Thursday, March 04, 2010

I Never Did Like Peas.

When I was in high school, I worked as a "mother's helper".  Not quite a nanny, but a little bit more than a babysitter for the couple across the street from me, Kathie and Greg.  Kathie worked as an accountant and Greg was a firefighter. They had two little boys named Gregory and Justin. 

I started caring for Gregory when he was about a year old.  I started taking care of Justin when he was only two months old.  They were great little boys and easy to take care of.  Greg worked 24 hours on, then 24 hours off. So, every other day while he was at the firehouse, I would come over after school, Kathie would go to work and I would watch the boys.

One week, Kathie asked me if I could watch the boys on Greg's day off.  She said that he was having surgery and wouldn't be up to chasing around a toddler and a baby who was getting ready to walk any day.

The day of Greg's surgery, I arrived at the house right after school.  Kathie said that Greg was sleeping upstairs.  The boys were hungry, so I plopped Justin in his high chair and Gregory in his booster seat and made them a snack. While we were sitting at the kitchen table, Greg came into the kitchen.  Greg went into the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas.  I thought it was weird that he was going to make JUST peas, but I just kept feeding Justin.  As Greg started to walk out of the kitchen, Gregory asked him, "Dad, why are you walkin' so funny?"  Greg replied in a very matter-of -fact tone, "Well Son, my testicles are sore.  That is why I am walking strangely."  He started to turn around and walk out of the kitchen when Gregory hollered, "YOU MEAN YOUR BALLS HURT?" Greg just sputtered out, "Yes" and went back upstairs.

I was completely mortified.  I couldn't believe that Greg had talked about his balls in front of me. I instantly called my mother and told her what had happened.  My mother could barely control her laughter as she replied, "Of course his testicles are sore.  He had a vasectomy today." 

I pleaded with her to come and watch the boys for me.  I couldn't believe that I had to be in the house with a man who had his balls operated on.  She refused and told me that I need to grow up, "Michele, you are 15 years old.  You know where babies come from." She refused to bail me out and I was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon with the man with the "Sore Balls". I survived, but I wouldn't look Greg in the face for weeks.

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