Extemporaneous musings, occasionally poetic, about life in its richly varied dimensions, especially as relates to history, theology, law, literature, science, by one who is an attorney, ordained minister, historian, writer, and African American.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
THE TALK
"THE TALK"
When I was about 12 years old, I found an empty prophylactic (rubbers) wrapper in our bathroom at home.
When I asked Daddy what it was, He responded "Don't worry about what no G--D propolaxis," as he snatched it away from me and walked away.
Such went "The Talk" for me.
In truth, some boys of my age in our St. Louis locality, had already begun to carry prophylactics in their wallets, as had I, just in case!
But, as Richard Pryor or Redd Foxx, or some black comedian had once famously stated: "Back in those days, very few sisters were giving it up. In fact, young brothers like me were 'seeing no parts of pussy.'"
Indeed, I carried mine in my billfold for so long, that a circular imprint was visible on the wallet's exterior!