Sorry, You Missed the Ferry to Mamby-Pamby Land

Young Theodore Roosevelt, 1877

We all have that one friend.  You know the one...the burly, unadulterated testosterone factory that acts as a sort of manliness diffuser to the anyone with an Adam's apple in a 3 mile radius.  That guy.  He's the one seemingly born without any inclination toward fear or hesitation, without a story of a fight he ever failed to win, and yet surprisingly he's the man you still find breathing after endless recounts of dares and stunts never once refused.

Over the course of the last few months, I've found myself tagging along with my personal "that guy" friend quite often.  And honestly I can account for no other reason than for getting that concentrated masculine shot in the arm that I've all too severely begun to discover is apparently much more desperately needed than I'd ever fully realized.  With each Monster Truck Rally or ATV excursion out into the wild unknown I find that my reservations about such stereotypically redneck and uncivilized activities has begun to melt away and instead been replaced by an undeniable desire to reclaim some lost sense of my inner bar-brawling, wildly competitive caveman.

The truth is, I think masculinity is being slowly and methodically eliminated in this generation by the vastly more popular idea that men should present themselves as docile, tamed, gentle creatures that wax eloquently on the latest political trends over a grande cup of iced cappuccino. And while the polar alternative of this notion--the all-to-common self-absorbed, grotesquely ill-mannered man-brute--is certainly to be avoided at all costs, I'm afraid we may have erred far too much on the side of caution. The greater generations before us were those who could clean up well for an occasion in manners and demeanor--but could K.O. a pack of grizzly bears while casually strolling through the park should the occasion call for it.  No matter what the situation, they stood tall and stared death in the face.  But unfortunately, there's not too many of them left like this:

I suppose my only defense for my incessant ramble is this...  Don't forget your roots as a red-blooded Man.  Long before we stumbled upon the bowtie and 100-year-old champagne, men used the bare grit of their cast iron guts to survive, defend, and make something of themselves.  If you're not the fishing and hunting guy, no worries...there's tons of us in the same...er, boat.  Just find someway, somehow to get away from the suit, tie, cubicle, and computer and get out somewhere where you can get competitive, scream at the top of your lungs at a referee, take a risk, or confront a fear.  Because it's at that very moment, something instinctively Man comes to the surface...and you feel like you're doing what you were born to do.

The wild man is unleashed.  And he's the most blasted cool thing you've ever seen in the mirror.