At a moment when idiotic ideas about masculinity pass as wise, when pathologizing half the population is cheered, I see no good reason why I can’t offer my own definition into such a soft market. So here we go: to be a real man, you must be in touch with the part of yourself that connects with Metallica. Does this mean that dear xxxxxxxxx may not be a man? Indeed it does. Which is why I’m trying to prevent the same mistake from occurring in young xxxxxxxxx. I know his birthday isn’t until July, but we can’t wait that long, especially since he’s already showing some warning signs with his affection for pretty-boy-not-a-real-man Roger Federer. 

P.S. One reason parents may fail to support the masculinity I’ve espoused here is a laziness to read Metallica’s lyrics. They see skeletons and songs about death and figure it’s best to shelter kids from “brain rotting” content. But no, the song featured on xxxxxxxxx’s shirt – “Ride the Lightning”- is a treatise against the death penalty.

P.P.S. If you think this whole idea is dumb (it is), no worries. Someone gave me this too small shirt (because she knows I’m a real man but forgot how tall I am), and I needed to find a more suitable home. xxxxxxxxx was my first thought. I get that you can’t force a kid to do anything. I get that what seems cool to an adult is often not cool to a kid. 

P.P.P.S. As jokey as all this is, I’m dead serious that if a day comes when I don’t feel something after listening to only the first two tracks of “Master of Puppets,” life is no longer worth living.