The Measure of a Man

Oct 22, 2010

Current mood:nostalgic

I’m going to touch on a very sensitive subject.  I watch a lot of daytime TV such as Maury, Steve Wilkos, and Jerry Springer.  On these and other talk shows the subject of teen sex comes up.  It’s not just sex that is brought up, but feelings of intimacy and desire that young people have.  I think a lot of women do not know the overwhelming desire that young males possess, even at a very young age. 

 

A while back I was talking to my then girlfriend Roxy about what I thought about girls/females at a young age.  When I was eight years old, I had to go to the doctor’s office to get tested for allergies.  Back then, that meant they took what looked like a sewing ripping needle, put it under the skin on your back, and then ripped your skin.  Then they did it seventy-four more times.  It was pure torture.  I still remember it to this day.  But there is more than one reason I remember it. 

 

The nurse who was assigned to do the procedure to me was fresh out of nursing school.  She was young and, oh so pretty.  I was in love, or at least as much love as you could believe that an eight year old could be.  Next door, there was a kid getting the same procedure done, and he was screaming his brains out.  It was unimaginable.  He was screaming non-stop.  There was a reason.  It really did hurt that much.  I’m not kidding when I said it was like torture.  Forget being like torture, it was torture.

 

But I made a vow that I was not going to scream in front of a beautiful woman.  The nurse had to cut/ knick/ scrape me seventy-five times.  The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt up to that point in my life.  I may have been eight years old, but I wasn’t going to be a bitch.  I took the pain.  I may have shed some tears, I may have had my vision go blurry, I may have asked for a few breaks, but I did not cry.

The nurse didn’t know what to think.  She was almost shaking from the kid screaming bloody murder in the next room.  She probably didn’t understand why I refused to cry.  In fact, I think it made her even more nervous that I was refusing to cry. 

 

I thought I was in the clear when the cutting was over.  I was wrong.  They then put the allergens in the cuts to see if I would react to them.  It itched as bad as the time I had chicken pox.  And the thing was, I couldn’t scratch it.  I had to wait for my skin to fully react to the medicine.  So after the torture I received another round of torture.  But still, I did not cry. 

 

I told this story to let Roxy know that even though I was only eight, I knew that I really liked girls.  I also really liked that nurse, and didn’t blame her for what she had to do to me.  Mainly, I don’t want to be like some people or groups (who shall remain unnamed) who do not think that children have those kinds of feelings.  I shall always remember that moment because while not pleasant, it reminds me that children possess more emotions than we think they do.