Thursday, April 21, 2016
I'm taking my nephews (7 and 8), their parents, and my partner, Dwight, to the area where I grew up. I took the photograph last year in the main train station of my home town, Newcastle upon Tyne, England.
I expect a few bathroom giggles along the way. We change planes in Paris and I've explained it's OK to say "wee-wee" (oui, oui) there. They giggled deliriously at the subversiveness.
My 8-year-old nephew will fit right in. He sometimes announces in an impeccable English accent "I have to see a man about a dog." This is a euphemism in the UK for having to go to the bathroom.
The boys are at that bathroom humor stage. Some of us never quite grow out of it.
Dwight suspects I suffer from a form of Tourette's that manifests itself as unintended puns. Last Fall a urologist told me my rising PSA (prostate-specific antigen) level could be due to a summer of long bike rides. I blurted out that I was relieved, then stuttered a retraction of the unintended pun while he looked on impassively.
Fast forward to last week when I learned I have high grade prostate cancer. After more screening, my hope is I will be eligible for surgery.
Surgery can wait until the week after we return from the UK. Seeing my early stomping ground through the eyes of my nephews is just too good to miss.