This is me pictured with my cousin Cathy on a visit to their family in Baton Rouge. On this memorable trip, I was first introduced to grits. It was instant love. A year or two later Cathy told me Superman had killed himself. I was sincerely devastated. If Superman couldn’t deal, what hope was there for the rest of us?
I was almost named Clothilde. (KLO-TEEL. Wouldn’t have taken mean kids long to rename Kotex) So were my three sisters. No matter what heinous deed my mother may have committed or may commit in the future, I forgive her because she stuck up for me when it really mattered. Daddy was raised in North Louisiana during the deepest of the Depression, one of seven children always on the brink of starvation. His father either rented a farm or sharecropped when he couldn’t manage rent. Daddy didn’t speak often about his family’s situation, but occasionally slipped up and revealed the difficulties they suffered. They were a troubled family, economically and socially and moved frequently. Continue reading