When I was a little girl, and required any special attention from the school nurse (which usually meant she would give you a swig of children’s Tylenol and allow you to call your mom to inform her that you were sick before escorting you back to class), the afore-mentioned school nurse would greet me like this for a good solid six years:

“Why! I know you! You’re the girl that got a rock stuck in her ear!” And it was true, that was who I was. I remember the day of infamy. I’d spent a delightful recess outside being rough and tumble, but when I came inside to Mrs. Mallaber’s first grade classroom, I noticed the jiggling–Like a little tickly bug skittering across my eardrum any time I made a move. This was a curious thing, and until it started messing with my balancing ability (for I am told the inner ear is where balance is regulated) that I started to consider the new addition to my ear cavity as a detriment rather than a cool new feature in life. My teacher only believed me when I shook my head back on forth, and the mysterious object rattled back and forth like a maraca in my head. And then she sent me to the clinic where I got to spend the next three hours ear down on the sterilized paper atop the uncomfortable bench while I waited for the unsuspecting piece of gravel to dislodge.

I was pleased to hear that I belonged to a heritage of people who got objects (inanimate, or perhaps animate in the case of my sister) stuck in their bodily orifices. The reference I draw here is of my father who had to control his gag reflex as he tweezed Rolly Pollies from my sister’s nostrils.

So it only seems fair that, considering our genetic make-up, that my nephew Doug should surface from the basement, clutching his ear and complaining that it felt weird in his ears. Upon closer examination, it became clear that the yellow air soft pellets that Doug had been hoarding all week, now had a new stashing place—his ears.

All the way to urgent care, my sister asked him “Douglas, do we stick things in our ears?” It was only until several hours and one doctor later that Douglas was able to answer “No,” with supreme confidence.

Way to follow those genetic inclinations, buddy boy.