justin know.

After Scooter unintentionally outed Justin, he continued to track me down, and I continued to keep my distance. I didn’t know much about him other than what I was told from the people in my life he was contacting. I knew his name was Scooter Braun. He had name-dropped popular music stars, so I knew he’d worked with famous artists like Usher, Justin Timberlake, and Britney Spears. I also knew he had a Gmail address. The latter two bits of information kept me from calling him back.

I wasn’t impressed by name-dropping. I’d heard it all before from other managers and so-called record execs who promised they had worked with or were friends with that pop star or this celebrity. It was usually a long stretch from the truth. Scooter’s Gmail address also made me suspicious. Why wouldn’t he have an email address with his record label name? All the other emails I got came from reputable management groups, like joeschmoe@so-and-so-company.

I admired his persistence, but I thought he was more of a joke than a realistic option. I finally called him just to get him to stop calling everyone I knew. I used a computer line so I could block my name and number. No need to give him a direct channel to reach me.

I’d had a long day. I had just completed a massive project at the college, and I had taught Microsoft Word classes that afternoon. I was exhausted. My feet hurt from standing for hours, and all I had eaten the entire day was a stale bagel. I only planned for a five-minute conversation with Scooter. I didn’t have much to say other than “Please stop calling.” I had more important things to do. I wanted to spend the rest of the evening indulging in a long, hot bubble bath.

I dialed Scooter’s number, but my mind was on my much-needed R and R.

“This is Scooter.”

“Hi,” I said in a flat tone of voice. “This is Pattie Mallette, Justin Bieber’s mom.”

“Ms. Mallette, thank you so much for calling me back!” Scooter couldn’t hide his excitement if he tried.

I started right into my planned “thanks but no thanks” speech, looking at my watch to see what time it was. Before I knew it, my rehearsed speech turned into a long-winded, two-hour phone conversation. We chatted away like long-lost friends.

Scooter told me how he found Justin on YouTube and how my son’s talent blew him away. Then he told me about himself, what exactly he did for a living. “Just google me,” he suggested. “You can find out information about some of the projects I’ve done and people I’ve worked with.” (Later that night, I did search for him. I laugh about it now, but the first thing that popped up was a magazine article titled “Scooter Braun Is the Hustla.” To the right of that title was a picture of Scooter on a cell phone flanked by two hot blondes pawing him. It wasn’t the most encouraging first impression for a mother of a thirteen-year-old boy.)

While Scooter was definitely a fast and smooth talker—hey, it’s what he does for a living—something about him seemed genuine and warm. The conversation took off in all sorts of interesting directions. Scooter and I talked about everything from Justin and his potential career in the music industry to our faith. He mentioned looking at my MySpace page and seeing I was a Christian.

“I’m Jewish,” he told me. “Is that going to be a problem?”

How silly
, I thought. “Of course not,” I answered. “Jesus was Jewish.” Sure, my initial thought pattern in this process had been a bit shortsighted. I had first approached these opportunities thinking Justin was going to be in the Christian music circle or at least would be represented by a Christian manager. But I had nothing personal against anyone of any faith, and I would never discriminate against someone’s talent, intelligence, or skills just because they didn’t share my beliefs.

Faith was important to me, and I had raised Justin with those beliefs and values. So of course I had hoped Justin would work with a manager who could continue to instill those same faith principles in his life. But the way this journey was unfolding, it didn’t matter what plans or wants I had for Justin’s future; it was obvious God had other ones.

Scooter ended the conversation by inviting us to meet him in Atlanta. “I’ll introduce you to some people down here so you can see for yourself that I’m legit, that I’m not blowing smoke. You don’t have to sign anything. You don’t have to promise to do anything. No pressure. No obligations. If you come and you hate it, consider this a free paid vacation to Atlanta. At least think about it.”

As persistent as Scooter was, I have to say he was never a jerk and never tried to bully his way into Justin’s life. I was always honest about any fears or reservations I had, and Scooter delicately handled our relationship with the perfect balance of tenacity and patience. He understood my suspicions about the music industry and always made me feel there was no pressure. So sure, of course I could think about meeting him.

I took time to pray after that phone call. There was no reason to talk to Justin about anything yet; I still had to mull things over in my head. It would have been easy for me to decide what was best for us based on what I wanted in a manager, but ultimately I wanted to hear what God’s best was. His ways were obviously very different from my ways.

At the time Jeremy lived in Winnipeg, twelve hundred miles away from Stratford. Though he and Justin didn’t see each other regularly, simply because of the distance, Jeremy and I had conversations during this time. He was both happy and worried sick about the potential opportunity. We shared the same cautiousness.

After Scooter’s offer, I talked to my spiritual parents John and Sue Brown and Ivan and Isabel, as well as other spiritual leaders at my church whom I trusted. When I met with these different people, I told them about my conversation with Scooter and Justin’s potential opportunity in the music business. I also regurgitated my fears about why I didn’t think it was a good idea. I strongly pled my case. “It’s dangerous,” I said. “It’s not safe. Justin is only thirteen years old. He’s a boy who still has a ton of growing up to do.” Despite my best efforts to convince these mentors why it was best for us to ignore these open doors, every one of them felt a peace about it.

Everyone except me. While I appreciated their sentiment, it still wasn’t enough for me. That’s when I remembered Gideon.

The Bible tells a story in Judges 6 about a man named Gideon. He wasn’t necessarily the most confident or secure man around. Nor was he winning any awards for courage or bravery. But for some reason God chose him to be a warrior and do some pretty important things for the nation of Israel. Unsure of himself and unsure whether God was really leading him, Gideon prayed one night for confirmation. He laid a wool fleece on the ground and said, “Lord, if I wake up in the morning and the fleece is wet with dew but the ground dry, I’ll know these plans are really from You.”

Gideon woke up to dry ground and a wet fleece. But he still wasn’t convinced. That night, he asked God for another sign, the reverse. And the next morning, Gideon found his fleece was dry and the ground wet with dew. He got his confirmation.