There was a neighborhood flasher on our street that people warned us about when we moved to Jefferson Street in Chicago.
I was 13 so I had my brother Sam, who was 18, to buy me one of those big artificial dongs at a downtown shop.
Sure enough, one day I was walking up and down the street and suddenly the flasher jumped out in front of me and opened his long coat. So I opened mine.
He was crying when I left.