Mentoring To Earn The Man-Card

Over the weekend I found myself at one of three soccer games planned for that lovely day. As the daughter runs her little butt up and down the field, I talk manly-man stuff to another dad plopped next to me.

Running, dreading our daughters moving into the inevitable realm of dating, vacation plans….those were just some of the many topics rambling from our mouths as we killed yet another Saturday on the sidelines.

My son wanders over, throwing a soccer ball in the air and catching it over and over again, trying desperately to find a way to work into our manversation. Finally, a very brief lull in the conversation takes over and that’s when the boy says:

“So, I’ve been hit in my balls four times in my life. Twice by a soccer ball, once by a baseball and once by my sister who did it on purpose! How many times have you guys been hit in your balls?”

I can’t say I was shocked because I’m used to his random-ass comments, but I was definitely not expecting that. So I reached down, flicked him in the head and said “dude, seriously? You really want to have a conversation about balls?”

And that’s when it hit me. That actually would be a pretty damn good conversation for three dudes to have while killing time. I mean, what guy doesn’t have a great story about getting hit in the balls? TV shows make millions by showing random nut shots. 37.8% of YouTube’s total content comprises of testicles getting dealt with in surprising fashion.

I didn’t realize it then, but I did later….my son is slowly developing the requirements to earn a man-card.

Then a shudder went down my spine as I realized what a huge responsibility it is to guide a young chap through developing those requirements.

I mean, he’s well on his way and Saturday was a perfect example. 1) he struck up a random conversation with two dudes by trying to tell funny stories about their balls, 2) he took a soccer ball to the face, bent over, sucked it up without running with tears for his mommy, 3) after finding out I was making spaghetti that night he asked, “you’re gonna put a bunch of meat in it right?”

But on the flip side, that same day, he 1) did a cartwheel, 2) played with a hula hoop for a while, and 3) watched a 30-minute My Little Pony cartoon with his sister.

It’s all about balance. The key is to teach the boy to do manly shit with dudes, and un-manly man-card revoking stuff when dudes aren’t around but ladies are. That’s still considered manly because then it just means you’re trying to get laid.

It’s when you reverse those two that you start to get into some real shit. For example:

Telling another dude his shirt looks nice. NO

Asking another dude if his mommy dressed him this morning. YES

Starting a conversation with another dude by placing your hand on his shoulder and saying, “hey guy, how’s it goin’?” NO

Starting a conversation with another dude by nodding and saying “what’s up shit-brick?” YES

Sitting at a bar with a bunch of dudes, watching the game and ordering a Malibu with Diet Coke. NO

Sitting at a bar with a bunch of dudes, watching the game and ordering a Newcastle and shot of Jack Daniels. YES

Wearing coordinated outfits with your wife at parties while holding her hand all night. NO

Walking by your wife in the living room and stopping to tell her she smells good. YES

It’s tricky business earning your man-card. It’s even more difficult to keep it. I’ve got a long road ahead of me.

My Homage To Stay-At-Home Moms

I’ve said it before, but not quite so bluntly.

Stay at home moms watching children full-time should win Emmy’s, free groceries and not have to pay taxes.

I have every Monday off from work.

Yesterday was the little nippers’ last day of school. They went in for one hour, then came home by 10 a.m. just as the wifey was hopping in the car to head for work.

I swear I heard uncontrollable laughter as she drove off leaving me with a yipping dog, a daughter screaming “I want cereal PLEASE daddy!!!,” and a boy behind me saying “can I have a play date? Daddy? Play date? Can I have one, Please!!!” just as the doorbell was ringing with the neighborhood kid standing next to it.

An hour later I had two kids in the basement playing, my son was riding his bike down the street screaming “I’ll be back dad,” just as my phone rang and the dog hit his “I need to go outside” bell.

It wasn’t even 11 a.m. and I was looking around the kitchen for a bottle with a lose top.

11:30 a.m. and I’m out front sweating my ass off watching my daughter fly down the sidewalk on her bike, barely missing hitting the two-year-old neighbor kid, just as another neighbor-kid climbs a tree in our yard 6 feet above concrete. Another neighbor kid opens the door to my house to go “wee wee” leaving it open long enough for my dog to fly out and run for his life down the street.

As I’m running down the street my son yells, “DAD!!! I’M GOING OVER TO #%@&^ HOUSE! I’LL BE BACK LATER!! Only problem was I had no clue in hell who this kid was or where he lived.

About 20 minutes later the boy’s pissed at me, the girl is changing into her 3^rd outfit for the day and I’m in the kitchen making lunch for four kids, each with their own dietary requests.

One minute later and I’m pondering how in the hell I can make it to the local liquor store without having child services called on me.

The chaos continued. But, thankfully I have the support from a neighborhood stay-at-home mom who calmly came over and took control from my rookie ass.

And I was in awe….

I immediately fell to her feet, skinning my knees, but not caring a single bit because I knew I had just met a true “stay-at-home mom.”

With the wave of her hand children were coloring on the sidewalk. Songs were being sung by many. Smiles were on faces that just seconds ago were covered by tears. And I believe I heard a “thank you mamma” trickle off into the air leaving me humbled, numb, and thankful.

I crawled to her feet like a man left for death in the blistering heat of the hot desert sun finding a spring of water. Clasping her ankles I looked up and said, “teach……me….for….I…..fear…them…..and….they…smell…..my…blood!!!”

She simply reached down, patted my head, laughed, and walked back to her house. As she grew smaller as she walked further away I noticed the children slowly focusing their gaze on me, one-by-one.

It wasn’t until the door slowly closed behind the coveted stay-at-home mom that the death children dropped their tasks and began bringing the rapture back to me.

Dear Stay-At-Home Moms:

We love you. Adore you. And you are irreplaceable.

Love,

Me