SNOOP DOGG’S MOTHER CONFESSES THE TRUTH SHE HID FROM HIM SINCE CHILDHOOD
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Snoop Dogg’s Mother Confesses the Truth She Hid from Him Since Childhood
Introduction
Under the blazing California sun, Calvin Broadus Jr., known worldwide as Snoop Dogg, gazed over his sprawling Diamond Bar estate at 53. With chart-topping albums, ventures in cannabis and tech, and a cultural legacy, he’d achieved the unimaginable. Yet, a call from his mother, Beverly Tate, stirred unease, hinting at a long-hidden truth about to unravel.
A Mother’s Urgent Call
Snoop’s phone buzzed early that morning, an unusual time for Beverly to call. “Hey Mama,” he answered, voice softening. “Calvin,” she wavered, “I need to see you today, not next week. Something I should’ve told you long ago.” Alert, Snoop paced after hanging up, mind racing. Beverly had been his anchor through Long Beach’s gang life, music’s meteoric rise, and controversies. What could unsettle her now?
Two hours later, his Range Rover pulled into her modest Long Beach home, a sanctuary amid a changed neighborhood. Beverly, 72, opened the door before he knocked, her dignified grace intact from raising three boys in LA’s toughest streets. But her eyes carried a rare weight. “Come in, son,” she led him to the kitchen table, a worn manila envelope waiting. “I’ve been carrying something about your father,” she began, hands clasped tight.
Snoop tensed. Vernell Varnado, his biological father, was largely absent; stepfather Calvin Cordozar Broadus Sr. gave him his name, though that bond was complex. “I told you Vernell left at three months for Vietnam,” Beverly continued. “That wasn’t entirely true.” She slid the envelope over. “I asked him to go.” Snoop stared, unmoving. “Why, Mama?” “I was afraid of what the truth might do to us,” she admitted. Inside were dozens of letters, yellowed, addressed to “My Son, Calvin,” dated from 1972. “All this time, you said he didn’t care,” Snoop murmured. Beverly’s eyes glistened. “I was wrong. I couldn’t see past my pain. I thought I was protecting you, but I protected myself.”
Unveiling a Father’s Words
Snoop unfolded the first letter, Vernell’s handwriting eerily like his own. “My son, whatever you hear, you’re my blood and heart,” it read, detailing a tumultuous split and 1970s struggles as a young Black man, promising return. It painted Vernell differently from the absent figure Snoop imagined. “Why now, Mama?” he asked. “I’m getting older,” Beverly replied, tears brimming. “I couldn’t leave this world with this lie between us.”
That night, in his home studio, Snoop spread the letters across surfaces, reading into dawn. Vernell served briefly in Vietnam, discharged after injury, moved through Detroit and Chicago, settling in Mississippi. He wrote persistently, hoping Beverly would share them. A 1984 letter, when Snoop was 13 and dabbling in trouble, struck deep: “The streets don’t love anyone back. They take until nothing’s left. Don’t make choices that haunt you.” Eerily prescient, it predated Snoop’s Crips days, arrests, and hip-hop feuds.
Cousin Daz Dillinger arrived, seeing the letters. “Damn, that’s heavy. You okay?” he asked. “Angry, confused,” Snoop admitted. “I thought he didn’t give a damn. Now this.” “He’s alive, in Mississippi,” Snoop added, eyeing a recent letter from five years ago. “What you gonna do?” Daz pressed. “I’m going to see him, face to face,” Snoop decided.
Confronting Hidden History
Back at Beverly’s, Snoop probed deeper. “Why didn’t he find me, even after fame?” “I asked him not to,” she sighed. “Later, he respected your stepfather’s role, then feared seeming money-hungry.” Snoop held a 1995 letter mentioning family land in Mississippi. “What’s this?” Beverly revealed Vernell’s family owned post-Civil War land, partly in Snoop’s name per his grandfather’s wish. After their split, Vernell’s brothers sold it, claiming Snoop wouldn’t return. The inheritance vanished into debts. “Another way I failed you,” Beverly confessed. Snoop squeezed her hand, anger absent. She’d been his rock through poverty and violence. “I’m going to Mississippi,” he declared. “Tell him I’m sorry too,” she nodded.
Three days later, Snoop and wife Shante landed in Jackson, Mississippi, via private jet for privacy. The humid Southern heat contrasted California’s dryness as they drove to Magnolia, Vernell’s quiet town near Louisiana. At a modest home with a wide porch, Snoop stood exposed, fame irrelevant. The door opened; Vernell, tall and lean at 70, mirrored Snoop’s build and features, softened by age. He raised a hand, waiting. Snoop approached, removing sunglasses. “Calvin,” Vernell’s voice was gentle, Delta-accented. “Vernell,” Snoop replied, unsure.
