Week 4: Back in the Saddle

Back in the Saddle

I learned it the hard way: most people don’t care to hear about how you only have one testicle, and the ones that do care are typically the ones with something to say about it. Loudly, at lunch, so even Sara Cadanzo can hear.

It was humiliating in a way I hadn’t experienced before. Everyone misses shots in basketball, everyone gives a wrong answer, everyone’s mom embarrasses them—ribbing each other over mistakes is part of growing up. But to have half the school hear about your lopsided sperm sack before you were even old enough for sex ed, well, sometimes you get dealt a shit hand.

Doctors thought it might be cryptochidism, that the other nut was just hiding further up the tree, and eventually would drop down to join its twin.

“Happens all the time,” they said. “Plan for a normal life.”

Well, it’s true what they say: if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.

I often wondered if the lost part of me was still floating somewhere inside my mother, wondered further still if I should blame my father for not giving 100%, but thoughts like that get you called a “sick pervert” by even your closest friends.

It was tough finding a positive way to spin it. A guy with anything extra is an “experience,” something that gets talked about around the bar table in hushed you-will-never-believe-this kinds of voices; a guy that comes up short is usually bald, dying, and at a cancer support clinic.

It was tough, sure, but not impossible. The most important lesson I learned was that there’s no quicker time to grow a pair than during happy hour.

“Some men are just born lucky,” I said, and finished my glass.

“How do you figure?” She said, as others have before her.

I leaned close and whispered in her ear. She placed her hand on my knee, squeezed, and said she liked the sound of that.

We downed another round before heading back to her place.

Toward the end of high school, Sara got knocked up by some halfwit, probably one of the same that pushed me around. They got married because she wasn’t on the pill. They got divorced because pills couldn’t help him.

Being infertile helped me avoid one of those problems, and, thankfully, I never had any issues with my performance.

So we work with what we’re given.


Afterword

I’m not sure how I feel about this week’s piece. I can’t help but shake the feeling that it’s just short and crude, with few, if any, redeeming qualities. But another part of me is insistent that there is something here, something funny and human, that offers an honest voice about a unique perspective.

That latter voice is small, and mostly stifled by the first one, though. Perhaps my first foray into comedic writing was misguided, but I think it was vital to make an attempt, at least. I hope you found something to enjoy.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts, positive or negative, in the comments below.

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