Letting It All Hang Out

I was zoning out at a red light when a shiny object—or, shall I say, two shiny objects—caught my eye. Dangling from the back of a pickup truck a pair of large metal testicles sparkled in the subzero sun.

I shot a picture before the light turned green and posted it to Facebook when I got home: “Please, Lord,” I wrote, “don’t let my daughter grow up to date a guy with testes on his truck.”

The responses came fast and furiously:

“Maybe he felt a need to buy a set since he didn’t have his own.”

“This kind of truck decor provides a public service.  Everyone knows if you see balls at the back, there’s a dick up front.”

“Someone envisioned that product—someone designed it, someone sold it, someone purchased and installed it. Isn’t this world amazing?”

What a world, indeed. Something drove this man to drop the scrotum in his cart or press “confirm” on an online order. Whether predmediated over months or cinched in a moment of inspiration, there was a moment of decision, followed, even more fantastically, by an installation process. Tools were deployed. Hands were busied. Nuts were given the final turn.

Did the man stand back, hands on his hips, and proclaim, “Yes! I can finally publicly acknowledge my douchebaggery on every street in Lake County?”

Maybe. More likely, a short-circuit in his life sparked some insecurities. Or he celebrates the male anatomy while the rest of us Puritans keep on trudgin’. Worst case, he’s a chauvinistic ass. But the bottom line is that he’s more than the sum of his parts. He’s a person with a history, a spirit, and, yes, a desire to be loved.

The problem is actually loving the truck testicle guy.

When I was a little girl, long before the apocalyptic days of fender genitalia, my mother would point out trucks with giant wheels. “Never go with a guy like that,” she warned. “His car is an extension of his penis.” While I wasn’t sure what that meant, I knew one thing: guys with big trucks were bad. And apparently, so were their penises.

While an anonymous giggle behind someone’s sack—I mean, back—may be harmless enough as we collectively commiserate over the monster wheels, scrota, and “no fat chick” stickers traveling across our great nation, we have to figure out how to love the drivers—and everyone else who disgusts us: righties and lefties spewing their spew, teens taking selfies with the homeless (a new trend, apparently), and dog walkers leaving steaming piles in our yards. Then there are the corporate polluters, cartel runners, and child sex offenders who reside on a completely different planet of stench.

But the reality of my day is dealing with dime-a-dozen jerks. And I have to face the fact that the lady shoving me at the Starbucks counter will raise my blood pressure higher than the megalomaniac leader killing thousands in a country overseas.

I haven’t figured out how to love the stranger. But it probably has something to do with praying and digging for planks.

When I got my first car, a used blue Corolla, I promptly affixed a bumper sticker: “What’s worse than nuclear war? Life without God” (mushroom cloud, red lettering, flames). It was 1988, but the Cold War was still very much in play, and nuclear weapons scared people to death. I still believe that God should be at the center of our lives, but we all know what that sticker really meant: Stop yammering about peace, you hippies. Get right or get left.

I doubt anyone prayed to receive Jesus after reading my sticker. People with my worldview probably smiled to themselves. More likely, the sticker just pissed a lot of people off while deepening a polarizing line in the sand. At the time, though, I was new to the faith, had listened to a couple of Christian radio stations, and thought this sticker shared the way, the truth, and the life.

We do things we regret later. And some stupid things we never regret. But I know that thinking about my own failures when faced with the world’s daily idiocies opens my capacity to love. When I encounter a person who offends me, I try to remember a time I was impatient, racist, sexist, or volatile. It’s surprisingly easy to do. And while I can rarely bring myself to pray in those moments, just quieting myself, breathing, and saying “peace” is enough.

The poet and spiritual mentor Dave Harrity, whose poem “A Celebration of the Human Form” contributes to the burgeoning genre of car-scrotum literature, writes the following lines:

Then I see the human touch dangling from the hitch. They dance above the pavement

and catch the fist of wind like a broad sail—

bright blue scrotum and testes, lopsided and wrinkled—

all the masculine grace of a community center locker room. 

An artist has been born. Seeing what was missing, taking liberties to add distinction,

desired vulnerability—coaxing a potential from the austere metal.

While the poem clearly employs sarcasm as it laments the degradation of the human body in “art,” it still recognizes—I think tenderly—the human touch and vulnerability in us all. The testes may be ugly, but their owner is made in the image of God. Rarely, “an artist has been born,” but the art itself is born every day. We live and drive among them.

The question is never whether someone is worth loving but whether they are worth my  imagination and time. Do I have the humility? Do I have the will?

The question is, do I have a pair?

Tania Runyan is the author of the poetry collections Second Sky (Cascade Poiema Series), A Thousand Vessels, Simple Weight, and Delicious Air, which was awarded Book of the Year by the Conference on Christianity and Literature in 2007. Her book How to Read a Poem, an instructional guide based on Billy Collins’s “Introduction to Poetry,” was recently released by T.S. Poetry Press. Her poems have appeared in many publications, including PoetryImageBooks & CultureHarvard Divinity BulletinThe Christian Century, Atlanta Review, Indiana Review, and the anthology In a Fine Frenzy: Poets Respond to Shakespeare. Tania was awarded an NEA Literature Fellowship in 2011. She tutors high school students and edits for Every Day Poems and Relief.

