I have no foreskin. Either it fell off when I was too young to remember or, more likely, it was removed at birth by an
evil man medical professional.
But the good news is that I hardly miss it. I enjoy the hell out of sex still. I don’t burst into tears when I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. And, unlike those amputees who get itches in their phantom limbs, I’ve never felt anything in my phantom foreskin.
So I’m gonna circumcise my son too, right?
I’ve read the arguments for it. It protects against HIV (so do condoms). It reduces the risk of penile cancer (so does castration). It decreases the tendency to masturbate (didn’t work for me). And it would make my son look like his daddy (note to self: stop walking around the house with my junk hanging out). But none of those resonate with me.
More to the point, I think you’ve got to be pretty skeptical of any “medical procedure” that started as a religious sacrifice. I mean, far be it from me to doubt the word of God. But I may or may not take my son to the city gates and stone him to death the first time he calls me a stupid head.
And what if little Nathan grows up and wants to be circumcised, you ask?
Then he’ll have one more reason to look forward to his 18th birthday.