When I was growing up, "Mr. James" would come to our house. For a long time I didn't understand the relationship between that black man and my Mom and Dad. They acted respectful to him and it was like he had some control. He often sat beside Mom on the sofa and put his hands on her sometimes. Then at some point he and Mom would go down the hall to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Dad would try to occupy my attention by playing games with me or watching something on TV with me or taking me outside for a walk. When we didn't go outside, though, I always could hear the springs in Mom and Dad's old bed. I was afraid to ask what was going on. When Mom and Mr. James came back out, she usually looked kind of red in her face. Mr James would leave and things would get normal again. When I got older, of course, I found out what was happening.