The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead

Bloom’s thesis seems to me unassailable.

In one study, of teenage boys with the highest testosterone levels, 69 percent said they’d had intercourse; of boys with the lowest levels, 16 percent said they’d had intercourse. The testosterone level in boys is eight times that of girls. Testosterone is responsible for increasing boys’ muscle mass and initiating the growth spurt, which peaks at age 14. From ages 11 to 16, boys’ testosterone levels increase 20-fold. By age 16, the cardiovascular system has established its adult size and rhythm.

Hair grows about half an inch a month; it grows fastest in young adults, and fastest of all in girls between ages 16 and 24. Brain scans of people processing a romantic gaze, new mothers listening to infant cries, and subjects under the influence of cocaine bear a striking resemblance to one another. According to Daniel McNeill, “Our pupils reach peak size in adolescence, almost certainly as a lure in love, then slowly contract till age sixty.” As Natalie would say—as she actually did say—“That’s awesome.”

When she asked me why people write graffiti, I tried to explain how teenage boys need to ruin what’s there in order to become who they are. I talked about boys at the swimming pool who simply wouldn’t obey the pleasant female lifeguard asking them to leave the pool at closing time; they left only when asked gruffly by the male African-American lifeguard, and then they left immediately.

“One Sunday morning,” my father reminisced to me over the phone, “my father announced that he was going out to watch me play punchball. That was the first time in all the years I’d been playing that he expressed a desire to see me play. We played in the street in front of my house. The only interruptions came when a horse and buggy came through. My father found a place to watch at the left-field foul line. I saw him standing there and waved as I took my turn to hit. This time, I hit the ‘Spaldeen’—that’s what we called the Spalding high bouncer—with all my might and it shot like an arrow for the very spot where my father was standing, going probably sixty miles an hour. My father stood there, waving at the ball futilely. It struck him on his left cheek, missed his eye by inches.”

According to Boyd McCandless, “A youngster is his body and his body is he.”

Tolstoy said, “I have read somewhere that children from twelve to fourteen years of age—that is, in the transition stage from childhood to adolescence—are singularly inclined to arson and even murder. As I look back upon my boyhood, I can quite appreciate the possibility of the most frightful crime being committed without object or intent to injure but just because—out of curiosity, or to satisfy an unconscious craving for action.”

A dozen or so teenage boys stood atop a jagged rock in the middle of Rattlesnake Lake, four miles southeast of North Bend, an hour out of Seattle. Several teenage girls did the same. I lazed about on a raft, watching from afar. The boys wore cutoffs and, nearly without exception, boasted chiseled chests. The girls, wearing cutoffs and bikini tops, seemed considerably less toned. (During the pubescent growth spurt, girls’ hips widen in relation to shoulder girth. Boys’ shoulders widen in relation to hip width. Eighteen-year-old girls have 20 percent less bone mass in relation to body weight than boys of the same age.)

The rock was perhaps one story high. The boys chose to dive from the higher parts of the rock into the lake; most of the girls dove, too, but less spectacularly, less dangerously. One girl who didn’t dive kept being pestered by her friend: “I can’t believe you’re seventeen and you won’t dive. If you don’t, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

The boys at Rattlesnake Lake kept asking one another about their own dives, “How was that one? How did that look?”

It looks like this: the average penis of a man is 3? to 4? when flaccid and 5? to 7? when erect. The recorded range for an erect penis is 3.75? to 9.6?. In the 1930s, mannequins imported from Europe came in three sizes according to the size of the genitalia: small, medium, and American (compared to other cultures, Americans are obsessed with the size of sexual organs: penises, breasts). Lyndon Johnson frequently urinated in front of his secretary, routinely forced staff members to meet with him in the bathroom while he defecated, and liked to show off his penis, which he nicknamed “Jumbo” in a private conversation, pressed by a couple of reporters to explain why we were in Vietnam, LBJ unzipped his fly, displayed Jumbo, and said, “This is why.” Phallocrypts, sheaths that cover a New Guinean man’s penis, run to two feet in length. The length of my penis when erect is 6' (boringly, frustratingly average); I’ve measured it several times. My father, though much smaller overall than I am, is, I’m pretty sure (glimpsed discreetly), markedly more well-endowed. No wonder he used to be such a sex fiend.

