Even though I missed my mother, I received plenty of mothering from my family and our close-knit community. They always gave me plenty of encouragement. They would say things like; “You got something boy, something deep down inside, that will take you to the top.” They would tell me, I must grow up to be a “credit to the race.”

There was honest joy and laughter in their homes. There was folk-wit and stories, and plenty of good down-home food. There were all kinds of songs and singing—songs of love and longing, of trials and triumphs, gospels and blues, and so on. On Sunday mornings my soul was filled with their harmonies and rhythms. The fascinating rhythms of the preachers and the poetic mastery of those like my father.