Humorous Reflections On Childhood Trauma: Subtitled: OMG!!! I Be Strokin’



Trauma, as defined in the MisfitWisdom dictionary of words you should know the meaning of but are too stupid to remember what it means, is defined as, “A disordered or psychic or behavioral state resulting from mental or emotional stress or physical injury.”

Strike that last part, in my case, which is the “physical injury” part, because I’ve never been really traumatized physically. Unless you count the number of times I’ve whacked myself with a freakin’ hammer while attempting to hit a nail. Other than that, most of my own traumas are mental.

Moose trauma

Moose trauma requiring therapy

But, I don’t think they can be classified as severe mental traumas. More like OMG! traumas. Things that happen to you as a child between the ages of 6 and 9 years old that stick in your mind forever. Similar to what my friend Bob recalled in the comments section of yesterday’s MW blog about barber shops and that back room.

Yes, the back room of a barber shop where, if your dad took you to the barber shop, he disappeared into while you were getting your hair cut. Because, as Bob stated, that’s where all the Playboy and Penthouse magazines were kept.


Typical backroom barbershop reading in the 50’s. “How To Strip Paint” by Janet Leigh.

I responded to his comment that as a child I recalled sitting in a barber shop and noticing a photo of a naked woman in the back room when the barber left the door ajar. Not a traumatic incident, but, when you think about it, it really was. Because that was my first glimpse of a naked woman. So, in a sense, it was traumatic because it was then imbedded into my brain, (the perverted section of my brain) and I forever remember that incident.

Which led me to think about all of the other things that are stored in my brain which could be labeled as “traumatic” experiences because they are never forgotten. Almost like “PTSD” (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) but in this instance, “Permanent Trash Stashed Disorder.”  In which one remembers stupid stuff that means absolutely nothing but because you were so young you actually think it did at that time, because it appeared to be traumatic to you, but really wasn’t.


Permanent Trash Stress Disorder”

Here’s an example of how the brain stores this stuff when you’re a child. Hence, in a sense, the trauma part.

I listened to a radio broadcast of “Loveline” with Dr. Drew Pinskey and Adam Corolla a few years ago and somehow the subject centered on childhood memories and what a child perceives vs what is true. Adam said that as a child he accidentally came across his dad exiting the shower naked, stared at his penis, and thought to himself, “OMG, look at the size of THAT!”

He then told Dr.Drew that for many years he would tell everyone that his dad had the biggest penis in the world. Which, actually wasn’t the case. But to a small kid seeing his father naked for the first time, it appeared that way if you think about what a childs itsy bitty penis looks like in comparison to seeing their fathers.


Hallmark finally recognizes the need for yet another sympathy card as the result of  childhood trauma

Now I can relate to that because when I was about 9, I remember going to my friend’s house and climbing the stairs up to his bedroom to find him. Passing by my friends brother’s room, who was a few years older, I caught him masturbating at the exact moment of ejaculation.

Now at that age I had no freakin’ idea what the hell was going on. And I didn’t stick around to find out either. But, with that memory burned into my brain, when I eventually did find out what he was doing, (masturbating) my image was that tons of sperm were all over the room and that he was climaxing forever. My image to this day is that of a Texas oil rig spewing out oil if ya catch my drift here.


What I thought I saw…..


More than likely this is what I actually saw……along with a few others.

In actuality he most likely did not resemble a Texas oil rig. It was just my shock at seeing that and amplifying the incident. I think. Only because I was too scared to ask his brother what the hell was going on so I can’t state equivocally that it wasn’t like a Texas oil rig spewing out oil.

Tried to contact him once just to clear that up when I was writing my autobiography and mentioned him in my book, but he’s fallen off of the radar. Either that or he’s a big porno movie star and has changed his name to Johnny Wad or something.

But we all retain these stupid memories which really pisses me off because I can remember THOSE incidents but can’t retain other stuff like fractions, percentages and calculus. Which is why I flunked math in school. Probably because I was too busy trying to remember the amount of sperm divided by strokes that it would take to equal a Texas oil rig.

(This is the part of the blog where I insert Clarence Carter’s “Strokin” song…….only because it not only fits into what I’m writing about, but for all the times I couldn’t play it on the radio)

Of course there are many other instances of stupid childhood trauma I can recall. Briefly……at 4 years old having my picture taken in the open trunk of a 1942 Plymouth and crying my eyeballs out because I thought the trunk lid was gonna fall on me. It didn’t.

At 7 or 8 having to sleep in a bed with my older cousin (a girl) who reached over and placed my tiny hand on her doo dad, and I, completely oblivious as to why, figured it was some sort of “tag” game and placed her hand on my ding-a-ling. That’s all I remember, but it must have been traumatic enough for me to remember.

Damn! If I had only known about sex back then. Of course those opportunities never present themselves when you DO know about sex when you’re older. It’s usually, “Put your hands on my whatever and I’m gonna knock your freakin’ head off.”

So, all in all life isn’t fair. All the stuff that may traumatize us when we’re young we actually might enjoy when we’re older. Thereby not suffering from my version of “PTSD.”

However, when you get to be my age, trust me, it doesn’t get any better.


See what I mean………..

In conclusion, I’m going along with the late George Carlin’s theory:

“The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? Death! What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards.

You should die first, get it out-of-the-way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re old enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating……….and you finish off as an orgasm.”

George had it right don’t ya think.

All those traumas you started out with when you were old gradually you get rid of as you return to the womb.

Which bring us back to my friend’s brothers Texas sized orgasm.

Just sayin.’

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About misfit120

Former disc jockey, (Dick Jones) 30 years, and author of, "I Could Have Been Famous But Sex, Love & Life Got In The Way" available at books, & Kindle, "The Covert Chamber" a mystery novel available at and Barnes & Noble, and "Forgotten" the story of two WWI pilots who were forgotten for over 70 years available on and Kindle
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1 Response to Humorous Reflections On Childhood Trauma: Subtitled: OMG!!! I Be Strokin’

  1. Doc says:

    I read your entire article today, trying to figure out what a “trauma” is, and I couldn’t for the life of me…several people also said the word, and I couldn’t recognize it. It was only when a fellow Rhode Islander said “tramah”, and HIS friend (also from R.I.) said, “NO. It’s traumer. Get it right!” that I immediately connected.

    I was traumatized twice, I think…the first time was when I was 4 or 5 and I barged in on my parents dressing for a New Years Eve party. My mother exclaimed that I “saw everything!” (while my only thought was that I had seen that merely three years before, and I was missing them).

    The second time (and a few times thereafter until my dad butted in) was when my mother hung out clothes to dry from a second story bathroom (while my two other brothers and I were taking a bath–yep, in the same dirty water…).

    Why I remember these things, I don’t know…

    George Carlin was right…the end does begin with a gigantic orgasm…except I was traumatized back then by being wooshed out with a billion of my pals while partying,,,I remmeber tasting wine and chocolate.

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