Inside, family photos lined walls, including a magazine cutout of Snoop on the mantle. “Family wall,” Vernell explained. “Your grandparents, uncles, and you.” Snoop eyed a black-and-white photo of great-grandfather William Varnado by land—40 acres, now subdivisions. “Why didn’t you come?” Snoop asked. “Beverly was clear; it’d confuse things,” Vernell said. “Later, I was ashamed. Easier to write letters I thought you’d never read.” Hours unfolded, barbecue shared, as Vernell detailed family history—musical talent in the Varnados, his own saxophone days. “You were enough, Calvin, even from afar,” he said, sincerity striking Snoop.
Reconnecting Roots
Next morning, Vernell drove Snoop and Shante through Magnolia, sharing stories of family schools and churches. Beyond town, at Magnolia Estates, once Varnado land, Vernell explained the sale—complicated titles, Snoop’s infant stake exploited by brothers after the split. “Money disappeared into debts,” he sighed. At a small cemetery, ancient oaks shaded Varnado graves. “Your grandfather, Calvin Cordozar Varnado,” Vernell pointed. Snoop reeled; his name stemmed from his grandfather, not just stepfather. “I want my kids here,” he said. “They should know this.” Vernell’s eyes glistened. “I’ve never met my grandchildren.” “That changes now,” Snoop vowed.
A video call introduced Cordell, Corde, and Cori to Vernell. Shock turned to questions, connection sparking. “When you back, Dad?” Cordell asked. “Soon, and not alone,” Snoop replied. At the hotel, Shante supported bringing Vernell to California. “It’s healing something broken,” she assured. The return flight buzzed with Vernell’s nervous excitement for Long Beach after decades.
Family Reconciliation
At Beverly’s, tension hung as she and Vernell faced each other on the porch. “You look well,” they exchanged stiffly. Inside, at the kitchen table, Beverly admitted, “I should’ve given Calvin your letters.” Vernell agreed, “I should’ve fought harder to be there.” “We both made mistakes,” Beverly said, gesturing to Snoop. “But look at him. We did something right.” “That’s your doing,” Vernell credited. Snoop interjected, “The past is past. Healing matters now.” Painful yet cathartic talk stretched into evening—apologies, forgiveness, a beginning. Beverly privately asked, “Still angry?” “I was,” Snoop replied. “But life’s too short for anger, Mama. You taught me that.”
Weeks later, Vernell settled into Snoop’s guest house, embraced by grandchildren. Cordell recorded family stories. One evening by the pool, Snoop proposed a new legacy. “Not that Mississippi land, but new agricultural land here, honoring our roots, with our name,” he told Vernell. “I want you involved.” Vernell laughed, “I’m no farmer, just mail-sorted for 30 years.” “But you know our history,” Snoop insisted. “That’s the foundation.”
A New Legacy
Six months later, on a crisp fall day, Vernado Family Farms launched in Ventura County—50 acres, a reclamation of lost inheritance. Under a tent, family, friends, and associates gathered. Beverly and Vernell, now cordial, watched Snoop speak. “This land isn’t just investment; it’s honoring Mississippi roots lost to us,” he said. “Thanks to my father, I know where I come from; thanks to my mother, I forge ahead.” Applause rose as he outlined sustainable crops, community gardens, and youth programs.
Dr. Dre nodded approval, a longtime ally. “In hip-hop, we talk keeping it real,” Snoop continued. “I wasn’t with myself, building a half-story of my origins. Truth is complicated; secrets damage. This farm grows from old roots—a legacy of truth and healing.” Cordell gifted a bound book, “Letters to His Son: The Vernado-Broadus Family Story,” blending Vernell’s letters with photos across generations. Snoop, speechless, traced pages of a whole narrative.
At sunset, walking the land with Vernell, Snoop reflected. “Your grandfather would be proud,” Vernell said. “It’s just the beginning,” Snoop replied. Beverly joined, marveling, “All this from our little boy.” “Our boy,” Vernell echoed. Snoop embraced both, feeling life’s circle close and open. From Long Beach streets to global fame, family anchored him. His mother’s secret, once an earthquake, built new stability. On Vernado Family Farms, past reconnected, future shared, the story of truth and redemption began anew.
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