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classmate standing there. The boy asked if I was home. Daddy was sitting nearby, and Al, realizing what was about to happen to the poor guy, just chuckled.
    “Who did he say he wanted to talk to?” my father shouted.
    “He said he wants to talk to Jackie!” Al hollered back.
    Hearing this, I ran into the room. Daddy got up off the sofa, stomped over to the door and stood behind my brother. “Boy, do you know what time it is?” he asked. “Don't ever come to my house at no nine-thirty at night and ask to see my daughter!” He slammed the door in his face as Al's laughter filled the house.
    It was humiliating—for me and for my friend. But we eventually started dating. He was on the basketball team and we shot hoops together at the Community Center. I liked him because we shared a common interest in athletics. My mother grew to like him because he was courteous and obeyed her rule that I be home by 10:00 P.M. after our dates. She called him a “gentleman.”
    But as his graduation approached in the spring, the guy wanted to start a sexual relationship, which I promptly reported to Momma.
    “No, no, no,” she said, vigorously shaking her head. “We are
not
making any babies in this house. If he wants sex, he can get it from someone else. You have too much to do in life. You don't have time to bring any babies into this world now.”
    I was head over heels for the guy. Still, I wasn't ready for anything serious. He said he wanted to date other girls, which I didn't like, but felt powerless to prevent. Several months later I heard that the girl he was seeing was pregnant. That night I sat in my bedroom and cried. Although we'd broken up, his actions felt like a betrayal. Momma came into my room and sat beside me. I told her what happened as she wiped away my tears. “I know it hurts now,” she said in a soft voice. “But the pain will go away and you'll see that you made the right decision.”
    After work each evening, my father stopped in front of the liquor store and tavern across the street from our house to get the lowdown on the day's developments from Squirrel and Doug. Inside the house, we heard his deep baritone chuckle as the group traded laughs, gossiped and argued about sports. Then he walked across the street carrying his lunchbox, waved to our neighbor, Mrs. Newman, and climbed the porch steps to the front door.
    Daddy had a reputation as a quick-tempered, tough guy around the south side of East St. Louis. A lot of men feared A. J. Joyner because he followed the code of the street: Hit me, and I'll hit you back harder. It wasn't just talk. A drunk stumbled out of the tavern late one night and tried to break into our house. My father scared him away before he could steal anything or do any damage. The next day, however, Daddy found the man and, according to street legend, badly beat him up. No one messed with A.J. or his family.
    My father had a tender side he rarely revealed. One of the first, and few, times I recall seeing it was early one fall morning when I was a second-grader. Al had come into my bedroom and said it was time to get dressed for school. Though it was still dark outside, at that age I believed everything my big brother told me. I got dressed and went into the kitchen for breakfast. Daddy had just come in from work. “What are you doing up? It's three in the morning!” he demanded.
    “Al told me it was time to go to school,” I explained helplessly.
    “Come over here and let me teach you to tell time so he won't fool you anymore,” he said.
    He hoisted me onto his knee and, pointing to the clock on the wall, explained all about the hours and minutes and short hands and long hands.
    My father also had a childlike, playful streak. Several times a year, he gave my mother a breather and drove Al, Debra, Angie and me to the Six Flags amusement park in St. Louis. He enjoyed the rides as much as we did, especially the roller coasters. He read comic books along with Al. And he relished