Jonathon Repander's Extraordinary Circus

Born into an elite race of musclemen and women, my childhood was an amalgam of competitive posturing and hardcore muscle stretches. Us kids went behind the silver trailer and hung weights from our own parts. This was curtains for the girls. And they were thus strung to a life of freakery. But this was normal for them. We never used the homemaker phrase about clinging to the apron strings out on the road.
I showed prowess. My father sat me on his knee at seventeen and looked me straight in the eye with his greyed pinky socket. ‘Jonathon,’ he started, chewing on crud. ‘You know I loves you, don’t you?’ I nodded and licked my lips. ‘Well, I wants you to take on the family business and all that...’ I had then become the very man that we had been inventing behind the trailer all those years. Tears ran down my cheeks into my unnatural cleavage.