Validation Denied Grace Bestowed

J.P. and I, ages four and six respectively, were home alone again, this time for the second or third day in a row. Then there was a knock, the firm, authoritative kind. It's usually the cops in these situations, as was the case in ours. Much to my brother's chagrin, and to my secret relief, I opened the door.

We were bounced from home to home amongst relatives who, I believe, creatively shielded us from the pain and revolution of the sixties because I didn't get the honorable chance to march nor raise my little fist and holler the words, Black Power! I never felt poor, I was healthy and smart and things just seemed wonderful. So, I was fine, as long as I was with family, especially Daddy. I was his little girl, his princess. He made me feel like a queen. Then one day I was dethroned.