Source: By DAVID EDDIE
Times sure have changed.
At least here in the West. My wife, Pam, is thrilled and excited to have three young boys turning into young men. And so am I, of course.
But she’s worried for them: because they’re boys. Because they’re nice, handsome, gentle boys. She’s afraid some domineering woman is going to snatch them up and overpower them completely.
Because when she looks around that’s all she sees: wimpy, haunted, confused, yes-dear type men being (metaphorically) led around by the earlobe by strong, dominant women.
One of my boys’ future girlfriends? (bp3.blogger.com)
Mind you, she works in the television news business; and there are quite a few tough-cookie chicks in that racket. I go to her work parties and it’s hard not to draw an across-the-board generalization: when the girls say “jump” their menfolk say (in whiny, nasally, groveling tone): “Yes, dear, through which hoop, dear?”
There’s quite a bit of truth to this observation, too, when it comes to my neighbourhood. In the park and around the area. The women glowering, complaining, cracking the whip. The men yelping and jumping up to do their bidding.
Is this the future? Or has it always been thus? Please discuss. But she’s infected me with her fear, though; and now I’m wondering if I should start coaching my boys to be tougher, meaner more cold-hearted bastards when the women come flocking.
Because they’re quite handsome—oh, wait, I said that already.
In the meantime, I’m searching for the exact right grade 7 for my oldest, Nick. It’s scary, a scary responsibility! For the first time ever, really, his fate is at a crossroads. Which fork should he take? At age 11, the horrible, terrible life-long onus of having to make choices begins.
I hate having to make choices and wish I could protect him from ever having to do so. But I have no choice in the matter.
At first I sought his input on this one. Then he revealed that the reason he wanted to go to one particular school was a) because it was near a Taco Bell b) because it was near the place where he scores his Game Cube cartridges.
Nix. No more input from him.
Nope. This one’s all on me.
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