"Take your time young man...momma used to say..."

Cox says that there is really no way to get around it. When I asked him if knowing of this obstacle ahead of time allowed cooler heads to prevail he said, quite assuredly, "No."

We used one Sunday evening conversation in a series of many to talk about anticipation as it relates to women. See, he and I have been almost equally engaged by the sorcery of the female mystique for as long as we have known each other. Simply put, we appreciate a good woman. And we are good men. And if there is anything to tell a good story about it is good women and good men.

We matured in a climate that was greatly accostomed to the breath takingly beautiful, often overdressed African American woman. Fine as all outdoors. So there were always plenty of good stories about plenty of good women.

Amongst these women were great men, who conquered them. In this instance conquered is not sexual, it is not emotional, it is spiritual. Spirits were conquered. Not broken, but opened. What closed women of this caliber was their aloofness. But men of greatness had audience with them if only for a short while. It was these men who carried their stories, to younger maturing boys like ourselves. Though we knew we'd grow into the great men who'd become heroes of our own stories told at reunions and weddings, we were still just boys.

Every now and then one of the great men with whom we'd aligned ourselves would take us along on his journeys through the woods, giving us responsibilities we could be proud of and recongized by. They would tell great stories of how we reminded them of who they were before they became what they swore they would. So when we met great women along the way, we could be identified as important as well. We were the future, as promised by the present. We were the young apprentices; boys whose promise shined brightly. And people would notice.

Then one day on a journey through the woods I found myself alone. Though I knew this day would come for all of us, I was shocked when it arrived. I was no longer with the great men. I was the lone great man, recently grown. Standing in the clearing was a woman, occupied by her own growth, seemingly unaware of my presence. Suddenly and alarmingly she turned.

"My how you've grown. What brings you to these woods--alone?" she inquires.

I did not know what to say. I wanted her to know everything about me that others had always said would make me great. And now that I was, I feared I wouldn't have anyway to show her. I feared I wouldn't have as much time as I had with all those who saw my greatness develop. I feared my audience with her would not last long enough.

"I am back for you. I am now skilled enough to escort you back through the woods," I said.

"You are not the timid boy I once knew. Where will you escort me?" she dared.

"It has been years. I have come to take you to a hillside where daylight lasts long enough to see the sun's last courtship of the sky. And in the years that follow you can come to know the great man I have become."

So often when you meet this woman, one who you are sure has heard so much about you as well--you over act. You try too hard to be everything that she has been told you were. You fails to take into consideration that the stories that have been shared about you are the result of a set of experiences amassed over the sum total of months, perhaps even years.

Good luck with this one Smitty.