My maternal grandfather, may he roast in Hell, had me castrated at birth. I did not learn the truth about this until about a dozen years later.

    When I was twelve, May became desperately ill and was not expected to live. She gave me a letter to be opened in the event of her death. She didn't SAY that I couldn't open it earlier, however, and so I did. It was an astonishing revelation.

    I learned that May was my mother; my father was a rapist who died before I was born. Rupert, therefore was my maternal grandfather, Clara my maternal grandmother, and little Horace, being my mother's younger brother, was my uncle.

    Grandfather was determined that my father's bloodline should not continue through me and thus pollute our family's bloodline with the blood of the disgracer of our name. He arranged for the midwife to castrate the little bastard if it were a man-child. What would have been done had I turned out to be a girl was not made clear.

    I, therefore, an innocent baby, was punished for my father's crime and , without any just reason, my life was ruined. Mother was furious. She refused ever to marry, so that the Halbridge line should never continue through her.

    Grandfather, therefore, bent heroic efforts toward begetting a son to carry on his name and blood. Despite the fact that Clara was 42 years old, he actually succeeded. When I was three years old, his son, Horace was born.

    Horace, who never realized that he was actually my uncle, looked up to me as his big brother and nearly worshipped the ground I walked on.

    I rushed into Mother's sickroom carrying the letter and crying "Momma, Momma, I've just found you. You mustn't leave me."  If she was annoyed that I'd read the letter, she didn't show it. Deep down, she may have wanted me to. She kissed me and said that the matter was in God's hands and begged me to be careful not to let Grandfather or Granny know that I knew the truth, and to keep it from Horace. I promised.

    Mother survived and is still living at an advanced age. I burned with rage and a lust for revenge against my grandfather. I wanted, somehow, to assure that his blood-line ended with the present generation . That meant that I should have to strike at Grandfather through Horace. But, Horace loved me and trusted me and I was very fond of him.

    I knew that I could never bring myself to hurt Horace. I pondered the matter and brooded over it for the next four years, until I was 16 and Horace had just attained puberty at 13, as I never would.

    Much of what I have to say hereafter may well sound like rationalisation, hypocrisy, and sophistry. I can only declare my sincerity and say that, in my own mind, I am blameless, however others may view it.

    I would not consider myself at fault were I to tempt Horace to do something foolhardy which would result in the loss of his manhood, especially if I warned him against it.

    When I was 13, I saw a tight-rope walker, balancing himself with a pole, walk across a waterfall on a steel cable. I was greatly impressed and attempted to emulate the feat on a smaller scale by walking on the round rail fence around the back yard. Being a eunuch, I could not be seriously injured if I fell astride it.

    I found that extending my arms from my sides was nearly as effective in balancing as carrying a long pole. What I had to master was a pigeon-toed gait in which the insteps of my shoes or the arches of my bare feet rested on the rail with my toes and heels overhanging it to the sides. I soon learned to shuffle along rather rapidly, If I did slip, I would be more likely to fall astride the rail than off it.

    It was too easy not to fall astride the rail. Horace watched me as I did this trick, but it was not the one which I wanted to tempt him to emulate.

    In the back yard, there was a very tall old spruce tree, easily 60 feet high. I had found that there were several branches not far above the ground and slanting downward 'til they nearly touched the ground. One of these was about 3½ inches in diameter, a perfect fit to a boy's crotch.

    Six feet above it was another branch which I could easily reach up and grab if I stumbled. I could grab it, but it would be out of reach for a 13-year-old boy. There were plenty of small branches between the branch I had in mind and the ground, making it easy to shinny up the trunk of the tree and stand on the slanting branch.

    I practised my "stunt" whenever Horace was out of sight until I had perfected it. I would climb up onto the branch facing the trunk and then shuffle backward down it until the end touched the ground. Then I'd suddenly squat down, grab the branch and lower myself from it to the ground. I used an exaggerated pigeon-toed gait, walking on the balls of my feet with my heels widely overhanging.

    When I had mastered it, I did my trick while Horace was watching me. He stood under the branch until I waved him away and could see how my feet rested on the branch. He applauded me and was very impressed. I told him "Now, don't YOU try that, Horace. You're too little and you don't know how. You'll just hurt yourself."

    It was no fault of mine if he took that warning as a challenge. I'd TOLD him not to do it. Paying Horace no further heed, I walked away from the tree to the house. I hadn't quite reached the porch when there was a blood-curdling scream behind me.

    I spun around and saw Horace high-centered on that branch and screaming in agony. I ran up to the tree and caught him as he fell off the branch and lowered him gently to the ground where he curled up into a ball shrieking and vomiting. Softly, I said to him "Oh, Horace, I told you not to try it."

    Grandfather came running out of the house and I told him. "Horace tried to climb the big spruce and fell onto a branch."  "How did he fall ?" asked grandfather ?" I demonstrated by bringing the web between the index and third fingers of one hand down onto the index finger of the other. As granny came out of the house he told her "Don't move him; he may have hurt his back."

    Soon, grandfather returned with Dr. Harper. By then, Horace was just moaning and retching a bit. Dr. Harper carefully pulled Horace's short pants and underpants down and felt his bag. I turned away, feeling it wouldn't be decent to watch, but I could hear what Dr. Harper said. "Third degree contusion of both testicles. They must be removed immediately. Get Eddie to help you lift him gently while I spread out my oiled silk sheet on the ground. I don't think his back is hurt."

    I held poor little Horace in my arms as the doctor gave him aether. The operation didn't take very long, but I almost puked when I saw the mess that little Horace had made of his testicles. Soon, Horace's empty bag was sewed up and his broken balls were discarded.

    The Grandfather wanted me to explain what had happened. I explained that I was facing away from Horace on my way back to the house but I presumed that he had tried to emulate a trick that I had done in the tree after I specifically warned him not to try it.

    All the time that Horace was sick and in pain, I sat by his bed and did everything I could to comfort him. After 10 days he was up and about, though still weak and sore. It was then that he said to me ruefully, "Well, we're two of a kind now, Eddie. " I promised him than that I would always look after him and take care of him, and I always have.

    So, Grandfather punished my late father by ruining the life of an innocent baby. I leave it to you to decide if I did the same to poor little Horace.