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but with this woman, Mom went totally off. However, there was one thing that Mom and these women seemed to agree upon after all was said and done … that Roosevelt Worthy was the throw-down, get the job done, turn-you-out king in bed.
    Sometimes we knew Dad had done something shady just by the look on Mom’s face, but usually it was because we overheard them late at night. She hoped that my sister and I didn’t notice his indiscretions, and since I was the male, I believe she definitely didn’t want me to adopt his irresponsible ways. Oh well, who knew?
    Anyway, I attended Westchester High School in California. Somehow I managed to stay on the honor roll, and then I accepted a baseball scholarship to the University of Santa Barbara, but only stayed there for one year. The truth is, compared to all of the athletically gifted kids at my school, I sucked at baseball at that level, but what I was good at was learning and remembering without having to study. You tell me something once and I get it. I think I have a photographic memory for everything.
    After battling between whether to go to Moore-house or Yale, or staying local, I got accepted to USC, where I graduated with honors, and where Ialso earned my medical degree from USC’s School of Medicine. I spent the next five years of general surgery residency at Stanford University School of Medicine, and then three years of fellowship in cardiothoracic surgery at Loma Linda University. I’m an attending cardiac surgeon, so I am a faculty member, and it pays very well. But, my goal is to be the chief of cardiothoracic surgery, still an attending surgeon so that I can keep up with clinicals, but also in charge of financial and administrative aspects. That’s where the real money is.
    My mother took a stenographer course when we moved to L.A. and made fairly good money working for the courts downtown. And she even ended up marrying about ten years ago, so now she can think about retiring since she’s creeping up on sixty. I take care of her financially anyway, whether she can pay her bills or not, so I don’t know why she doesn’t just quit her job. This dude, Mr. Cotton, had better look after her a little bit better because she sometimes complains about pain under her left arm and terrible headaches, but he stays in the garage working on his vintage Studebaker. He’s a retired manager for the auto club. He can make that car more important all he wants. I’m keeping an eye on both of them.
    I’m glad that Mom found a mate, actually. Even though I think she could have done better than that old geezer husband of hers. But, who am I to talk? At least he’s tied the knot.
    I never had a steady girlfriend while in high school or college, but I was popular with the ladies. I experimented with Asian and white women, whom I liked just fine, and sexy Hispanicwomen are cool, too, very close to black women, but my preference is for my dark and lovely or light and fine, ladies of color … my hot and sassy sisters.
    No desire for kids, really. I’ve managed to remain childless. I always wear my hat, unlike my father. No one is going to claim that I’m their father, some adult child coming up to me at the age of twenty, telling me I dated their mother and that I owe them something for missing out. I heard that my father went through that enough. After he got older and stopped driving rigs, I heard that a few scorned members of his female fan club would sometimes call the oldies radio station where he worked part-time as a disc jockey, confronting him on the air. He’d calmly disconnect them, saved by the profanity delay switch. He always seemed to get away with his philandering ways.
    You see, even though my father was only married twice, dude has fifty-six sons and seventy-eight daughters … that he knows of. And he even casually claims to have dated some three hundred forty women, and admits to impregnating over one hundred of them, some more than once like my mother. And the