3rd ball from the son
Imagine finding out that you are a mutant. A genetic aberration. An authentic, real-life freak.
Well, that’s exactly what happened to my friend R the other night. His family was sitting in their living room reminiscing about their respective scars, when he was blindsided by the following out-of-the-blue revelation:
R: “....and of course, I have that hernia scar from when I was four.”
R’s mom: “Oh yeah, when we had your testicle taken out.”
[long pause]
R: “What?”
R’s mom: “Oh, I never told you?”
R: “Told me what?”
R’s mom: “Um, well, when you were born we found out that you had, uh, three testicles. And when the doctors went to fix your hernia, they asked us if we wanted them to, y’know, take out the third one while they were in there. So we, uh, had it removed.”
[very long pause]
R: “Oh.”
And so, R learned that he was born a polyorchid, a male with three testicles. Polyorchidism is a very rare congenital (not to mention genital) condition, affecting approximately one in a million human males (or if you prefer, three in two million and one human testicles). But thanks to the timely intervention of modern medicine, R was relieved of his dastardly third ball, and thus became a member of the dominant, two-testicled caste.
How does R feel, now that he knows about his altered state? In a word, miffed. Before this revelation, he was already annoyed with his parents for having him circumcised. Now, at the age of 27, he has learned that his parents also did some editing in his scrotum. Which pisses him off even more.
Why did R’s parents consent to the removal of his third testicle? First, the doctors were “concerned about unforeseeable complications,” which is, of course, the enlightened medical reaction to anything slightly out of the ordinary. And second, R’s mom was concerned that he might have felt awkward when he grew up and became sexually active:
They were in the sweaty throes of love. As he pistoned in a steady rhythm, he felt her fingertips trace their way beneath his throbbing member to clasp his furry, pulsating maleness.
“Oh, yes,” he moaned.
Suddenly he felt her stiffen, and her eyes, once dilated with passion, became cold and narrow.
“What is this blasphemy?” she barked.
Now, I can see that R might have had some explaining to do in the sack. But as it turns out, the sorts of women R sleeps with would have been delighted with the third ball, and R would have been downright ecstatic. You see, R is the sort of dude who would relish being a bit of a mutant.
“All through my childhood, I wanted to be a mutant,” he says. “Whenever I saw food that seemed mutated—like mushrooms with three stalks, or whatever—I would always eat it, hoping it would mutate me. And now, to find out that I actually was a mutant, and it was taken away from me... man, that’s a real rip-off.”
And speaking of rip-offs, R is also quick to point out that his circumcision, which his parents believed would improve his health and hygiene, in fact did the opposite. Thanks to a botched cut, R now has a prominent, easily-irritated ridge of skin on the head of his penis, and has to cope with frequent pain and inflammation.
In sum, R has nothing but bad things to say about his parents’ below-the-belt meddling. He thinks they should have left his foreskin intact, and wishes they’d had the balls to let him keep all of his.
So who is right—R or his parents? This question brings us face-to-crotch with the sensitive issue of knives and the genitalia of children.
Personally, I believe that no part of a child’s privates should be amputated without a compelling medical reason. Even if the child is ‘different.’ If a kid has three balls, and those three balls are healthy, I say good on him! If the kid grows up and doesn’t like it, he can have one removed when he comes of age.
(And if the enjoyment I get out of my mere two balls is any indication, I think the average three-balled adult male will be more than happy to stick with the status quo.)
As for circumcision, there is no medical justification whatsoever for circumcising a healthy baby boy. Nor should there be a religious justification in a free society where citizens have the right to decide their religion for themselves. I say, let the kid grow up and decide for himself if he wants to swap his sweater for a spot on God’s happy list.
(And if the enjoyment I get out of my foreskin is any indication, I think the average uncircumcised adult male will be more than happy to stick with the status quo.)
Stop me if I’m getting a touch radical here, but I think this is a simple, clean-cut human rights issue. What the hell are we doing, amputating perfectly healthy bits of our children’s sexual anatomy without medical need or their informed consent?
After all, it’s not like these decisions can be reversed. R isn’t like noted American film director Francis Ford Coppola. R can’t release an uncut edition of his privates, which restores all the bits that were deleted in the 1970s.
Nor can a Jewish man get his foreskin back if he grows up and decides he doesn’t want to follow Judaism. (And even if he could get it back, it would probably be too small.)
Alas, for the millions of children whose sex parts are ex-parts, they had no choice in the matter—and with increasing frequency, they are growing up to feel violated, betrayed, and deeply, deeply miffed.
Most of you will have children someday. When you do, remember the sad case of R, and please, think twice before you slice up your kid’s crotch. R says he would be happier today if he had his foreskin and third ball, and he feels strongly that his parents had no moral right to mess with his most personal possession—his body.
And I think he has every right to be testy. •
Originally published in The Peak, September 4 2001.
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