Lots of new things come with playing football as a kid. Shoulder pads, padded pants, a helmet, and a mouth guard.
The mouth guard is a right of passage. When it’s new you hold it in boiling water, then after a quick dip in cold water, you put it in your mouth and bite down so it will form perfectly to your teeth. It was scary and painful- I might as well have been walking across fire.
But I did it. It all felt so empowering.
Then came the jock strap. For those who don’t know, it’s basically a very tight pair of briefs that have the butt cut out. My step dad insisted I wear one and I hated it.
I felt exposed and gross to have my bare nine year old ass up against my football pants material, which were white, and silhouette friendly.
My step dad’s way of teaching me how wearing one would protect me from the worst pain a male can feel was to say:
“Drop your drawers.”
I looked at my dresser.
“What?”
“Drop your drawers!”
Somehow I figured out that he meant underwear. I had to pull my fucking underwear down in front of him.
“Now squeeze your balls.”
I thought he’d know if I didn’t actually squeeze. So I squeezed. Pretty hard. And I really hurt. For those who don’t know, it’s a pain that has a presidential motorcade escort flying down the Autobahn of the nervous system. There is no pain like it and I had to fucking inflict it on myself.
“Do you feel that?”
“Yeah”
“Do you feel that?!!”
“Yes!”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what it’s going to feel like if you get hit in the balls if you don’t wear a jock strap.”
It didn’t feel like empowerment. It felt like a violation and humiliation.