Boys Will Be

I just had a shower and it felt good. I know some guys don’t like it. And, really, they never have. As kids, they would run around all day and their moms might suggest a shower before dinner and Dad might sniff the air and make a comment, but to them it just didn’t make sense. They weren’t that dirty and, besides, they were just going to get dirty again. They weren’t sure that that smell didn’t smell good. That it didn’t mean something. Something important.

The sheets on their beds might be a bit dingy, but wasn’t that a statement, of some kind, about their existence? Their jeans hadn’t been washed in weeks and they had been hid beneath the bed, just so Mom couldn’t grab them and throw them in the wash. This kind of personal grooming was what their sisters were so concerned with; it had nothing to do with them. They weren’t girls and they were determined not to be.

All this assumes that they even thought about it. It is more likely that this aspect of boyness is genetic. Inherent. Dad was probably the same way, before he was domesticated.

The young male mind is a primitive instrument. Guys are some of Nature’s own creatures, running around in the weeds or in the swamp or sorting through garbage, if they are urban males. Or, racing around on bikes and hitting each other, if they are of suburban origin.

They have a mission. One preordained by ancestors. This mission is to move evolution forward, through exploration and incessant experimentation. They are developing physically. They are perfecting their aim. They are testing limits. They are not big on communication. Or, hygiene. They know, instinctively, that it is going to take more than a little dirt to hurt them. It is going to take something like a T Rex or an attack by aliens to begin to thwart their progress.

Education? Their priorities differ from those of their parents and teachers. The concept of behavior is antithetical to their inner sense of independence and creativity. Sitting inside, in rows, no less, would be laughable, if the consequences for not attending were not so overwhelming. Ire, anger, disappointment, guilt and shame are powerful lessons and, even with their fierce forward momentum, society has somehow decided to impose its own habitual and arbitrary boundaries on them, rather than allow young boys, men, males, to discover them on their own and develop and use their innate powers of judgment.

No cars. No guns. No mind-altering experiences. Not even a minimum of tribal wildness. It makes no sense, but, sadly, they learn that they have no power. This lesson, this discovery, of the effects and limits, and the often violent acquisition of power, turns out to be very important, and, ultimately, tragic. The exercise of parental and societal power insures that each succeeding generation of guys are changed from playful cubs, setting small fires and incessantly jumping and shouting, to calculating, grasping, and, sometimes, devious adolescents and fraternity brothers, who worry about their status and about just how they are going to control the world and its inhabitants, so that they, alone, will be King of the Hill.

It’s frightening.

Time marches on, while evolution moves slowly. The Age of Aquarius has dawned. The age of Oprah is underway. 2012 is on the horizon, and a cosmic consciousness is beginning to pervade the population. Change is inevitable, as is the end of childhood. Soap will always be available and, with age, comes wisdom. Not only that, but a guy’s senses develop and understanding begins to sink in.

To wit: those sheets, actually, are dirty and may be the cause of several unpleasant side effects. Those jeans just won’t crumple to the floor. They stand there in the corner and are, for some reason, a little disturbing. And, without a shower, it’s not just Mom, who is keeping her distance, it’s that girl with the red hair.

Boys will be boys, but what about those girls? I mean, what about them?