It was like running into a brick wall.
That question was in a book that’s part of a parenting class I’m taking. A class about raising sons into men, which — in today’s society — too often seems to be an ignored responsibility.
My age tells me that I’m a man. I can’t do as much yard work as I used to without feeling like I’m about to croke, so I must be kinda old. A man. An old man. I’m almost 45, but the Matt in my head and heart is still about 25. Maybe 30.
Is that a man?
Did I become a man when I got married? No. The immaturity that plagued my early married years is proof that I was still a child then.
Did I become a man when my first child was born? Yes. Maybe. Hard to say. That’s definitely when the earth changed shape for me. Nothing like realizing that you’re fully responsibly for another person’s life to make you a man. Nothing like seeing a blood relative for the first time in your life. (I’m adopted.)
Will I become (more of) a man when my dad dies? I don’t know. Not something I like to think about.
I’ve been running into this brick wall of a question for weeks now and I still don’t know the answer.
How do you know when you became a man?
Methinks we need to start doing a better job of teaching our sons about manhood so that they can give a definitive answer to that question.
Liked this post? Follow this blog to get more.