Early one morning long before the break of dawn, I woke up from a seemingly restful sleep.  I tossed and turned untl I was too irriated by my thougts to toss or turn again.  I was not willing to give up sleep to go to my computer and pour my thought onto the page.  Nevertheless, my thoughts forced me up, reluctantly,  and before I knew it, my fingers were pounding away at the keys.  This is what came out.

It was an era of assassinations. Black society was being assassinated. The Black man was assassinated. Malcolm X was assassinated. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Even the white president who Blacks thought was our friend was assassinated because he wanted to help us. I was a child during this era of our history. During that time there were skeletons in my family’s closet that seemed to stick out their heads and peek at the rest of us.

My father, Billy Mitchell Boisseau, a legend created in his mind and mine. He was musician, daddy, teacher, father, and husband to mama, and others I hear; he was  master drummer, friend, and provider. He combed my hair before he walked me to school everyday. He taught me how to read. He helped me with my homework then he cooked chicken, corn, and corn bread for dinner. He made sure Mama ate some before he left to go to his gig. She was sick and didn’t go to work. Daddy read to me that night and made sure I practiced my piano lessons before I went to bed. he love for me to play the piano. Daddy took just me on Saturdays, he took me to piano lessons, we walked and he talked to me, said he was to make I knew everything he knew about life. He promised me that. Every Saturday he took me out. After piano lessons we had ice cream, went to the record shop, and stopped by Eboo’s house, his mother.

If I had to suffer then so was somebody else.   So I made a point of teaching my little sister Linda, whom everyone called Whinney or the Wind Demon because she always had a lot of gas.  Everything I learned that week at my piano lesson I taught her. The windowsill in the front of the house was her keyboard. I wouldn’t let her use my piano for practice. I told her not to tell Mama I drew her practice keyboard on the windowsill under the curtains Mama made. I deemed her too young and not ready to play my instrument. Daddy bought it for me. He said it was my special tool that kept he and I linked together as one. But I wanted to play the drum, that’s what he played, that’s what he was good at, that’s what I wanted to mimic. I wanted to be like him but I was not his son, I was his daughter and he said girls don’t play the drums. When he wasn’t looking I jammed those things though. I heard him hollar out, Shelly  ( that was me, Michelle,  named after daddy and I useta could jam those drums). 

"Is that you in there on my drums." hollad my daddy

I’d hollar back, "Nah daddy, that’s Mitchell" (He was my little brother, named after my daddy too, and he was not interested in playing daddy’s drums).

Daddy knew it was me, but my answer always satisfied him and I continued to jam his drums. Mitchell never said a word, I wondered why, I didn’t even have to tell him to shut up. I didn’t want to play the piano and he didn’t want to play the drums.

I heard Daddy talking real loud about somebody killed a man he called Malcolm X. I didn’t know who he was. Daddy told his friend Guy that the White Man killed Mr. Malcolm.

"Who was the White Man?" I didn’t know who he was either! I had never seen Mr. Malcolm X or the White Man.!

I wondered why daddy never talked about them before. He talked to everybody on Saturday when we went to my piano lesson, I never saw him talk to Mr. Malcolm X or the White Man.

Daddy didn’t comb my hair that week. I had to walk to school by myself. He didn’t cook us no chicken. He didn’t cook us no corn and he didn’t cook us no corn bread. Mama was up walking slow talking quiet. I think she was crying too last night. I think she was sick because of that new baby she brought home when daddy picked her up from the hospital. They called her Lisa. Boy could she cry! She cried all night that week. I was tired of her because she made Mama scream at me. And now I had to take care of Mitchell and Linda.

"I aint no mama!" "and if I was, I would have not brought that little crying baby girl to my house!"

I heard Mama, Auntie Maxcine, and Aunt Mattie screaming about the White Man who killed Mr. Malcolm X too. Did the White Man kill Daddy? He didn’t bring no bags of food this week. He didn’t cook us no dinner, he didn’t read to me, he didn’t make me practice my piano lesson, and he even told Mama to make sure she took me to piano lessons next Saturday. She didn’t and I knew Daddy was going to be mad. The last piano lesson I went to was the one last week when he made mama cry after we came back. Then that baby started to cry again too. Daddy didn’t come home from his gig. Did the White Man assassinate him too? Mama and that baby wouldn’t stop crying, Auntie Maxcine and Auntie Mattie wouldn’t go home. They stayed in the kitchen all day talking about my Daddy and making my mama cry some more. I wished they would shut up and go home. I wished my daddy would come and comb my hair it didn’t never hurt when he combed it.

I woke up one night relieved when I heard my Daddy’s voice. Now I knew the White Man didn’t kill him and Auntie Maxcine and Aunt Mattie went home. But he was screaming at Mama and she was crying again. She asked Daddy where his money was.

"Did you get paid, you got babies to feed, why you working for nothing, that don’t make no sense"

"I got paid", daddy screamed back. "I got paid in p- - - y"

"What’s that?" "P- - - y, I wonder if Daddy gave Mama some to pay for my piano lesson, Mama said she didn’t take me because she didn’t have no money to pay for it."

They kept screaming, that baby was screaming in there, daddy wouldn’t stop screaming, mama wouldn’t stop hollering and she wouldn’t stop crying, I don’t know why daddy is so mad, how come Mama talking to back to him like that, she never talked back to him before, and they always argued in their room with the door closed so we and we couldn’t hardly hear what they said!

I got scared and took  Whinney and Mitchell and we hid behind the refrigerator cause daddy was fight and he was fighting Mama. He was never fighting Mama before. How could he come home from his gig and not talk to me. He always kissed me and said "hey Shelly Bones" when he came home from his gig. This man who was fighting Mama in there was not MY daddy!

I almost wished the White Man did assassinate him like he assassinated Mr. Malcolm X, whoever he was!

 My sister is going to have a stroke when she finds out I gave away more of my words.  LO  LOL  LOL   Again, I couldn't help it!