Boys vs. Girls (ii)

At birth, body fat is 12 percent of body weight, increases to 25 percent at 6 months, and 30 percent at 1 year. At age 6, it’s back down to 12 percent again, then it rises until the onset of puberty. Postpuberty, the rise continues in girls, while in boys there’s a slight decline.

During high school, girls’ bone development is 2 years ahead of boys. Young girls surpass boys in height and weight, and they frequently remain taller until boys enter the adolescent growth spurt that accompanies pubescence. Maximum skeletal development occurs at 16 for most girls and 19 for boys; dating between classmates in high school is by definition a hormonal mismatch and a farce.

“At seventeen, you tend to go in for unhappy love affairs,” said Francoise Sagan, who should know.

In males, the sexual urge peaks during their late teens or early twenties, but not until a decade later does it peak in females.

“I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, / or that youth would sleep out the rest; / for there is nothing in the between / but getting wenches / with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting”—so saith the Shepherd in The Winter’s Tale.

Between ages 15 and 24, men are three times more likely to die than women, mostly by reckless behavior or violence—e.g., murder, suicide, car accidents, war.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote to his daughter, Scottie, “For premature adventure one pays an atrocious price. As I told you once, every boy who drank at eighteen or nineteen is now safe in his grave.”

Hoop dream (iii):

My father was the manager of a semi-pro basketball team called the Brooklyn Eagles, which consisted of Harry Glatzer; his brother, Nat, who played for Thomas Jefferson—where they both went to high school—“but,” according to my father, “went nowhere following graduation” Max “Puzzy” Posnack, at the time the captain of St. John’s; Allie Schuckman, also a star at St. John’s; Max “Kappy” Kaplan, from St. John’s as well; Artie Jackson, a black player who displayed “dazzling accuracy from all over the floor” and Isador “Midge” Serota, who “filled his days playing pickup basketball.” The Eagles were to be paid $100 under the table (since many of the players were college athletes) to provide the opposition for a Christmas Day game at Yale.

There is, I’m sure, much mythmaking in my father’s version of the story (and all his stories); the last time he told me this story, he told it with the same, implausibly perfect details he always does: as he and the seven players drove from Brooklyn to New Haven, “a slight snowfall came down at about four or five o’clock P.M., making driving a little tricky, but Kappy was a good driver. Somewhere, about twenty-five or thirty miles from New Haven, the light snowfall turned heavier, making driving a little dangerous. We were making slow but steady progress toward our goal, the Yale basketball court.

“All of a sudden, we felt a bump against the front fender. A body rolled up over the fender and off the car onto the roadway. We’d hit a man. We stopped the car, raced to a nearby farmhouse, and called the local sheriff, who showed up in about fifteen minutes and started asking Kappy if he’d been drinking or driving too fast, especially under these hazardous conditions. One look at the body by the sheriff and he said, ‘It’s that old Polack, the town drunk. He probably never saw you.’

“We were watching the time. We had to be in New Haven by six-thirty. The sheriff told us about a farmer who lived nearby and did commercial driving. By this time—five-thirty or so—we had to skip dinner, hire the farmer-driver for twenty dollars, and get to the game. Kappy’s car was impounded as evidence and would have to be kept in the town of Wilton, where we hit the man. We piled into the big limousine and got to the gym about seven, cold and hungry. The Yale people, who thought they’d been stood up, were furious with us.

“We changed into our uniforms, had a brief warm-up, and the first quarter ended with the Yalies leading by twenty points; the half ended with Yale up about thirty. At halftime, Allie and the team gulped down sandwiches