By L.A. PARKER

This week’s topic produced a conversation with a co-worker about sex talk and kids.
She made the ultimate confession.
“We call our (5-year-old) daughter’s private area her ‘HooHoo,’” she said.
Mind you, not to be confused with “WooHoo!,” a celebratory expression used by a close friend about every good occurrence in her life.
The last mistake we need is a grown woman’s “WooHoo” being confused with “HooHoo.” Or even “YooHoo” for that matter.
Some women in South Ward bars advertise their “HooHoos.”
And please, don’t associate “HooHoo” with any of the good people living in “Whoville.”
One can imagine that rhyme.
“All the grownups in Whoville, loved sex a lot. Indulged in their trysts with Jack Daniels and pot.”
“But the Grinch, who lived nearby despised such a thing, he understood penis but not ding-a-ling.”
(See Chuck Berry, 1972 “My Ding-a-ling)
OK, so I’m not Dr. Seuss.
But you see where I’m headed with this. If our society expects to claim any normalcy we better reference our private parts with universal names.
By the way, a website reported more than 250 words Americans use in place of “penis.” It’s partner of interest “vagina” racked up a similar count, sort of like George Carlin’s Seven Dirty Words times 40.
Knowledge of sex and how the body works provides children with important information that enlightens and protects.
It’s all age appropriate though. I think that a child is more than ready for correct anatomical names by the time they are 3. By then, hopefully, you have not given a “Mr. Wilkins” title or “Land Down Under” to any private area.
Another co-worker said he has always referred to “testicles” as onions.
“I tell my son, you have to protect those onions,” he admitted.
Wait a minute. Does that mean that onions can switch places with testicles? Can you imagine the child’s upset when his father orders a South Philly cheesesteak with fried onions?
That boy will need about five years of psychiatric treatment to avoid some kind of emotional reaction whenever anyone orders onions.
If your child never asks about sex, then at some point, you need to broach the subject.
My mother had birthed 10 children by the time I was 11 years old. Until then, I knew only that babies were showing up at a rapid pace.
My teens offered another challenge. I didn’t understand any of the secret coding being used by teenaged girls.
“My Aunt Flo is in town,” one might say.
“Oh, yeah. Where’s she from?”
The classic menstruation story (every male just winced) occurred at about age seven.
My mom handed me a note to carry to the small town market on Main St.
I slipped the note onto the counter then waited as the clerk disappeared behind a curtain.
Very clandestine stuff. He returned with a brown paper bag.
I met a friend on a nearby lot. We took the box out of the bag and tossed it around like a football.
I headed home, flipped the box into the air as I raced past town people.
My mom nearly fainted as I walked into the house with an exposed box of tampons.
Sonny Jurgensen had passed for a touchdown to Pete Retzlaff. Went deep again for a score to Tommy McDonald with a sanitary product.
The New York Football Giants created the “Tampon Two” defense following the Eagles aerial assault.
Bottom line, teach kids about sex, their bodies, safety, and make every word sound wonderfully natural.
Down the road you can talk about contraception, STDS, etc.
Enjoy and celebrate when this is all over.
I hear the Whoville residents love to party.