Dear Son,
These are trying times you are being born into. An invisible danger lurks around every corner. We live in a constant state of fear and uneasiness. Those we once called our friends and neighbors can no longer be trusted. We seek shelter in our homes, but even there we are still at risk.
As your father, I want nothing more than to keep you safe from harm but the truth is I cannot protect you from this. It doesn’t matter how hard I try or how watchful an eye I keep, nothing I do will prevent what’s to come…
Sooner or later, you’re going to get hit in the balls.
No words of wisdom nor any advice I give will change this outcome. I can only attempt to prepare you for what will follow:
When it first happens you might think in that split-second, “This isn’t so bad.” It’s in that exact mid-thought moment you’re hit with a sharp, throbbing pain that spreads like wildfire. You’ll find yourself doubled over, as the pain climbs up into your abdomen. It’ll feel as though this agony will last forever, but it will pass in due time. Much like that of a brain freeze, which I’ve discussed at great length in a previous letter.
This can be alarming to hear, but take solace in the fact you’ll never see it coming. It might be due to the errant dribbling of a basketball, trying to hop over a parking meter, swinging a wired-microphone while pretending to be a lounge singer or anything skateboard-related.
No matter the cause, I pray that when it does happen to you, it happens in private. If not, you may find yourself surrounded by a strange and downright disturbing sight… People laughing!
It is troubling to learn there are those who find a perverse joy in your pain and anguish. You may want to lash out at them, but do not give in to anger for they cannot help themselves. They have been conditioned by decades of the media’s incessant portrayals of testicular distress as comic relief.
You will be too young to remember shows such as “The Three Stooges”, “America’s Funniest Home Videos”, or “Jackass” but these were the originators and perpetrators of this rampant blight on society. One which has become so normalized in our culture I fear there may be no turning back. Some may even defend this laughter as a sort of coping method. A way for us to repress the trauma we’ve just seen… let the laughs drown out the groans as it were.
To that, I call bullshit (I’ve already put a dollar in the swear jar), and to you, I say: Be Better.
Be the change the world needs. Stifle your laughter when you witness the testicular misfortune of your fellow man. Then, and only then, will we be able to move forward as a society.
Your mother may think I’m overreacting, but how could she understand. She wasn’t there.
I remember the first time it happened to me like it was yesterday. I was in third grade. It had been a perfect day up to that point. I got an A on my spelling test and my mom had packed an extra juice box in my lunch. Then came recess. I was on the playground running around with my friends when I heard someone call out my name. I turned around and spotted Randall Wilson, a fourth grader I had only known in passing. He chucked a volleyball at me and yelled out, “Think fast!”
But I didn’t. The ball slipped through my hands and hit me square in the nuts. The pain was excruciating. I fell to the ground and thought I might vomit. It felt as though I had diarrhea and constipation at the same time. I expected my friends to come to my aid, but they just stood there laughing and pointing. Everyone did. It was the worst day of my life.
“Think fast!” Those words still echo in my head, haunting my waking nightmares, taunting me. To this day, I still don’t know why he chose me or where he’d gotten the ball; the playground didn’t even have a volleyball court. Maybe it was just my time… if only it were my last.
You see son, there is no immunity to getting hit in the balls. It can happen many times, regardless of your age or stature. I’ve been dealt a blow below the belt on more occasions than I’d like to recall and let me tell you, it never gets any easier.
I know all this may come as a shock, but I do not share this to frighten you. I tell you this because if you’re anything like your old man, your balls are going to be low-hanging fruit ripe for the punching by the Randalls of the world.
I hope for your sake we one day find a vaccine for the pain and embarrassment of getting hit in the balls, but I don’t have much faith in our current administration to get off their asses and use our tax dollars to deal with the real issues… no matter how many town hall meetings I attend or petitions I sign.
So, you’ll need to stay vigilant and wary of overturned rakes, movers carrying 2x4s, the corners of dining room tables, golfers practicing their backswing, and the hundreds of other below-the-waist dangers you’ll encounter.
If it gives you any comfort, you can chalk this all up to being part of life’s growing pains. At least that’s what my therapist tells me anyway.
Love Always,
Dad
