Daddy and the Hit Men

I met them farther back than I remember: the men who told me stories and played magic and card tricks. One had a little toy mouse - putting on these shows for me while I sat at the kitchen table. There was Shorty and Boots and S, and Kneupel and Bessie's boyfriend from Chicago.

I never questioned the men or stopped to think that I was just a little girl or that I had a very beautiful mother whose attention they hoped to get. But the men would always become my best of friends while she was far too busy dashing about – drawing, painting, designing dresses, fixing electrical problems, and helping all the people who knew LaVerne was the only person who could solve their problems. I rarely saw her except when she appeared to tell me I should eat or sleep. She was this brightly-colored dragonfly that flew through the house. It confused me when she'd yell at me suddenly because I just didn't know who she was or where she came from when she suddenly appeared. I watched the other people marvel that she flew at the speed of light. Then admiring voices would say “Only LaVerne can do everything.”

But the men I loved and always would. They were and would remain the most entertaining, sincere beings in my world. That's why one day when I eventually acquired what we call a “father” and he told me that sometimes some of his nicest friends would throw something on someone's porch, and that would indicate a hit was coming, I didn't even know what a "hit" meant. And of his many friends, not one of them seemed capable of killing someone. Years later my girlfriends would say “That explains the way you are with men.”