Warranted...

I don't remember much about the day. School was just starting. I was 16 and dreaming that a girl would creep through my bedroom window and strip for no discernable reason and crawl into my bed. I listened to alot of David Lee Roth, but mostly cause it was the only tape I had.

The afternoons were filled with me dragging myself home across a mile of dirt and thorns, the streets lined with broken fraternity houses openly mocking my future and present in one awesome display. Sometimes young women would be helping them wash their cars. And, of course, they were wearing white t-shirts. Probably with wacky slogans like "I'm easy!" on them.

I was so pent up I could cry. The only girl showing any interest in me picked her nose. And kicked me in the crotch.

I crawled home that day. Feeling dark, feeling like prodding something with 4 feet of sharp metal until it stopped crying. I flopped on the couch, where TV was on. Dad was on the well-worn recliner that was his, remote at hand. He was in jeans and a button up shirt, blue plaid.

A Mrs. Smith commercial came on, ending with a long shot of their cherry pie. And my dad interjects, "and every man loves a good cherry pie!"

I can feel my face turning red, my lips pursing, my cheeks bulging... he's hit the ticklish spot and I run to my room to avoid the torrent of laughter that threatens to rip me open. I sink to the floor, great gasps, chuckles, giggling, raw guffaws echoing in the small bedroom. I'm blind with tears of mirth when I finally calm down.

From my father, who must be talking to Mom, I hear: "Think he knows?"

And it was an awakening. Probably on both sides, since he started handing me condoms and expecting me to know the scene, but it brought me to that point where I realized that my father must've been in the same position, that he had grown up, learned about sex, probably done about the same thing in front of his father.