“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” A strange male voice said from the door of my bedroom. Not the best way to wake up. I opened up one eye and glanced first at the clock: 4:15 a.m.? Seriously? I turned my gaze toward the voice. In the doorway stood a tall skinny twenty something in a “Barack the Vote” T-shirt and jeans. Even more alarming was the burly guy standing next to him dressed all in black and carrying a camera on his shoulder. The red light was on. Next to him stood a kid barely out of high school holding up a huge pole with a fuzzy microphone on the end also pointed in my direction. As I came to partial wakefulness, I recalled that the producer was Ren, the cameraman was Jerry, and the kid with the mic was DeMarcus. Knowing this did not explain what they were doing in my bedroom at the crack of dawn o’clock. “Are we filming?” I rasped while looking down to make sure I’d actually worn something resembling pajamas to bed. I was in a Houston Stars T-shirt and loose cotton shorts.
