I kissed a boo boo & I liked it

Last Thursday we were able to celebrate Hazel’s two year birthday with friends and cupcakes and chaos.  Again, we are left thanking our friends for celebrating alongside us.  They always show up and it means so much to us.  It was so fun to see Hazel old enough to realize, in some small way, what a birthday actually was.  As you can see, she lit up as everyone, in unison, sang her the birthday song.  She is quite a little girl, and I cannot wait to see the woman she becomes, although, already, I sense that such a day will come all too fast.

be still my heart

I have spent the greater part of 30 years attempting to create and implement a sufficient definition of manhood.  Beginning around the age of three, those surrounding me sought to assist in forming my definition- toy trucks over Barbies and the like.  And from there, on to numerous games involving some sort of ball, which inevitably led to my jarring introduction to the highest echelon of manliness- the locker room.  My definition now expanded as it was here that I learned that men gave- not endured- wedgies, this lesson was interspersed with many others- which I will spare you from- and of which other men reading this will simply laugh, under their breath, in acknowledgement thereof.  All the while up until this precise moment, I have, unconsciously, been filing away displays of it when I see it, ever working to update, revise and critique my most current iteration of what a man must be.

Don’t get me wrong, I have bucked a many agreed upon man parameters as well and paid the consequence for so doing. I actually enjoy poking holes in others’ meanings of machismo, just to challenge what I perceive as false notions.  This predilection of mine produces awkward moments with fellow males, but I continue in the same direction, seemingly unphased.

Here’s just a taste of the notes you might find if you were so lucky to come upon my personal man folder:

• Men open doors.  Sorry, I am southern and it’s a fact down here.
• I don’t hunt.  And when I am forced to do so, I take a camera instead of a gun to ensure I don’t kill anything.  Living in Arkansas, this preference alone is a statement strong enough to force an oral defense, in the normal course of conversations, more often than you would believe.
• I would rather my skin crack and fall off by the pound than slather lotion, or anything of the like, on any part of my body.
• I’ll wear whatever clothes I want, even if it’s not camouflage; Manliness, whatever that is, does not need outerwear to be conveyed.  Therefore, I’m not afraid of skinny jeans.  In fact, if ever I am referred to as a “metro sexual” by a male, I return the favor by accepting the moniker and then calmly referring to them as a “camo sexual”.  I derive a sinister enjoyment from the conversation that always ensues.
• Men bear the weight of provision for their family.  Whoa!  Don’t read in what I am not writing.  Men do not always need to be one that brings in the money; in fact, during law school Ginny was the sole breadwinner for our family.  I could make a strong argument that it actually takes a bigger man to not be the sole or main monetary provider, but men should bear the weight and worry that accompanies how their family will eat their next meal.  Ginny knows that ultimately, I bear responsibility for this one.
• I drove a Volkswagen Beetle for years and always loved to park it beside a 4X4 truck for a dramatic juxtaposition.  I once considered putting one of those cow testicle contraptions below the bumper, but there was not enough ground clearance.  If you have no idea what I am referring to, then count yourself lucky.

Apologies for the length of that list, as I said this notebook contains years of finely tuned work.

I say all of this because recently my criteria has been challenged repeatedly, and I have found myself willingly dying to the definition I worked so hard to form.  This is what daughters do.  On any given day, you can find me kissing boo boos or playing with dolls; on your luckiest of days, you might discover this 33 year old man parading as the princess of Palmerville in a, “kingdom not so far away.”

Being a dad to my two-year old daughter has required additions to my man journal that I never saw coming.  She has changed me in the best of ways.  And although I do hope to not be a soft father who looks the other way when discipline is needed, she has brought about a tenderness in me that, is no doubt, the mark of a true man.