He's the Kind of Kid You'd Stick Needles Into
Security at the airport used to take one look at me and throw me up against the wall.“Alright kid, spread ‘em.”It’s not like I could resist.Let’s just get this over with, I thought as I obediently put my hands against the weeping concrete. I tried to think of other things as pinching fingers traveled up the inside of my legs.My dad used to think this was funny. It happened again and again. I got the sense that he looked forward to it. Me getting groped became a highlight of our trips.“Do you think they’ll search you?” he’d ask with a laugh as we pulled into the airport parking lot. My hands…
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