Phillip Morris wrote a column in my hometown paper about a sexually-active 14-year old named Brent who refuses to wear a condom. Morris bemoans the carelessness of this pubescent Pootie Tang and scolds parents of young boys like Brent, whose ignorance contributes to the spread of AIDS and the proliferation of single mothers in low income black neighborhoods. He whips out the stats: one out of four American teenage girls has at least one sexually transmitted disease, one out of every two black teenage girls has a sexually transmitted infection. They are undeniable, it's true.
Shame on you, Brent.
Missing from his commentary was the specs on Brent's solar powered, remote-controlled leg-opener. You know, the one he and every other black guy evidently points at young ladies to magically make them lower their inhibitions and be absolved of all responsibility. Phil is content to demonize young men who "capture the gaze of willing girls, often beneath the gaze of distracted parents." He paints the girls as victims with no free will of their own. He doesn't give young girls much credit. Phil has given into the hysteria and near-universal fear of the black penis -- full of secrets, disease and the power to render women helpless.
Aside from a being the best writer, pound for pound, living in Cleveland (I currently reside in Tallahassee), Morris is the doting, proud, protective father of a 9-year old daughter; this is not unrelated to his hysteria. In addition to my two kings, I have a young princess as well, so I feel his pain. I have a stake in the veracity of his thesis, coming and going. My boys were born to mack (in the genes, I imagine), and my daughter is a natural beauty. It won't be long before little boys come calling. But the difference between me and Phil is this: I'm not going to rely on single mothers to talk to their sons about sexual responsibility. Mainly because Moms is not home or awake enough between jobs to have that talk, and sadly, her sexual choices have not always above reproach.
Me? I'm going to teach my little girl to respect herself enough to protect herself and govern her own sexuality. I'm going to make sure my daughter knows The Deal and has enough Game to neutralize Game. I want her control her hormones and the ability to fight off—physically, if necessary--the hormones of others. I'd like to ask her to abstain, but this will be hard this age when oral sex can make Daddy's Little Girl rich and famous. I don't have the solution, but it's not about putting the onus on young men so horny they can't see straight.
Daddies have two jobs, as I see it: keep our daughters off the pole and put them on The Pill. But that isn't enough. I keep my boys in check, Jack. But we really gotta talk to our girls.
The times being the way they are, we must have a whole new kind of birds and bees conversation with our girls as they become young women: No film, no pictures and no sex without a condom.
