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of brilliance. My son preparing to follow in my footsteps. A talking. A haranguer. Poet laureate of Swann Rd. No dice. One of the wise women on the front row looked at me, "Is he okay?" I'm like,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Is he okay? Is he okay? He cool--hold up, wait, what's the smell, ah noooooooo."And this is fatherhood right here. He looks at me, "Daddy, I gotta go potty." Kids are really good at giving you that piece of wisdom five minutes too late. Anyway, we went to the bathroom,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and I managed to clean him up and clean out his clothes in about ten minutes flat. A true feat, for me.Back in the room I was asked, "What will you do if your son starts to bend the wrong corners like you did?" I stared at her. My fingers still seemed to have a trace of my boy's number two, though I'd just washed my hands and his hands six times. "Are you serious?" I told her what I'd gone through in the bathroom. Told her about catching little homie's throw-up on the side of 50 headed to Annapolis