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I Don 't Know About The Man Stuff

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On the eve of my twelfth birthday, my father sat me down and gave me a good talking to- He says, Mary Amelia; his using my full name and not what everyone usually calls me had me paying attention right away. He says, you’re my only daughter and you’re about to become a young woman. I don’t know much about what I, as a father, should tell you; however, with your momma gone, I feel it is my responsibility to say something in the way of trying to prepare you for womanhood… Now, I don’t know anything about all that woman stuff, he says, you’ll have to talk to your grandma Becky, Aunt Georgiana, or Jenny about that. I didn’t tell him, but that woman stuff happened well before our talk that day, and it scared the dickens out of me! There is something I want you to know though, he says, and me being a man, I know about the man stuff. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but men are vulgar creatures, Molly. Don’t let your head be turned by just any boy you pass on the street. Even here in Butler County, they all only want one thing, he said, and that is to lay you down and have their way with you. It’s funny how that complete conversation came to me as my cousin Jenny and I walked down Jepson Street past the new variety store, on our way to the mercantile. We had walked to town to pick up the material we ordered last month to make new dresses for the annual ‘End of Harvest’ celebration we have here each year. Butler County, the place we live, is like most sparsely populated

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