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Adding to the Family Mythos

As I gradually wind things down in the bookstore the number of people dropping in to talk about the the store has been a welcome surprise. Most of these conversations eventually swing around to discussions about the Peninsula Pulse.

This past weekend a couple that has come to the store several times each year for many, many years swung the conversation to the Pulse and this column and the woman recollected a column about my hernia surgery and a marble that I had written quite a while back. When I mentioned that I was reprinting favorite columns of my readers this year she asked me to run it again before she heads out of the county Saturday.

Well, it took some digging, but I finally found the column she referenced. So, in honor of a longtime bookstore customer and an equally longtime reader, here is the column (slightly modified for length) she requested, which originally appeared in November of 2001.

This past week I have been thinking about families. I have also been thinking about my recent surgery. And then, as I am showering this morning, I made a rather startling discovery about my new belly button. So now I am sitting down to write this column with these sundry thoughts – brace yourself, folks.

Every family has humorous stories, tall tales or other anecdotes that are shared back and forth and eventually become part of the mythos of that particular family. From my own family, for example, there is the story of my mother’s father jumping off the roof of his family’s home in Kilbourn, Wis., (now Wisconsin Dells) with an umbrella and landing in a manure pile. There is the story of how my father’s grandfather took barrel hoops and laid them all around the back door of a neighbor’s house, then banged on the door and ran off to watch in safety as the neighbors raced out to chase him and stepped on the hoops, resulting in painful smacks to the shins. And there are my personal memories of my father who, one memorable evening over dinner, as I speculated that my cat at the time, named Juan, might need a second cat as a playmate, responded – without the slightest pause – that I could call him “Two.” This clever rejoinder led to my father laughing so hard at his own joke that milk came out of his nose.

So this leads me to my recent surgery and my own contribution to the family mythos. In addition to hernias in the lower portion of my physique, my belly button had developed a noticeable protrusion. This unsightly bulge was a smooth, round, half-sphere and over the years my niece, nephews and children commented upon this mini-midriff mound. Since the truth was rather boring I perpetuated the story that my altered navel was the result of a marble I swallowed as a child. My deadpan delivery, combined with my unwavering telling of the story, led the children to believe this story.

Thus, when the time came for surgery to repair this nodular nuisance, my story needed to be addressed. With the assistance of the capable staff at Door County Memorial Hospital and, in particular, my surgeon, Dr. Melarvie, the following sequence of events occurred.

As I lay on a gurney awaiting surgery, Barb handed a marble to a nurse in the prep room and explained the scheme. The nurse, in turn, placed the marble in a small glass vial and explained the scheme to Dr. Melarvie. Thus, when Dr. Melarvie came into the waiting room to let Barb and Andrew know that my surgery was successful, he delivered to Andrew the bottle containing the marble which had “been removed from my belly button.”

Yes, I know, many of you probably find my little deception distasteful. In my own defense let me say that I believe children need a little mystery in their lives. They should believe in things like Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and … the marble in my belly button. And if you don’t find that argument sufficient, consider this: none of the children who have heard the story of the marble in Steve’s belly button has ever – I mean, ever – swallowed a marble!

So as I stood under the falling water in the shower this morning what I have outlined above reflects my train of thoughts. And as I carefully lathered my body I made the discovery, which I mentioned near the outset of this column. Before I tell you the nature of the discovery, however, a little more background is in order.

For the first 33 or 34 years of my life I was an “innie.” For those unfamiliar with the term, “innie” refers to the fact that my belly button was indented. This indentation was never a significant recess, but it was nonetheless in marked contrast to the “outie” I have endured for the last eight or nine years. In addition to the half-sphere (i.e. “marble”) phenomenon that I mentioned above, my belly button grew across my belly. Indeed, my belly button became the most dominant aspect of my torso, which probably would have been grounds in its own right for never appearing bare-chested in public if I didn’t already have the excuses of having a slightly concave chest in addition to being waif-ishly thin.

So this morning, in the shower, I was admiring Dr. Melarvie’s handiwork on my new navel. Yes, folks, I’m back to being an “innie.” Indeed, I’m an “Innie’s innie!” And no matter how hard I tried amid the soapy lather and falling water I couldn’t see the back of my navel. But as I strained to behold the deepest recess of my new anatomical feature I made my discovery: with the proper amount of soap and a well-placed squeeze, I can blow soap bubbles from my navel.

And a new entry into the family mythos is born!