A few weeks ago I just completed a weekly castration session called Kindermusik (at Ginger’s Kindermusik). For those of you who aren’t familiar with Kindermusik, it’s designed to introduce young chillun’s to music and instruments and sounds and all kinds of delightful stuff, all to expand their itty-bitty brains. You even get to have a song book, 2 CDs and some clackity-sticks that your child can take home and beat the snot out of (and to the beat, no less…).

Kyler loved it.

He absolutely found it all to be a blast. This wasn’t surprising, really. Even before he was born, I was feeding some blissful downtempo tunes into his mama’s belly while she slept, so he wouldn’t have to wait until he popped to enjoy good music. There were times that his hand did the “I’m pushin’ outta here to get closer to the music” thing against Kim’s stomach, which I found entertaining as hell. (Kim… ah… not so much…) So knowing that Kyler was predisposed to enjoy music, we had great expectations that he would enjoy singing and dancing and prancing around the room with other kids and their mothers every Wednesday morning.

And I? How did I enjoy it? Well, let’s review, shall we?

This is the same Kevin who tried to sell some of Kyler’s children’s music CDs we were given at showers – before he was born. (I say “tried,” because when Kim caught wind of the auctions on eBay, she had Chris Mayfield bid on them for her… that Stinky Pete…) As much as I loved music, I knew – even back then – that I would readily prefer to have salty bamboo shoots lodged deep beneath my nail beds than endure the chatty chirping of toddlers singing along to an overbearing dulcimer. (“Hammered” and “dulcimer” has a much different meaning to me now… As in, “I’d prefer to be HAMMERED if I have to listen to a DULCIMER for one second more.” And this coming from someone who doesn’t drink…)

Secondly, you’ll notice that I titled this entry “Castration by Kindermusik.” This is hardly and understatement. As I said before, Kyler had a wonderful time at Kindermusik. Every time we’d walk in the room, he had a huge grin on his face that wouldn’t leave for the next half hour. He absolutely LOVED it. I think Kim had the right idea when she suggested we sign him up for it, because he’s now able to entertain himself in the car simply by singing the songs he’s learned. (Take THAT, you long-trip, DVD-toting people!!!)

And everytime I’d walk in the room? I’d be smilin’ and courteous on the outside, while on the inside I could feel my nuts shrivel to the size of microscopic raisins. Seriously. I had to stick my thumb in my mouth and re-inflate them everytime I got back in the truck.

I love being a stay-at-home Dad. I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to the awkwardness of being the only man in the roomful of high-pitched moms singin’ those sweet chipmunk tunes.

There were two days in particular that will forever be etched into my memory. The first was when one of the fathers came to class to watch his boy sing and dance, making sure it wasn’t too “feminine” for his progeny to participate in. He avoided my gaze like the plague (and I his), as we subjected ourselves to the supersonic torture. I’d like to think he felt more pity for me than revulsion, but I just don’t know…

The second excruciating day was when Ginger whipped out the sashes. Ahhh… the sashes… You know, they’re kind of like a thin veil, the ones brides wear on their wedding day? There were so many pretty colors!! Wow!! And which one did Kyler bring over to me? Well, you just KNOW it was a bright pink sash for his Daddy!! (Who, in turn, turned a bright pink as well…)

Mortifying.

Needless to say, I did not dance with my sash that day. (Or any other day…) I could only do so much… could only sacrifice so much for my boy’s entertainment and musical betterment….

To give you an idea of what my castration sessions were like, I took the liberty of recording a few minutes’ worth of a session one day. For those with testicles, you might want to cover one ear, lest you feel the full brunt of the castrating force that is high-pitched singing. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you…)

Finally, now that I’m done bitching and moaning about my experience, I would like to say this: Ginger was great. She was a very talented, caring and personal teacher, and all the kids loved her (especially Kyler). If I weren’t such a macho man with a deep love for my testicles, I would sign Kyler up for another session in a heartbeat, because I know he’d have a blast. So don’t take this diatribe as a rant against Kindermusik itself. Great program, it is.

It’s just not for Kevin Mills. (Man, is it ever not for Kevin Mills…. sheesh….)

Click below and listen… if you dare….