Friday, October 14, 2005
Three Rules Men Live By
Men are interesting creatures. From an early age, boys are subjected to unrealistic expectations that shape them into something that could only be described as “a mess.” Were an artist employed to capture the essence of men, undoubtedly the only qualified painter would be Picasso.
Boys are brought up to believe a number of things that warp their sense of what’s acceptable for men to think and do and what’s not. As a boy, I learned a lot from the men in my life. The three rules men live by are 1) men don’t ask for directions; 2) men don’t read instructions; and 3) men, although they may nod when their wives are speaking, really don’t listen to their advice. I would learn, however, that this list is not comprehensive.
As a boy, new to the ranks of manhood, I sometimes wondered the reasons behind these steadfast rules, but every time I asked why, men would look at me with the same look I had seen them give the women in their lives. In time, I came to know the standard answers by heart: 1) I know how to get there, 2) instructions are for idiots, and 3) women don’t know what they’re talking about.
Thus, instructed in the basics, I began my journey into adulthood and into becoming a full-fledged member of the tribe called man. I was a master student. On my first paper route, unfamiliar with the neighborhood, I rode my bike five extra miles just figuring out the side streets and nuances of the route. I delivered my last paper three hours late and came home exhausted, but at least I didn’t have to ask for directions. Oh, I was so proud to be taking my first step into manhood.
My next step came as a news paper carrier also. Being too young to drive, I needed to make sure my bike remained in good working order. Wanting to become a fine man, I faithfully repeated the male mantra, “Instructions are for idiots,” each time I disassembled and then pieced together the greasy components of my bicycle. I have yet to figure out why bicycle manufacturers include so many extra, non-essential parts in the gears of bikes, but what business is it of mine if they want to waste their money? Once finished with the initial repairs, the bike did make an awful grinding noise but it stopped as soon as I quit pedaling. Besides, after I fixed the brakes I couldn’t hear the grinding over the untraceable squeal the bike managed to acquire.
More than a decade later, thoroughly entrenched in manhood, I decided to drive my family to a week-long church camp meeting. We packed the pickup and headed off on our 120 mile trek. 40 miles in, the truck’s engine began running hot. A nice man stopped by and helped us get water and suggested that, having gone through this same type of thing before, I just needed to get a new thermostat. My wife, the automotive novice she is, had a different suggestion. She thought it would be a good idea to turn back. I listened, nodding as I had seen so many other husbands do. But of course, I knew things would be fine and proceeded to the next town another 30 miles ahead while my wife’s eyes never left the truck's temperature gauge. She was quite helpful, letting me know every few minutes that the engine was still running hot. I smiled and assured her that that’s what trucks do when their thermostats are broken.
After repairs, my wife again suggested turning back. This time I used logic to persuade her, pointing out that we were closer to our destination than to home. Besides, we had a new thermostat. She saw the wisdom in my argument and soon, we were on our way again.
We traveled another 30 miles when, out of the blue, the radiator blew. At that point I heard the same words that have been spoken to men throughout the ages albeit with differing degrees of intensity depending on the gravity of the situation: “Why didn’t you listen to me?” It was a that very moment that I learned something I wish I’d been taught in man class: never say to a woman, especially your wife, “Because women don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Boys are brought up to believe a number of things that warp their sense of what’s acceptable for men to think and do and what’s not. As a boy, I learned a lot from the men in my life. The three rules men live by are 1) men don’t ask for directions; 2) men don’t read instructions; and 3) men, although they may nod when their wives are speaking, really don’t listen to their advice. I would learn, however, that this list is not comprehensive.
As a boy, new to the ranks of manhood, I sometimes wondered the reasons behind these steadfast rules, but every time I asked why, men would look at me with the same look I had seen them give the women in their lives. In time, I came to know the standard answers by heart: 1) I know how to get there, 2) instructions are for idiots, and 3) women don’t know what they’re talking about.
Thus, instructed in the basics, I began my journey into adulthood and into becoming a full-fledged member of the tribe called man. I was a master student. On my first paper route, unfamiliar with the neighborhood, I rode my bike five extra miles just figuring out the side streets and nuances of the route. I delivered my last paper three hours late and came home exhausted, but at least I didn’t have to ask for directions. Oh, I was so proud to be taking my first step into manhood.
My next step came as a news paper carrier also. Being too young to drive, I needed to make sure my bike remained in good working order. Wanting to become a fine man, I faithfully repeated the male mantra, “Instructions are for idiots,” each time I disassembled and then pieced together the greasy components of my bicycle. I have yet to figure out why bicycle manufacturers include so many extra, non-essential parts in the gears of bikes, but what business is it of mine if they want to waste their money? Once finished with the initial repairs, the bike did make an awful grinding noise but it stopped as soon as I quit pedaling. Besides, after I fixed the brakes I couldn’t hear the grinding over the untraceable squeal the bike managed to acquire.
More than a decade later, thoroughly entrenched in manhood, I decided to drive my family to a week-long church camp meeting. We packed the pickup and headed off on our 120 mile trek. 40 miles in, the truck’s engine began running hot. A nice man stopped by and helped us get water and suggested that, having gone through this same type of thing before, I just needed to get a new thermostat. My wife, the automotive novice she is, had a different suggestion. She thought it would be a good idea to turn back. I listened, nodding as I had seen so many other husbands do. But of course, I knew things would be fine and proceeded to the next town another 30 miles ahead while my wife’s eyes never left the truck's temperature gauge. She was quite helpful, letting me know every few minutes that the engine was still running hot. I smiled and assured her that that’s what trucks do when their thermostats are broken.
After repairs, my wife again suggested turning back. This time I used logic to persuade her, pointing out that we were closer to our destination than to home. Besides, we had a new thermostat. She saw the wisdom in my argument and soon, we were on our way again.
We traveled another 30 miles when, out of the blue, the radiator blew. At that point I heard the same words that have been spoken to men throughout the ages albeit with differing degrees of intensity depending on the gravity of the situation: “Why didn’t you listen to me?” It was a that very moment that I learned something I wish I’d been taught in man class: never say to a woman, especially your wife, “Because women don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Labels: directions, instructions, men, repair, rules, rules men live by
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