My 4-yr-old son Spencer keeps asking me if my penis is okay.
"Does it hurt when you pee?" he asked.
"It's not my penis that is hurt," I try to deftly explain,
"but the area below it called the testicles."
"Oh, well when your penis is better can we go bike riding?"
He just doesn't grasp the concept. And I knew when I left to go to
the doctor's office on Friday that I had some s'plaining to do.
I consulted with the wife. She didn't know what to say. So I went
to the straight ahead medical approach littered with technical jargon.
"I have to get my pinkle wink fixed," I said.
"Is it broken?" he asked.
"No, it isn't broken," I said before adding as I left the house, "Ask your mother."
For days now they've been told not to jump on daddy. They've also
been told to go easy on daddy because daddy is sore "down there."
Being the sensitive lad that he is, Spencer offered up some of his
stuffed animals to help me feel better. Two dogs to be exact.
You see the dogs are part of his football team. He's got about 8 - msotly dogs and teddy bears - on the team. He leads them through drills, plays defense against them or has them go to the locker rook (ie. his closet) to change out of their uniforms. Today he wanted to have team pictures taken. Yet he bitched and moaned about having the football games on all day... and I was even in a different room.
I have this fear that he's going to blurt out something about my hurt penis at his playschool. And then I'll get the call from Social Services.