Email To My Brother: The Enema Bag

Our father starts his series of enemas this week. 
     That’s no fun under any circumstances. 
     Remember that big red rubber enemy bag our parents used to have? Now, do you remember it ever being cleaned or sterilized?
      I don’t. 
      I remember that I learned very early on not to complain about any stomach issues I might have had. I also remember dad reminiscing with mom once when they were about to use it on our younger brother when we were kids. I came in on the tail end of the conversation, no pun intended. 
     He said, “And when the doctor said to hang it upside down we thought he meant Henry, so we hung him upside down from the clothesline in the backyard and all the liquid went straight to his head and it filled up like a balloon. His head never shrunk back to the same size, did it? And all our neighbors and the neighborhood kids came by to laugh at him. Now that I think about it, we should have charged them admission to come and stare at him. That’s what the carnivals used to do with their freaks.”
     I never heard our father talk so much. He must have been having a really good time giving you that enema. I know mom thought all your crying was funny.
  
  

RaisingDad

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com. American Chimpanzee

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