My delightful friend, Becky, shared a story about her simultaneous introduction to the birds and bees and graphic language. At the tender age of four, she was playing with little Jimmy next door. He showed her his prize package and asked to see hers. She thought it was weird and wanted no part of “it.”
After showing her his big news, he told her. “When you show somebody your penis, you are f—-ing!”
His mother got suspicious and showed up just in time to hear that.
She tore into her son and told Becky. I’m gonna tell your grandma what y’all were doing.”
The child was the type who preferred to tell on herself rather than have the neighbor tell on her. She rushed in crying to her grandma.
“Jimmy’s mama is gonna tell on me!”
“Why?” queried Grandma. “What did y’all do?”
“We were f—-ing.” shied boo-hooed.
Assuming the little ones had actually done the deed, Grandma went ballistic without investigating. She tore into the Becky and confined her to her room.
When Becky’s mom got home from work, Grandma met her at the door with the awful news.
Mom talked her down, telling her hey needed to talk to Becky. Happily, the situation was quickly cleared up and they learned there was nothing to worry about, except to make sure Becky knew not to play show and tell.
In some ways, my older sister Phyllis was a parent’s dream. She would walk a mile to follow a rule and was always on the lookout to alert my parents of mine and Billy’s actual or suspected transgressions. We must have been satisfying siblings to a natural-born tattler. On occasion she would report, “Linda did such and such.”
Nutsrok 