A Case of Mistaken Identity

My Nutty Professor Moment

One of my favorite films ever is The Nutty Professor starring Eddie Murphy and Jada Pinkett Smith. As a young kid, I watched the movie countless times and reenacted numerous scenes. To this day, I still laugh at various moments and consider it one of the great 90s classics. My love for this movie inspired what became one of my funniest childhood memories

My father was born and raised in Liberia, West Africa, before immigrating to the United States in the mid-1980s. His father, my grandfather, was a well-known minister in Liberia with extensive connections that his children eventually inherited. None benefited more from these connections than my Aunt E.B., my dad's younger sister.

Among my father's nine siblings, Aunt E.B. was undoubtedly the most social, vibrant, and friendly. Back in Liberia, she was a socialite, excellent cook, and boutique owner. She would regularly travel to the Los Angeles fashion district to purchase fabrics, absorb trends, and bring them back to Africa. Unfortunately, a devastating civil war erupted in Liberia during the early 90s that changed everything. My entire family was shaken by the destruction, even those who had already moved to America. Aunt E.B. lost her business, became displaced, and was separated from my grandmother and her younger siblings. These were incredibly difficult times, made even harder by the fact that she was caring for her young daughter, my cousin Rose. Thankfully, she and Rose managed to immigrate to Chicago, Illinois, in the mid-90s while maintaining contact with close friends who had survived the conflict.

I remember much of this because I lost my mother to cancer in 1995 when I was just an infant. My father, having just lost his wife, wasn't in the best position to raise a baby. So my loving grandmother, who had recently lost her husband to a heart attack a few years prior, took me from California to Chicago until my father could get himself together in Los Angeles. In Chicago, I lived with my grandmother and numerous aunts and uncles. We packed into townhomes and apartments in creative ways to stay comfortable. Aunt E.B. and cousin Rose were constants in my life, and I loved them dearly. I was a rambunctious kid who spoke his mind, and my family adored me for that.

In 1998, one of Aunt E.B.'s friends, whom she had kept in touch with through the years, came to visit us in Chicago. This friend had begun dating a powerful Liberian ambassador and businessman and wanted to reconnect with our family after several years apart. Aunt E.B. planned an elegant dinner at our suburban Aurora townhome.

When the evening arrived, everyone dressed sharply for our distinguished guests. As they arrived, there were pleasantries, warm hugs, and introductions all around. Immediately, the ambassador caught my attention. The moment he walked through the door, five-year-old me became extremely excited and giddy. I'd never met this man before, but he looked remarkably similar to someone I knew well, and I felt compelled to share this observation immediately!

After everyone settled in, standing around and sipping wine, I rushed to our entertainment center to find a particular VHS tape I'd watched numerous times. I searched the lower compartment that housed all our tapes, found exactly what I was looking for, and walked over to the man I'd been eyeing since his arrival.

I gently tapped him as he conversed with others. He looked down and acknowledged me with a courteous smile. We made eye contact as I lifted up our family's VHS copy of The Nutty Professor and quietly said, "You look like this man." I was pointing directly at Professor Klump. Immediately, the man's smile vanished, and he abruptly returned to his previous conversation.

Now understand, this man genuinely resembled Professor Klump. He stood about six feet tall, was dark-skinned with a small afro, wore thick glasses, and weighed nearly 400 pounds. As a five-year-old kid, I meant no disrespect—I was actually delighted that he looked like one of my favorite movie characters!

Obviously, he didn't see it this way. Still convinced he hadn't properly heard me, I tapped him again. He looked down at me once more, and I quietly repeated myself, pointing at the VHS: "You look like this man." He brushed me off again! Now feeling ignored and determined to make my point clear, I tapped him a third time. When he looked down, I lifted the VHS package again, but this time exclaimed loudly, "YOU LOOK LIKE THIS MAN!"

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at us—then burst into laughter. Even his date couldn't contain herself. The ambassador was mortified, and I was in big trouble.

Though she herself had laughed, Aunt E.B. punished me for my behavior. She immediately sent me to stand in the corner until dinner was served. Dressed in my little suit, I stood alone, not feeling bad about what I'd said but sad that my aunt had reacted so strongly. After the guests left, she gave me a hearty spanking. Yet more than twenty-five years later, she still fondly remembers the incident, as does her friend who was there. A few days after it happened, Aunt E.B. privately confirmed what I already knew—the man did indeed look like Professor Klump, and I wasn't wrong.