5 Probably Totally Scientific Reasons Boys MUST Clutch Their Penises
I asked my nephew to get his hand out of his pants, and he replied with ill-disguised disdain, “Not yet, Auntie Beth. I’m playing hide and seek.” So, you know. My bad.
Look. Boys hold on to their penises, folks, starting at age zero, and you can complain about it all you want, but they have to do it. There’s a biological imperative at play, obviously, because no matter how many times you tell a boy child to get his hand out of his pants, it ends up back in there. And if the boy is naked? Well, then penis-holding is essential, really. Crucial. A sacred responsibility.
If you’ve ever wondered why small boys must clutch themselves with the concentration and single-minded attention usually reserved for Secret Service agents guarding the President, I’m here to help. Here are:
Probably Totally Scientific Reasons Boys MUST Clutch Their Penises
#1. It’s magnetic. The penis is not shaped like a pole coincidentally, ladies and gentlemen. It’s an actual pole with polarity. That’s why it sproings up from time to time and points in random directions like a bobble head. The penis is the south pole and the hand is the north pole. There’s no choice; you can move the hand away for a while, but left to its own devices… wooooooop… it’s pulled right back in place.
#2. For balance. Obviously, it’s easier to walk holding onto a rail. Frankly, the surprise here isn’t the fact that little boys have to hold their penises to walk; the surprise is that girls can manage to stay upright without a grab handle at all.
#3. The TV doesn’t work unless you grab your penis. There is a serious connection between functional electronics and penis-clutching. Reference: all the boys with hands down their pants during TV shows. You know all those times the satellite dish cuts out due to “weather?” Or the internet is “on the fritz?” Or a cable line gets “cut?” It’s because some mom somewhere spitefully made a little boy stop holding his penis. It’s like the penis version of “every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings;” when the penis was released, all the TV-watching ceased.
#4. Contractual obligation. Before birth, at the gender station, God says, “You can pick Penis or No Penis, but if you choose Penis, I’m only giving it to you if you agree to hang onto it all the time, and I am not kidding. Do not test the Lord your God, kid. If you don’t hold it, it will float away like that balloon you’re going to lose at the fair.” And then God makes the little boys turn in their car keys and a major credit card and put down a hefty deposit, which they do not get back if they lose their penis.
#5. They’re explosive, like grenades, except penises are issued with the safety pins pulled, so boys have to keep one hand on them at all times. And all of us who’ve ever shared a bathroom with small boy children know the implications of penis explosions. It’s not good. Not good at all. They’re doing us a favor, really, by holding on so long and so well, like they’re saying, ”Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a good grip on this thing. You run. Run to safety and DO NOT STOP ’til you’re clear. Do you hear me? SAVE YOURSELVES.” Which really should be the warning sign on my bathrooms. SAVE YOURSELVES.
Now, I am very scientifically minded, but, as we all know, science is always evolving, so I won’t pretend this is a comprehensive list. If you have any theories, therefore, please share. I think I can speak for everyone when I say this information is very, very important.
Beth is the writer and humorist behind the Five Kids Is A Lot of Kids blog where she writes compelling pieces about pee and sometimes things that matter. She’s been described by readers as “optimistic, authentic, poignant and laugh-out-loud funny, [capturing] the mom experience with all its pathos and humor.” You can find Beth on Facebook and Twitter. She also writes at The Huffington Post and was named one of SheKnows.com’s Five Moms Who Will Make You Laugh Out Loud. Beth and her husband, Greg, are parents to five kids who are adopted and homemade, singletons and multiples; some have special needs. Most importantly, Beth says, “they’re all our very own.”
