Why the $10,000 prize I won in 1989 for “America’s Funniest Home Videos” wasn’t worth having my left testicle torn by a Wiffle bat

It was August 1988 and I was attending my nephew Brett’s 4th birthday party in Leoni, Michigan. I was just planning to spend a wonderful summer day with my family, but little did I know that these events would change my life forever. While teaching Brett how to swing the yellow Wiffle bat I had bought him, he accidentally hit me in the testicles, causing me to clutch my groin and fall onto the freshly mowed lawn behind my brother Andy’s house.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, fast forward 15 months and there I was, sitting in the studio audience for “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” with the moment of my ultimate shame captured by Andy on his Sharp VHS-C HQ camcorder still alive played once for millions of people. The audience laughed as the most traumatic experience of my life was dubbed with corny cartoon sound effects coupled with Bob Saget’s horrific imitation of Brett’s voice. I ended up winning the $10,000 prize, but to say it wasn’t worth it is an understatement.

If the left testicle is fractured, a plastic scrotal tube must be inserted to drain excess fluid. Six months of torturous physical therapy costing thousands of dollars. Thousands more dollars in lost wages from my job as a construction foreman. These are the costs that the incident cost me, for which the $10,000 was a paltry and insulting compensation. I like to think that the audience wouldn’t have laughed so hard had these facts been known, but to be honest, the whole ordeal damaged my faith in humanity almost as much as it damaged my testicles.

Additionally, my relationship with my beloved nephew was completely shattered and truly never fully recovered. Thirty-six years later, I still instinctively cower in fear and cover my genitals every time I see him. Worse, my family doesn’t understand the emotional damage I suffered at the party and will occasionally play the clip on YouTube while I force a pained smile while holding back tears. No grand prize could be worth such torture.

So go ahead and laugh, America, while you drink from my seemingly endless supply of misery. You’ve been doing this for three decades, so I hardly expect you’ll find you’ve had enough of it any time soon. Just know that your spirit and your sense of humanity have sunk in the same way I did after I was hit by the gun that cursed afternoon so many years ago.