I look around at the young so-called males, and the crop seems infinitely depressing to me. Call me old-fashioned, but it seems that we're witnessing the slow sissification of the male sex, and I wonder at the implications for the nation's future - which is plenty bleak without this factor added in.
Sensitive and vulnerable, the modern youth is so in touch with his feelings that they have replaced thinking. If he does happen to show any errant signs of masculinity or aggressiveness, the school system medicates him out of it at a suitably young age. Fortified by his zombie-like state, he is able to endure a certain amount of pain, perhaps enough to have an ear or two pierced, and is able to relate this event with soft-spoken, whiny words such as, "Um, like, my mom let me borrow her earring."
This teen, with a doe-like look in his limpid eyes, donned in the latest fashion, every hair in place, is better groomed than most girls I know. There seems to be a latent assumption that all this will somehow translate into a successful life, although it's a safe bet that little time is wasted on such substantial thoughts as what the future might hold, especially when the simplest concepts and ideas are met with a blank look.
I wonder - even if he doesn't - what in the world he will possibly do in life. And when he will get started. It's a bleak speculation.
Thank God I wasn't born too late to hook up with a real man, one who knows how to handle a gun, hunt and fish, has a dog, a beard and a pickup truck.
No Neanderthal, he has a deep faith, something between his ears and can engage in conversation about almost anything. He has purpose in life, works hard, takes care of business and has deep enough thoughts to philosophize from time to time.
And...he's smart enough to know how to live with me.
He is not necessarily impeccable in his habits, often spends more time in the bathroom when the list gets too long, leaves unidentifiable sticky stuff on the kitchen floor and hasn't seemed to figure out what hangers are for. Another thing ... every time he fixes something he breaks two others.
He expects there to be hunting clubs, motorcycles and RVs in heaven - as perhaps there will be. (We may be going to separate heavens.) Grubby on weekends, covered in all manner of dirt, engine grease, lawn clippings, and smelling a bit like a mixture of dog and gun oil, this is the type of guy a real woman wants around when the chips are down.
I've made my own contribution of real men to society. I remember a few years ago when my grandson came home from a Cub Scout trip, ecstatic that he was the only one there who knew about guns and gun safety - thanks to my son, another real man.
Perhaps there is hope.