“You have to fight the system!” she’d yell. “Fight the Man!” This would set off a barrage of laughing commentary from my elder siblings, gurus of life and wisdom who had seen and done it all. “Yes, but is the Man you? Or are you the Man?” “Do you mean the Man, or the Wo-man!” “Who is the Man…?” “But are you the Main Man…?” (Sung) “When a maaan loves a wooomannnn!!” These goof sessions, which almost always ended as earnest talks on civil rights, often went on until Mommy got home from work.
