Part 2 insinuates a continuation from the first part, but that is not what this is.
I grew up in the late 70s – early 80s, child of sports fans. Many a summer evening was spent in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates beat up on whomever was in town. As such, we knew of the greats (at least Pittsburgh greats) Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and later the outfield to die for of Bonilla, Bonds, and Van Slyke.
My brother, try though he might, could never quite keep Stargell and Parker straight and would end up yelling "Willie Parker!" as he slid into any base. (Who knew he was calling out to a current Steeler?) In case you weren't alive then, little kids shorts then looked something like this:
Maybe a little more loose in the leg, but you can get the idea. At any rate, the three musketeers were doing their daily musketeer things like running around, yelling, jumping off of the highest thing possible, etc. We were headed to the bottom of the hill when my brother took it upon himself to scream out "Willie Parker!" and perform his best slide into home. Herein lies the problem. You see, this quiet and gentle boy just didn't happen to put on any underwear on this particular day and as he slid down the hill with one leg outstretched in the classic slide position, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a small brown penis, oh dear oh dear.
Yup, it popped right out. I don't remember exactly, but I'm gonna guess he was about 6 at the time, 7 at the oldest. Young enough for him not to be embarrassed (at least until he reads this post) and young enough for us not to make a big deal of it. But, out and out hysterical every time I think about it now. We continued on with our day as if nothing ever happened because, to us, nothing did happen. Do you know why? Because the family jewels are sacred!