A Screen-Memory In Statu Nascendi

A year ago my son, now aged three and a half, was suffering from an inflammatory phimosis. I took him to a surgeon, who relieved the stricture by means of stretching. During the operation the little boy's behaviour was comparatively calm and reasonable, and this won him high praise from the surgeon and also a reward in the shape of a peppermint-drop.

When the child was dressed again and was told to thank the surgeon and say good-bye, the latter crowned his skilful and beneficial work by saying: 'Look here, you're a good boy; just see what I've got here' (so saying, he took out of his instrument-drawer a large pair of scissors). 'Next time you come I will cut the whole thing off for you with these'! He laughed in a friendly, jovial way, but the child ran to me with a cry of terror and, trembling with agitation, sobbed in my arms.

I tried to soothe him in every possible way and to comfort him with the assurance that 'the uncle was only making fun'. When we got home and during the next few days I thought I should be able to help the child to get over the shock he had experienced through the threat of castration. I gave him a pair of scissors to play with, to help to give him a sense of mastery over the instrument, and I told him over and over again that 'the uncle, ' too, had only been playing with the scissors and had had no intention of doing anything to him with them. At the time I hoped that in this way I had counteracted the psychic trauma, but this year I was undeceived.

The child was suffering again from an irritation of the glans penis, which easily yielded to local bathing. But in connection with this recurrence of the trouble the little boy began of his own accord to speak of his experience of the year before with the surgeon. He recounted with unusual vivacity, happy, excitement and remarkable accuracy many unimportant details of what had happened to him in the surgeon's