I Wasn't Certain Of Anything Anymore, Except

One Day When I Was Fourteen, I Told Charlie That I Hated Mother. “don’t Hate Her, Jo,” He Told Me. “feel Sorry For Her. She’s Not Near As Smart As You. She Wasn’t Born With Your Compass, So She Wanders Around, Bumping Into All Sorts Of Walls. That’s Sad.” I Understood What He Meant, And It Made Me See Mother Differently. But Wasn’t There Some Sort Of Rule That Said Parents Had To Be Smarter Than Their Kids? It Didn’t Seem Fair.

I Stared At The Enormous Homes, The Landscaping And Flower Beds Immaculate. It Was As If Dollar Bills, Instead Of Leaves, Hung From The Trees.

Sometimes Kindness Can Be Delivered In A Clumsy Way. But It's Far More Sincere In Its Clumsiness Than Those Distinguished Men You Read About In Books. Your Father Was Very Clumsy.

What Was Life Asking Of Me? How Could I Respond When I Didn't Know The Question?

We All Laced Together—a Brothel Madam, An English Professor, A Mute Cook, A Quadroon Cabbie, And Me, The Girl Carrying A Bucket Of Lies And Throwing Them Like Confetti.