Why Is No One Talking About The Sexual Abuse Of Black Boys

I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never attended a slumber party. Growing up, my mother didn’t play about her children being unsupervised around adults she barely knew. This meant sleepovers were simply out of the question. Knowing this, I still tried my luck a few times in high school, thinking it was more of a maturity concern than anything else. I’d prepare for all the preliminary questions, hoping thoroughness might earn me a different outcome.

Whose party was it?

Where did she stay?

Who all lived there?

What was her mom’s name?

What’s her mom’s phone number?

*Bonus Question: Is she one of the little “fast” ones?

It was embarrassing having to jump through hoops to participate in every day adolescent activities, but eventually I knew what to expect and so did my friends. It typically took a day or so for my mom to render her verdict. But first she’d excitedly tell me how so and so’s auntie, who used to attend our old church before she became a Jehovah’s Witness, had an uncle that was married to my first cousin. That cousin just so happened to be related to the birthday girl through marriage on her daddy’s side, making us something like fourth cousins, once removed. Oh, and I still couldn’t go.