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Whore or Prostitute (by Frankie Dawson)

I was already warned about being called a “whore or prostitute” by my Aunt Lou who lived in Chicago, Illinois.

Photo of Sergeant Frankie Dawson

When she heard I was going into the military, she sent me a train ticket to Chicago, so I could visit one of those all girl colleges with all the skinny virgins. Didn’t she know I was still a virgin? Must not have. I guess she thought the military would make me something the high school where I graduate from was already famous for.

I didn't like Chicago

I didn’t like the trains and the smell of the fumes they emit. There was always a gray haze on my clothes. But I did like the people. They were so accepting. Maybe because they went to Aunt Lou and Uncle Frank’s church. I could tell they had a lot of respect for them.

I don’t remember the name of the girl college, but I do remember the smugness of the young women. The campus looked like some glorified church. The girls were so proper with their speech that it hurt my ears. Maybe they thought my parents had some money and I was just visiting. Whatever, I knew I didn’t fit.

I wanted to go back home to Texas where it was flat and wide open, and good ole fashioned “I don’t like you, git out of my face” openness.

I don’t know what Aunt Lou was trying to convey to me by me go all the way to Chicago. What was the point of it? My folks couldn’t afford to send me there. She sho’ as hell wasn’t going to pay my tuition. Maybe she was showing me what I would be missing.

Well, let me go on record saying, I’m glad I went into the military. I’m glad I chose the Air Force. I’d do it again if I had the chance. I’d do it again. Did I become a whore or prostitute? Only in another person’s mind.

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