1962 was a year for close calls. The Cuban Missile Crisis brought the world to the brink of nuclear war, and I was caught playing doctor with my cousin Karen at the moment she was lying with her pants down and I was inserting a red plastic toy thermometer into where I assumed it was meant to be. The shocked fuss raised by both our mothers shifted to laughter when I explained that I was only “checking her fever.” My mother told us two five-year-olds to play something else, then warned me not to stick things inside my girl cousins, though she wasn’t very specific about it. I couldn’t understand the problem. It didn’t seem to bother Karen at all.
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