Machines and Arses

So what makes a man a man? That’s a loaded question, isn’t it? This could open up that proverbial worm-infested can. By the way, why would someone buy, sell, or wish to own a vessel occupied by worms? And how are they canned? Is it like green beans or creamed corn?

But let’s get back to the topic: manliness. Now, I don’t want a deluge of comments from the-gender-of-which-I-am- not-a-member accusing me of sexism, misogyny, or gender-bias, but let’s face it, boys will be boys and girls will be girls. And never the twain shall meet – well, er, occasionally they meet, but that often results in the production of more boys and girls.

So 120 words have passed, and I haven’t said anything. Yet you, dear reader, have been lulled into believing I have. Like with political speeches. Isn’t that something?

Back to the topic, again. I was concerned about the manliness of my son. He is the fourth child, and only boy of the four. He plays with dolls, and he plays house with his bossy older sister. Naturally, I watched – without interference, do not chastise me ladies – with a certain sense of concern. Would he be fey? Would he prefer floral arranging to auto mechanics? It’s the same age-old question asked by all fathers. In fact, my father is still asking that one. I never did get the hang of auto mechanics (or ¾ inch-drive drills, or pipe dope, or torque wrenches, or galvanized rebar sprocket splicers). And yet I turned out almost just fine.

If I may cut to the chase, my boy is all boy. How do I know? There are several key indicators. First, even though we have no guns, per se, in the house – no cap guns, ray guns, squirt guns, or BB guns, not out of any conscious decision not to have guns, the girls just never asked for any – the boy still shoots at things. He will use whatever stick-straight object he can find: a broom handle, tennis racquet, even Thomas the Tank Engine*. He does this all without prompting by anyone. Cross his path, and you die. Manly.

The second key indicator of manliness is machinery. The boy likes trucks, cars, trains, airplanes, or any motorized vehicle. Not only does he like the plastic or die-cast version of said vehicles, he likes the real things. He watches the garbage men with keen interest every Wednesday morning. We hope this is not an indication of his future. No offense to all you Sanitation Engineers who work very hard at a thankless job. In fact, let me thank you now. Thanks.

But the third key indicator may be the most relevant of all in the determination of manliness. Let me explain it with an illustration. Upon driving home from church on Sunday, the older girls were looking out the window at clouds and describing what they looked like. “That one’s a bunny.” “That one is flower.” The youngest girl joined in as well, not to be out done. “That one looks like a Dora the Explorer*.”
The boy, just two and a half and lagging behind in language skills, at least as compared to his precocious and loquacious sisters, would not be left behind in this one. He looked out the window, and in an uncustomarily clear and articulate voice said, “That looks like a butt.” He laughed, made farting noises with his lips, and then laughed some more.

Behind the wheel of our motorized vehicle, the boy’s father breathed a sigh of relief. Yep, he’s a boy, no doubt about it.


*Thomas the Tank Engine and Dora the Explorer are registered trade marks of big corporations that make way more money than I, and don’t know anything about me or my family or any fart noises emitted therefrom.