Thursday, Aug. 26, 2010: Cuts like a knife

As someone who did not circumcise her son and who thought about and agonized over this decision well before we were even pregnant let alone aware of our baby's sex, I am fascinated by other people's stories about why they did or did not circumcise their boys. So I was quite interested in "The strange story of my son's circumcision" by Taffy Brodesser-Akner on Salon.com. She writes, "I believe cutting a boy's foreskin is mutilation. So why am I standing here at my child's bris?"

Good question. The quick answer is for religious reasons. But she complicates that answer and I like that. Still, as someone who is not religious and someone who doesn't believe in God, cutting off part of your son's penis because Abraham and his son did is kind of weird. I mean, what if Abraham and son had cut off one of their ears? Fingers? Arms? Would we be doing this today? I kind of doubt it. Brodesser-Akner even admits that it's magical thinking. That by circumcising her son she's asking God to keep him safe. Now if she thought that she could keep her son safe by, say, only wearing orange or never letting water touch her son's body or clapping five times before and after she touched a doorknob we'd call that obsessive compulsive disorder or something. Religion is like a socially accepted psychosis in a way. But psychosis is not always bad. I mean, people with mild OCD can use it to their benefit. I know this from experience. I can pack a mean suitcase, for example. I can fit a ton of stuff in there. Ever since the airlines started charging for extra luggage I've thought about setting up a booth at the airport to repack suitcases for folks who can't fit all of their shit. I could make a killing. But then I'd have to handle the underwear of strangers. And money is only worth so much.

Anyway, while Brodesser-Akner and I obviously have our differences about circumcision, we share a lot of common ground. She writes,

"Becoming a parent is hard. When you glimpse how every piece of you is invested in your children, it is shocking and overwhelming. When I gave birth to my first son, I was struck by the fact that I had spent nine months worried about how he would come out — whether he'd be healthy, whether he'd survive the trip. As I held him in my arms, I realized that though he was born healthy, there were no guarantees. In fact, now that he was outside my body, he was less safe than before. I realized, suddenly and in a cold sweat, that I wouldn't know if this experiment — parenthood, child-rearing, child loving — would work out till I was on my deathbed and I could be assured my children were outliving me. Sure, there are other things that quantify success as a parent, and I hope to meet those goals, too. But I can't help but think that making sure they live long after I've passed is at the top of that list. While I do know that I am not in control of certain things in my sons' future — peer pressure, meningitis, drunken drivers, Justin Bieber's effect on tweens, school shootings, cancer — I do know that I am sometimes overwhelmed, nearly driven mad, when I realize how much is out of my control, how much of their safety is not determined by my actions."

Amen.