SWEET SIXTEEN
Today’s contributor learns age is a more than just a number
Sixteen. No one can tell you anything once you turn sixteen. It was summer, which meant dark skin, short skirts, brand new sneakers and door knocker earrings with my name in it (hey, that was the style back then). I’d walk to the bus stop, with a nice little sashay, to see which cutie would stop me.
Eventually one of the guys from the neighborhood barbershop paid me some attention—and I liked it. “Oh wow, I thought you were nineteen,” he said to me after I told him how old I was. He said he was 23, but that didn’t matter, I was sixteen and could handle anything.