Breasts

I was 14. It was Saturday morning and I was reading comic books when my dad called from work and told me to get dressed we were going to the doctor.

I waited for him in the front yard beside the mailbox. Nobody said a word on the way.

The nurse took us straight back.

I sat on the table with the wax paper, while my dad sat on the counter near the sink. He rubbed his eyes like he had one of his headaches. Maybe he was the sick one.

The doctor came in.

“How are you fellows doing?”

I looked over at my dad. So did the doctor.

My dad told me to take off my t-shirt.

“Take a look at his breasts,” he said. “The size I mean. Is there something physically wrong?”

I sat there and tried to cover up. Then, I turned away and put my t-shirt back on.

The doctor said something about “growing out of it.” I didn’t hear much. My head was spinning like that Exorcist kid.

On the way home my dad asked me if I wanted to stop for a hamburger. I said no, which was a first. I wanted to go home.

I didn’t shower at school after that. I would put my good clothes over the sweat and dirt after practice.

I am 60 and starting to wear t-shirts again regularly.

Tell me, where is the universal chart that establishes the acceptable size of body parts?