The Penis Chronicles and Other Random Observations.

By Cheryl Van Hoorn

One of the things that I remember most about my mother aside from spitting her false teeth out of the bus window while trying to jettison some gum, was her constant chatter.

In the metronome of the daily walks my mother told me stories. She was a brilliant woman, strong, beautiful and smart. Unfortunately for her while loving the man she rebelled against the patriarchy of the society she was born into with the blame of all ills landing squarely in the lap of the not so humble penis.

I spent my life trying to balance her teachings while chasing down the male race and producing two boys from the perspective I learned at her feet with often hilarious results.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499018462

Cheryl Van Hoorn

Cheryl was born and bred in Australia and grew up against the 70’s and 80’s learning her lessons in life at her mother’s heels along with a disenfranchised youth. Cheryl entered the University of Sydney to complete a diploma of applied sciences, Nursing. Upon graduation Cheryl commenced work on a kidney ward leading to some of the most gratifying work in her life and delivering to her a husband and two sons. Cheryl is now the owner/editor of Tweaking MADD and is currently completing a Bachelor of Communication with a double major in Film Studies and Creative Writing while being owned by three fractured cats and two dogs.

Book preview

THE DIVINITY OF THE PENIS

P enis, penis, penis, penis! There, I’ve said it. I am placing the penis on notice, right here, right now, front and centre. I am declaring that there is a Divinity of the penis.

I am not going to do to the Dickensian birth and origins of character for the most part because I don’t really think that you the reader need to know. Just suffice to say we as a family were conceived, born and lived within the stained fabric of this world.

My mother planted the seeds of this rather inopportune sentiment were planted while I grew on the heels of my mother’s well-worn shoes as she walked my sister and myself from one end of Hurstville to another. One of the things I remember the most about my mother, aside from her spitting her false teeth out the bus window while trying to jettison some gum, was her chatter. She had a gift for words and her constant stream of chatter did not require a reply. She talked to us of Kings and Queens in the past, of the politics of the day and what the silly bint on the corner was doing to piss her off now. But mostly she spoke to us about the penis.

I was cautioned here - I learnt that the penis was a dangerous thing and not something that should be taken lightly. It was both a weapon and a tool and it scared the bejesus out of my mother as well as myself. I believed her words as they steered me away from the offending organ, it coloured the way I looked at the item in question forever.

Mind you I believed her when she told me that I would get pregnant if I drank out of a green straw.

This belief regarding the penis placed me in an oddly myopic position as I grew up. It coloured the way in which I observed the adult world I was about to enter. A world where men lived with their penis and wanted THE SEX.

I am not going to do to the Dickensian birth and origins of character for the most part because I don’t really think that you the reader need to know. Just suffice to say we as a family were conceived, born and lived within the stained fabric of this world.

Growing up in a house with a mother and a sister and rarely seeing the patriarch of the hearth gave me no point of comparison. Of course I had a normal interest in this implement, a curiosity that was sated by the fact that I chose one of the few legitimate professions where I was able to view the penis frequently. I became a Nurse.

The not so humble penis is the centre of a man’s being. The orientation of life. For them anyway. Women are really sure it is not.

This is not something that women talk about in so many words, however it is present in the side slip of gentle conversation - engaged in the tales told by mothers in the schoolyard while waiting for their offspring’s release from purgatory. From this it is not difficult to see that males have a singular point of worship: their penis.

This was clearly demonstrated with The Thomas Incident.

TERRIBLE THOMAS

"I t hurts, it hurts!" The screams jolted me awake. John and I bolted upright in bed . This is not the way any parent wishes to be woken. We raced into the lounge room, only to be arrested by the sight before us. There, in all his glory we found baby Liam, at the time three years old, dancing around the room with Thomas the Tank Engine dangling from his penis.

After a horrified moment I closed my eyes and thought of Sigmund Freud

Sigmund Freud was different in the corridors of mental health, light years ahead of his time, his theories on males and their penis changing the world of psychiatry. Freud espoused the penis as the centre point of the man and woman’s life. Men come out and essentially spend their time trying to get back in again. He outlined the Id, the Ego and the Super Ego all of which were trying to maintain a homeostasis within the world. The Id and the Ego are generally up to no good. The Super Ego was the built in brake on the more shady enterprises of the Id and the Super Ego. However, deny the Id and the Ego at your own peril, if too confined you could end up with issues such as oral/anal complex.

A complex my family shows suspicious symptoms of.

For his third birthday Liam had received cash from his Great Grandmother and Great Uncle to spend as he wished. Liam was even at that age notoriously picky, leading us on a trail over half of the western suburbs and through a mountain of shops for the perfect gift. By the time we hit the last sound stage at Parklea Markets John and I were tired and sweaty, and contentious. It was here that Liam found a Thomas the Tank Engine motor complete with track. He was stoked.

Assembly was required so when we got home we set the tracks up on the dinner table while John, Bran and Liam became engrossed with tools and pieces. I tended to Thomas’s habitat. Once accomplished John, Bran and Liam spent the afternoon in heavenly joy watching Thomas race around his track, under the bridge and to the station.

The next morning we were frozen in shock at the sight before us.

John was a rock- he immediately took point duty and got Liam on his lap on the lounge. This change in position allowed for less pain; gravity was suspended with him cradled in his father’s arms.

Now as a Nurse I have seen many strange things but nothing quite like this.

I examined the offending object professionally and it became clear that Tommy boy, like a shy virgin, was not going to give it up so easy.

I’ll get some cooking oil. It really was the only thing I could come up with. Heading off with purpose I heard Liam ask John if I was going to cook it.

Honey, I’m just trying to loosen it up a bit. I replied as I re-entered the room.

He relaxed some at these words, slumping back into his father’s embrace.

Nada, zip, zilch, no gold for the cooking oil. I hadn’t really thought it would work.

After a brief conversation with John then I went to get a towel to protect his manhood and we waking and collecting his brother before heading out to the hospital.

The triage Nurse at the hospital took one look at the offending machine and called a code blue, rushing Liam down to the paediatric section of the hospital’s emergency department.

The doctor was amazed and even as a female cringed at the assault on my baby’s manhood.