How Rope Burn (And A Little Cancer) Helped Me Grow A Little Bit… Down There

Flickr, Boss Tweed

Looking up at the height of the ropes, stretching some 25 feet from the ground, I could clearly see how I would die. I wasn’t having any of it. I was 12 years old, fat, and confident enough to tell the adult in charge of this high-ropes challenge (forced upon me by an evil camp director), “I’m not going to climb it.”

“But all the other kids are doing it,” he said.

Let them die, I thought. I didn’t like them anyway. After a few more moments of this adult all...

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