Rapper F.A.B.L.E. Finds Peace in "The Lyrics That Opened the Door"

This true-life story is a repost from our sister site, Our Life Logs®


Editor’s Note

This is the story of Chris "F.A.B.L.E." Horace as captured by the team at Our Life Logs. The following is brought to you in partnership with Guitars Over Guns, and organization that aims to change the lives of disadvantaged students through music and strong, consistent mentorship. We hope you check them out!


The Lyrics That Opened the Door

Detroit, Michigan. 1998. I was sent into the world by a struggling, drug-addicted mother. She couldn’t keep me, and I don’t know if she put up a fight. Either way, my story didn’t continue with her or anyone from my biological family. It continued with a single black man who was a lawyer who specialized in child and neglect cases and had seen the worst of the worst. As the equation goes, you mix in his social worker friend and you got yourself an adoption.  

After all that, Dad took me to Lansing to live with him. A single father adopting a kid was pretty much unheard of, but he made it work. And honestly, I never wanted or sought the affection I couldn’t have in those early years.  He had a busy work schedule, of course, but he gave as much love as two parents. 

Still, my upbringing was interesting. My extended family always did their best to make me feel loved, and yet, I was always aware of the slight differences between us. Knowing, but not knowing why. My grandpa, however, took such a liking to me, and, honestly, he had a hand in my story—but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

At age five, we moved to Chicago to take care of my Grandma (my adopted grandma—or rather, the only grandma I ever really knew) who was dying of cancer and to support my grandfather and disabled uncle.  

And that’s where we stayed for the rest of my childhood. Chicago.


By the second grade in my Baptist elementary school, I started looking around at the two-parent households, like wow, I stand out. I started asking my dad questions. The older I got, the more details he gave. I knew as early as the fourth grade that my mot