I was "born double-jointed" -- loose-jointed. Seems like all my bones have popped in and out of joint.

Also, my fingers and toes are crooked -- permanently bent from the end joint, and can be made to bend further, claw-like.

You know the balls of your thumbs? I can pop mine in and out of joint -- something I used to do to amuse girls or make them scream.

When a kid, I'd sit on the floor in Mother's sewing-room, with my legs bent parallel to my thighs. Women would scream, "Clary! That boy's legs are broken!"

My cousin, Doris, was even more double-jointed. Lying on her stomach, she could wrap her legs around her neck and rock back and forth; then unwind. When I protested that I couldn't do that, she'd sit on me, wrap my legs around my neck, and leave me yelling like a pretzel in the grass of the Park my father superintended. Dad would have to unravel me, scolding Doris. "Oh, Uncle Herman! Sonny would get loose if he wanted to. He just likes to whine!"

Not only my finger and leg-joints, but my shoulder joints, neck, jaw, etsettery.

Even at my honorable age, when I go out each morning to feed The Critters in the stream by our Condo parking lot, my knee joint will pop out so that I walk along painfully. Then, after a few steps, it may be back in joint, and I'm "normal".

In the Army, lying prone for "PT"-exercises, my joints would audibly sound off. Once, the guy next to me yelled, "Hey, Sarge! I'm getting outa here. This guy is haunted!"

One advantage was that I could loudly pop my toes inside my shoes, to break up any class. The teachers usually thought it was the radiator. Or something unknown.

I used this to get back at an abusive teacher, Mr. !#*$%. The kind of guy who pinched girls on the fanny, and hit boys on the arm to raise welts. A failed high school football coach, he hated the two sports I liked best: soccer and track.

In the spring of my 7th Grade, Mr. !#*$% encouraged me to run my legs off:50-yard dash; 100-yard dash; hurdles; laps around the track. The next morning (Saturday) in trying to get up, I fell on my face: two "charlie-horses". On Monday, although I lived just 2 blocks from school, I hobbled in painfully, while Mr. !#*$% laughed at my plight.

But I got back at him in the 9th Grade in his "Civics class". He put me in front of his desk to "keep an eye on me". So I'd put my foot up against the hollow desk and pop my toes. Mr. !#*$% would rush over to the radiator and try to make it "stop popping".

All the kids in school and many of the teachers knew of my "gift" but never squealed on me. He'da killed me! (Should I will my joints to the Smithsonian?)

Now that I'm an old skeletal freak, I can (concurrently, but accidentally) throw out-of-joint my knee, jaw, and hip. Ow!