I had everything and luck: Rings of smoke blown for me; sunlight safe inside the leaves of cottonwoods; pure, simple harmonies of church music, echoes of slave songs; scraps of candy wrappers -- airborne. Everything. Mother and father, brother, aunts, uncles; chores and schoolwork and playtime. Everything. I was given gloves against winter cold. I was made to wear gloves when I gardened. I was made to garden; taught to hold forks in my left hand when cutting, in my right when bringing food to my mouth. Everything. I had clothes I was told not to wear outside; a face you could clean up almost handsome; I had friends to fight with and secrets, spread all over the neighborhood; the best teachers, white and colored. I'm not making this up. I knew that I had everything. Still do.