I remember that sometimes, when I was a kid and I was taking a bath, my father would come around and bang on the door. My dad was a stout, strong man and he knocked about ten times louder than anyone else; it was as if he was angry at you for daring to put him on the wrong side of a closed door. Anyway, he would knock on the bathroom door -- bang bang bang bang bang -- and shout, "Make sure you wash your crotch!"

That seems like a very strange thing to say to a six-year-old. I didn't even know where my crotch was. I don't think I've heard anyone except my father use the word "crotch" in my entire life. It's an old-fashioned word, the kind you should expect to hear from a man who uses Brylcreem and calls men's swimming suits "trunks." Speaking of which, he always wanted me to wear a jockstrap under my trunks. And once he nearly ruined Mother's Day when he lost his temper and insisted that I wear an undershirt.

He was a good father, in a lot of ways. I think he lives in Illinois now.

+posted by Lawrence @ 8/30/2003 03:50:00 PM