OUTDOOR PLUMBING

    ON OCTOBER 11, a cold overcast Monday in 1999, I was visiting my godson Adam and his family at their home in Springfield, Virginia. His mother and I spent the morning navigating shopping centers in the Washington area. After only one or two malls, I was wiped out. When we got back to the house, I crashed on the blue leather couch and took a nap.

    I AWOKE when Adam, not quite four years old, crawled over the couch. He wedged himself between my back and the cushions. Then, like a cat, he went motionless. Feelilng his warm baby breath on my face, I opened my eyes. Adam's face was about four inches from mine. He looked at me intently, guilelessly, hardly blinking. With consummate placidness, he asked, Do you have outdoor plumbing?  

    NO, I said, I don't. I had outdoor plumbing when I was little, you see. But I don't have any now. My godson's eyes widened. His mouth dropped a little. He seemed really interested in what I had to say. In fact, I rattled on, At one time, everybody used to have outdoor plumbing.

Adam didn't blink. He whispered, What do they have now? 

Well, I said, Now they all have indoor plumbing just like me.

Adam's eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he remarked with infinite pity, My sister has indoor plumbing.

Your sister has indoor plumbing?

I have outdoor plumbing.

What do you mean you have "outdoor plumbing"? 

Right here! He pointed to his zipper zone.

     I got it. Yeah, I finally got it. The little brute bushwhacked me. I got that I was a nitwit. I just told this child I was a woman dressed as a man masquerading as a Catholic priest. Kid, I gotta get up. Adam dropped to the cushions behind me. Are you a girl? he asked. I didn't look back. Work it out on your own, bub.