My son, “The Boy” would have been around three. There would be no other children after him…the survival rate of my mind was pretty much “Zero Dark Thirty.” “The Boy” was totally crazy! A day in his life meant: shoving hair pins in electrical outlets, turning the lights off anywhere we went (he loved to hear people scream in the dark) and jumping off the back deck while pretending the house was on fire yelling “stop, drop and roll.” And no, he did not turn out to be a fireman.
“The Boy” was always in dirt rolling down a hill or playing in the sand. I explained over and over wash your hands before you use the bathroom cause…“your penis will get sick.” I repeated this cautionary measure till I was blue in the face and even posted a sign in the bathroom. Yes, I know he couldn’t read but he knew what it meant. But to no avail…his penis got sick. It was a hot day in July and after using the washroom he started to complain “It” hurt. In my mind, I thought “Great how on earth am I going to explain this.” I washed his hands and face, changed his clothes and off we went to the clinic.
Gave the relevant embarrassing information and received the magical number 92 for this medical merry-go-round we were about to ride. This just gets better the three us of and this sick penis sweating it out for hours. “Sunshine” looked at me like, “Mom what are you going to tell the doctor?” I had no answers. Who do these kids think I am? I just rolled my eyes and quietly thought how the first child was so calm and quite. A few crazy questions here and there but nothing like this. In total disbelief, I shook my head as I admired my darling, “The Boy,” with his thick curly light brown hair, big bright eyes that transitioned between blue, green and brown with his wild sense of humor and loved him even more.
Strangely though, we were at the end of this medical line-up of broken bones, stomach aches, stitches and scrapes but they seated us at the front by the nurse’s desk. “The Boy” he could never sit still. There were a few empty chairs so he spent his time pretending to be “Spiderman or “Superman” jumping back and forth between the chairs. Within 45 minutes, this woman and “The Boy” struck-up quite the conversation. Unfortunately, she got a little too friendly and asked him, “Oh what wrong with you honey?”
“Sunshine’s” eyes opened wide and I put my head against the chair and waited. As his mother, I knew to imagine the unimaginable. You can see where this is going. “The Boy” flies through the air from one chair to the other and at the top of his lungs yells, “My penis hurts!” Yup, the whole place went silent. The lady gasped, “Sunshine laughed and the doctor at the desk spun his head around like the girl in the “Exorcist.”
All eyes in the clinic were on us! People seated on the other side got out of their chairs to see what they heard. Expeditiously, the lady apologized, “I’m so sorry – so sorry.” I replied, “Don’t ever ask little kids the truth they really will tell you.” At this point, I didn’t know what to do. Obviously, I couldn’t leave because the kid need medical attention – and so did I. Anyone got an adavan?
I lifted up my head only to see the doctor calling us over, “Mam, please come here.” Dazed and confused, I jumped up. He pointed to one of the rooms, “Come in here.” Thank-ya-Jesus. We were no longer on display.
We scurried into the room like squirrels hiding nuts in the fall. The doctor conducted the examination and told “The Boy” to wash his hands, gave me a prescription and my son nodded his head over and over to say he will never do that again. I learned two things that day: 1) when something bad happens good will come out of it and 2) having a penis will get you ahead.