The following is not just a random memory of mine. Ok, it is. But I wrote it down (at work, where else) for a reason, and I promise I will get to that reason in a soon-to-come post. But I thought I'd go ahead and share the story now 'cause it makes me laugh, and you might too.



I was thirteen years old when I first became aware of how important my testicles are. My mother, the French teacher, had taken several of her students to Grenoble for the summer, and as a result, my sister, brother, and I were on our own holiday at my uncle’s farm in Minnesota. He and my aunt had six children, and Aaron, who was the oldest, was closest to my age, so we were naturally partners in crime for the summer. We shared a bunk bed in his room upstairs.

One night after my aunt had sent us to bed and turned out the light, we began talking about things that mattered to us. Being adolescent boys, the conversation turned inevitably to the concerns of puberty; namely, the size of our packages. I confessed that though my body had begun to manifest its awkward transition into manhood in other ways, the highly-anticipated growth of my member was still forthcoming. As soon as I said this, Aaron’s tone became grave and cautionary.

“Have you had a check-up lately?” he asked. I hadn’t.

“Do you know what they do to you if you haven’t started growing by now?” His Midwestern accent was masked by the ominous whisper in which he was now speaking.

“When the doctor sees that you’re not growing, he makes you lie down on the bench. Then he ties your hands and your feet down so you can’t move, the same way they tie down the women when they’re having babies. Then he takes your balls, one in each hand. He puts them between his thumb and forefinger and starts to squeeze. He starts gently, so you can’t really tell, but soon he starts to use more pressure. He squeezes harder and harder and until he’s squeezed out all of stuff in there that’s supposed to make it bigger, and all that’s left are two flat, empty sacks. It’s the worst pain you can imagine.”

My cousin had never given me reason to distrust him, and so it was with a paralyzing sense of dread that I clasped both hands onto my groin, and kept them there for the rest of the night.