sarahenany's journal last night, and it led me on to a number of strongly-worded editorials on circumcision. Now, this isn't something I've ever given a lot of thought to. It was done routinely in my family, so all the Johnsons I saw growing up were foreskinless, and in my mind, a circumcised penis is a "normal" penis, because, that's what I saw growing up.I know people for whom it's an issue. The aforementioned
sarahenany has long waged a lonely battle in Egypt to rally public interest in the idea that circumcision, male or female, is an evil. maple_mahogany has also expressed strong views on the subject, and written an utterly charming story "Matter of Wizard Pride" that discusses it.But it never has been for me. I had the Dursleys have it done to Harry, quite late -- aged three or four -- to show how thoroughly unpleasant they are, but I've never thought it was a terribly big deal. I mean, I'm circumcised, and I'm entirely satisfied with my penis. Well, OK, I wish it weren't embarrassingly small, but I also know that that's an appearance based on the fact that, as fat as I am, much more of it is essentially inside me than most blokes, so, yeah, no biggie.
But reading
sarahenany's discussion of the subject, she talks about the circumcized penis as a poor, mutilated thing. She talks about the glans as something that should be moist and protected, like a woman's labia, and the foreskinless glans as hardened and comparatively insensate.So now I'm looking down at poor Mister Happy, and thinking WTF?
sarahenany talks of men who've survived circumcision and don't complain as being heroically courageous, with our stiff upper lips and need to hide our pain...And, well, no. Mister Happy there, humble but proud, is, to me, a normal penis! It's the only one I've ever had, and it doesn't _hurt_ (You know, unless I catch it in a zipper or something equally brilliant.) It feels good when I -- or someone else --- plays with it, it stands at attention with the least provocation, even now that I'm forty-five years old.
And now, while part of my mind looks down at this mutilated and crippled thing, and thinks, "What have I been missing out on?" the rest of me shrugs, because it's the only way I've ever been, the only way I've ever known being, and I find myself paraphrasing our former Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld.
I have to wank with the willie I have. It's not the willie I might want or wish to have.
And I guess I'm OK with that?