  • http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Censorship Censored

    The truck owner is really a woman.

    In 2011, a South Carolina woman was ticketed for adorning her truck with truck nuts. The case is pending trial.[8]
    /wiki/Truck_nuts

    >I haven’t figured out how to love the stranger.

    Such is truly beyond the neurological capacity of humans, because there is a “cognitive limit to the number of people with whom one can maintain stable social relationships.”

    Robin Dunbar (1992) “Neocortex size as a constraint on group size in primates.” Journal of Human Evolution 22 (6): pp. 469–493. /wiki/Dunbar’s_number

    • Tania Runyan

      This truck owner didn’t appear to be female, but you are right: I’m sure there are some on the road with truck nuts! That’s a whole other essay. . .

  • http://www.outofmyallegedmind.com Nancy Franson

    This may well be the funniest, most grace-filled, poetic piece I’ve ever read about male genitalia.

    • Tania Runyan

      Now I’m wondering how may you’ve read, Nancy! ;)

  • Jody Ohlsen Collins

    Tania, I have been pondering of late the power of focusing on the things that build bridges between us, that make a connection, versus those that divide. I am embarassed to think about my early Christian days (the 70′s) when I spent more time alienating people than building relationships. The blessed thing about getting old(er) is that Jesus shows His eternal patience and grace by using us in spite of ourselves when we can, as you say, decide “whether someone is worth loving but whether they are worth my imagination and time. Do I have the humility? Do I have the will?”
    Funny, grace-filled and poetic, as Nancy said. You nailed it again.

    • Tania Runyan

      Thank you, Jody! And yes, I am so grateful for grace and forgiveness as I reflect on my dumb decisions from the past (and continue to make).

  • http://www.charitysingletoncraig.com/ Charity Singleton Craig

    Tania – I had no idea where this was going, and it ended up in a beautiful place. You have made me think (and about somethings I would rather have not). But you are right, the jerk at the convenience store definitely gets my ire far more than the real atrocities in the world. And honestly, that’s not fair to anyone.

    Thank you. I am thinking and laughing and blushing here.

    • Tania Runyan

      I hope I didn’t scare you too badly, Charity! Thanks! :)

  • Brad Winters

    You undoubtedly have a pair, Tania. And I’m a better man for it with this post. What a fun ride and moving finish this is.

    • Tania Runyan

      I’m glad you liked it, Brad! It certainly felt like a risk.

  • Denise

    I am happy to have contributed to this conversation.

    • Tania Runyan

      :) Thank you, Denise!

  • Psycho Gecko

    Yeah, I’d say there’s a lot of lessons about love to be learned here. Especially about why a bunch of anonymous people will make it seem like someone’s a bad person just because of a truck accessory that, unlike even a bumper sticker, doesn’t even carry a political or philosophical message. Do your friends say those things about trucks that are colored orange?

    I may think truck nuts are stupid, but I don’t accuse people of being a douchebag just for having them. What, were people who used to wear mullets all assholes? Was someone who played with Stretch Armstrong dolls a bastard?

    • Tania Runyan

      Thanks for this, Psycho Gecko–and I really mean that. I’m still in the process of trying to figure out these things. I hope the post does reveal to some extent my own failings (I have many) as I look into the limits and meaning of loving one’s neighbor. And your thoughts open a good discussion.

      • Psycho Gecko

        Well, we’re all only human. Hopefully I didn’t come across as too overly hostile, but sometimes I am in less tolerant of a mood myself and get a little snappy.

        • Allison Troy

          don’t we all! sorry if i sounded snappy, too.

          • Tania Runyan

            Nah, you were just a little testy.

        • Tania Runyan

          All good, Psycho Gecko. The freedom of speech and expression (steel nads included) is a gift!

    • Allison Troy

      i think that this really misses the point of the essay – and the tone of this comment, unlike the tone of the author, is pretty aggressive and biting. and i’d say that truck balls definitely carry a message. there’s nothing that we carry, list, or show that doesn’t convey something of ourselves.

    • dave

      i’m with allison here… on top of that, i think tania is trying to come to grips with her inability to see this individual as she should, as a child of god. that’s the core to someone reading carefully.

  • Denise

    Dave Harrity, a subtle poem written about a crass replica of man-parts: YOU WIN. I love how both of you puzzle out the human condition with such compassion and humor. I remember that Bono said something (decades ago?) about Americans mistaking middle-class niceness for Christianity. Something about this truck-ornament essay reminds me to be gentler to that truck-owner.

    • Denise

      It also reminds me that I can be quite a snob. Nicely played, Tania.


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