Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,12

film. I never did know how he and Dad met. But it was clear that they liked each other and even clearer that Dad gave Vinnie infinite respect. As they really liked each other, Vinnie grew closer to me and my mom, too.

Sometimes we had lunch with Uncle Vinnie at Midtown Italian restaurants. Sometimes we visited him at home in Queens. Uncle Vinnie was enthralled by my mother. He respected her and appreciated her class and beauty. When she came along on those evenings, he went the extra mile to find the super-exclusive restaurant, the best table, the finest wine. When she spoke, he’d wait for the words to fall from her lips. He often brought her a gift, an Hermès scarf or a bottle of Chanel No. 5. She couldn’t help but like him.

Uncle Vinnie made an impression. Big guy, salty New York accent, and always sweet to me. I liked his enigmatic aura. I also liked how he always put Dad in a good mood. My father got off on being around power. No matter the location, Uncle Vinnie held court, surrounded by huge platters of pasta and his entourage of cronies. I saw his importance when, during one of our lunches, Sammy Davis Jr. showed up, headed straight to our table, and, before greeting anyone else, kissed Uncle Vinnie on both cheeks.

Uncle Vinnie was a fixture in our life. His light shone bright, and his presence was as rooted as a tree. My father told me Vinnie was my godfather and that he would always have my back.

GODMOTHER

My mom blessed me with five godmothers. Without the presence of strong, beautiful Black women, I definitely wouldn’t be who I am. Their positive and nurturing Black female energy came from the center of the universe. And that energy surrounded me.

I was an only child but never felt alone because my mother had carefully woven a close-knit group of the world’s most impressive aunties. I cannot exaggerate the comfort I felt knowing that these forces of nature were looking out for my well-being.

First, Cicely Tyson. Before I understood the true depth of her glamour and her icon status, I knew only that she reminded me of my mom—something about their physicality and the way they both held themselves. Godmother Cicely felt like home, right from the first hug. She lived at Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Ninth Street. Roxie and Cicely were soul sisters. It was Mom who had replaced her in Jean Genet’s The Blacks at the St. Mark’s Playhouse. We never went to Godmother Cicely’s apartment. No one did. She came to us. The fact that her place was off bounds to the outside world only added to her mystique.

I always looked up to Godmother Cicely, but it wasn’t until I saw her in The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman that I realized her profound genius. I’d read about slavery in school and of course talked about it with my family at home, but I had never seen it reflected on-screen. And when I did, I was amazed, saddened, and then enraged. Even now, I can see the scene in my head as clear as day when the now-ancient Miss Pittman takes that agonizingly long walk to reach the whites-only water fountain. Epic.

Second, there was the brilliant Aunt Shauneille. Shauneille Perry and Mom had attended Howard together and studied at the same theater company in Copenhagen. Aunt Shauneille had a love and understanding of the arts that launched her to become one of the voices of her generation. She became a prominent director, writer, and actor, and her home at 444 Central Park West became a cultural mecca, the unofficial headquarters of the Black Arts Movement. On any given day, I’d be sitting in the corner of Aunt Shauneille’s living room while Nikki Giovanni read her poetry aloud or ensembles rehearsed plays. I loved the drama. These artists were filled with energy and optimism—and Mom was in the middle of it all. Energy and optimism were two of her strongest traits. I studied at that school.

Aunt Shauneille’s enormous living room housed a tall avocado tree, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, paintings, and gorgeous African masks that mesmerized me. Shauneille named her daughter after her first cousin, Lorraine Hansberry, author of the immortal play A Raisin in the Sun, who served as inspiration for Nina Simone’s song “Young, Gifted and Black.” The first African American woman to have a play on Broadway, Hansberry was one of the leading lights of our literary culture. She