Cul-de-Sac [For Guys Only]

I had fallen into the habit of saying I was teaching classes at ITT Tech but have decided I am not teaching. I am truly leading or coaching the students/ customers - only they can teach themselves. This morning's class, which is all about demonstrating to the students/ customers that they own their own destiny, proved to me once again I know that we are all winners. In my class, a variety of personality types and skill sets show themselves in the collaborative projects the students/customers work on. The students/ customers have learned from each other the primary tenet of social order - constantly adapt and transform through human interaction.

On to a recent subject in my thoughts, the issue of an aging male body, that I've shared with my wife, who thinks I should get used to it.

Outside my window the redbud, shagbark hickory and deciduous holly hold fast in their dance with gravity, balanced against the turbulent downdraft winds of an early evening thunderstorm. A little while ago, I stood in the driveway looking up at my rooted friends, who truly have nowhere to go but up. One does not grow wise with years or trees would pull up stakes and run at the sight of us. I felt the first spits of rain on my face and knew the trees would show their resilience. I see blue skies now at 19:04, with pink-and-gray cloud puffs rolling by, dragging their feet across my wooden friends. Clouds do not exist but some humans would give more joy to see clouds than trees. How dare they! I cannot stop their nonsense. I can only tell my friends they're safe with me, more certain of death by termite, woodpecker or ants than bulldozer and chainsaw. We will share this space during my life with them. In return, they will provide me shade for no cost and entertain me with their seasonal changes, giving squirrels, skinks and vines a place to go.

While I watch the moving picture show out my window, I sit in a chair covered in dried and treated cowskin (a/k/a leather), which holds heat and warms my backside. Age met Gravity and decided to play tricks with my body. To be sure, my ears and nose sag a little. I can sometimes feel my earlobes touch my neck if I turn just right, a sensation new to my list of experiences, but I knew from books, movies and human interaction that such things happen to all of us. However, the heat buildup under my legs tells me of another new sensation I was unprepared to meet.

A sagging sac. You guys know what I mean. The old bag of marbles don't hold up like they used to.

Did I miss the social references in my youth? I have always kept an open eye when it comes to future expectations for my body. I remember when I was a kid seeing an actor/director named Richard Benjamin talking with another actor in a movie about a guy's urine stream losing its distance with time - you go from being able to write your name in a snowdrift 10 feet away to hoping you can stand over a urinal and aim your dribble into the ceramic bowl. I figure that's going to happen to me in my 50s or early 60s.

But the dependable scrotum? Must it swing in the wind like the pine seed pods and sweetgum balls I see in front of me, at the mercy of the elements?

I suppose so.

Now I sit here and feel my testicles heating up like a bag of tea in a microwave oven, forewarning me that my hairy load will itch like that unreachable place in the middle of my back, never completely satisfied by scratching or clawing. I want to cup the family jewels and hold them up in the air to cool and dry but typing would be hindered. Don't get me wrong. I don't have any sexual urges in a moment like this - I feel like the typical over-40 guy standing in the examining room while the doctor rolls my set of dice in his hand, hoping it doesn't come up snake eyes.

In class today, I stood at the podium for a moment while sorting through homework and lab assignment papers. In my head, I heard a gong and realized my hobo pack had decided to take a ride down out of my boxer briefs, apparently attempting to hitch a ride south to my ankles for a meet-and-greet. The thought of a gorilla scratching his crotch or a dog licking between his legs passed by. I wanted to reach down and adjust my manhood but didn't want to look like I was playing around in front of the students/ customers. I made an excuse and stepped out of the lab to rearrange my body to its liking.

I'm telling you all this so you women understand why we older guys walk with a gait. We're using the angular momentum of our swinging nuts to steady us on a sane forward track. This keeps our purpose for existence cool and happy, free of itching and out of range of zippers or elastic bands that look for loose-hanging curly hairs to grab and yank for yelping fun later on.

Some of the guys in my class like to tell a few jokes that the average preacher wouldn't repeat from the pulpit. I let them tell these bits of humor in the hallway or generally out of the way of those who might be sensitive to such balderdash. I wonder how many ministers have focused their sermons on a man's gravity-stricken body parts. Not many or not for long, I suppose.