Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Get Off My Nuts...

I can only remember being kicked in the Nuts once, when I was a kid. It happened on my front lawn when I was about 10 years old. It took me completely by surprise. It always does. The kicker was named Marky Selden. He was the younger son of my parent’s best friends. He was about 4 years my junior and wasn’t very intimidating considering the age difference but he was a wild kid. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. We were wrestling on the front lawn with my brother and his brother. I was kind of throwing him around, having some fun. I must have taken one too many liberties and he decided he’d had enough. It was simple Nut kicking fare. Approach, Lock in, And Kick.

If you’ve ever been kicked square in the Oysters, then there’s no need to read this next paragraph. For all the ladies reading, I would imagine that a solid punch to the Tits or a hearty kick in the Ovaries are by no means a walk in the park but there’s something special about the Ball Kick.

The pain is like an image in a Plasma Screen TV. When you turn off your set, you can still see the remnants of that image burned into the screen. That’s what happens when you take a good shot to the Marbles. You kind of get that first wave of pain. The kind of pain that makes you wonder if you’re ever gonna get up again. Then the pain kind of settles. It hangs out for a while and lingers, like the chatty Aunt with bad breath and the hot pink lipstick, that won’t stop kissing you on the cheek. It’s the kind of pain that makes all of the neurons in your brain, want to run to the toilet and puke and then hold on to the bowl cause the room won’t stop spinning. It’s the kind of pain that puts a blindfold on your Testicles, spins them around a few times and then pushes them toward your stomach, leaving them lost and crying like an infant, hyper-ventilating and drenched in their own tears and snot. Not good at all. No sir.

Oddly enough, for all my rough housing, growing up, I was able to avoid most of these Nut-frontations. These days, it’s a very different story. I now have two daughters and a wife. For one reason or another, my Nuts now seem to be a magnet for every errant knee and every wild elbow in sight.

Sometimes it seems as if my Nuts are like that speed bag in the gym, getting smacked around at lightening speed, with precision accuracy. If my Nuts could talk, they would gasp, "Cut me Mick."

Every time we’re on the couch watching TV, BAM! Knee in the Gnads.

Every time they wake me up in the morning, POW! Foot in the Faschnookle.

Every time one of them climbs over me in the car, DOH! Elbow in the Nuggets.

My daughters don’t have Stones; therefore they have no concept of why it would be important to tread lightly around mine. I’ve taught my daughters many a life lesson over the years. For some reason, this one doesn’t seem to be sinking in…

On the couch with my two girls watching TV, a few days ago…

7 Year Old – “Daddy, I’m thirsty.”

2 ½ Year Old – “Yeah Daddy, I’m firsty too.”

Out-Numbered – “Ok, you guys are old enough to get your own drinks. Go ahead and help yourself.”

7 Year Old – “No. You get it.”

2 ½ Year Old – “Yeah, you get it.”

Out-Numbered – “Guys, I’m tired. Get off your butts and get your own drinks.”

7 Year Old – “Fine. C’mon sis, let’s go.”

2 ½ Year Old – “Yeah. C’mon let’s go.”

Older kid gets off the couch. Younger kid tries to step over me to get down but plants her little brick foot right on my Franks & Beans in the process.

Out-Numbered – “Ahhhhh! My Nuts! Jeez!”

2 ½ Year Old – “What?”

Out-Numbered – “Baby, you stepped right on my Nuts. You have to be careful.”

7 Year Old – “Hahaha. You said Nuts.”

Out-Numbered – “It’s not funny. That hurts.”

2 ½ Year Old – “What are your Nuts?”

Out-Numbered – “They’re my private parts. It hurts when you step on them.”

2 ½ Year Old – “I have nipples!”

7 Year Old – “Hahahahaha!”

Out-Numbered – “Stop laughing. I’m serious.”

2 ½ Year Old starts looking through my pockets, trying to find something. She doesn’t even consider that I’m still in pain.

Out-Numbered – “What the heck are you doing? Get off of me.”

2 ½ Year Old – “I’m looking for the Peanuts.”

7 Year Old – “HAHAHAHAHA!”

Out-Numbered – “Really?”

The Nuts are definitely Out-Numbered…