To the Editor:
As a four-year-old toddler, I knew what it took to know how to act in a field of knowledge. One lazy summer afternoon, me and Bobby are sitting on the backdoor steps, waiting for any kid, known or not known to come by to play. From a distance I could see some type of prospect headed in our direction. As he got closer, I could tell it was Miss Agness’ nephew, Fats Fernandez. Fats was Spanish, but he hardly spoke it at all. Anyway, Fats was huffin’ and puffin’ on his daddy’s cigarette butt. He offered me a drag, which I of course accepted. You don’t turn down a chance to be one of the boys, so I took a big drag, and handed it back to Fats. Bobby said nothin’, and did not ask for a drag I kept waitin’ for Fats to leave so I could go throw up, but he kept hangin’ around. We had a big persimmon tree in our backyard. Bobby and Fats started shakin’ limbs, and finally got three persimmons. If Fat’s cigarette didn’t turn my mouth inside-out, somethin’ else was about to. But I did get to throw up. Fats never questioned my shortcomings in digestion. Folks, if you pick up a persimmon, and any part is still green, walk softly, but carry a big bucket.