The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Is nothing sacred anymore? Is nothing off limits to scrutiny and derision and possible legislative remediation? These are tough enough times we live in, polarized politics, polarized religion, polarized ethnicity, whatever you do, whatever you say, you’re going to offend someone. And lately, offending folks seems to be the modus operandi judging by the Man in the High Tower’s bullying tweets. Name calling, dog whistles, sneaky slurs, it’s okay nowadays.

So when the psychiatrists came out recently with an announcement that a lot of the males of the species suffer from Toxic Masculinity, I guess it should have been no surprise. But down here on the South End, the news was troubling. The news was downright scary. And I don’t mean just for the women folks. Okay, maybe us high testosterone men come off a little far end of the masculinity spectrum. We don’t cry enough, I admit, but geez, if we let loose our softer side, we’d never get squat done down here in the nettle fields, just fall into weeping spells half the live long day. I mean, you don’t think we see how depressing our lives are? How bankruptcy is just a busted axle or a broken leg away? All that bluster and bragging, it’s just a mask. What are we supposed to do, write a blog? Open up our hearts, show our true feelings? Not sure anyone would like to see that …

Next thing you know, the shrinks will want us to turn in our guns and stop socializing down at the tavern and maybe go to church on Sundays with the mizzus. Give up ESPN and kickboxing, maybe even football. What the ??@#? Is this America? Is this how we make it great again? Is this what we want for the South End, a bunch of crybaby yahoos going to prayer meetings and support groups and sensitivity training and AA meetings, our days spent watching soap operas and Oprah? Where does it end? I’ll tell you where it ends. It ends with slavery, with shackles, with emasculation. It ends, sadly enough, with us men having to get a job. A real job. Not writers and artists, not musicians. J-O-B. Job. What used to be relegated to the mizzus. Boys, I hate to tell you, but change is coming if you don’t fight it. You don’t, you’ll be crying all right. Day and night.

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