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Welcome to Manopause--one man's experience of mid-life changes and the wild and wacky world of ageing gracefully. Bring your cane and join me here every day for another dose of levity and linament.

Friday, September 14, 2012

The Age of the Superhero

We live in the age of the superhero.  And nearly every manopausal male has a favorite.  All are "men", of course.  There's Superman, Spiderman, Batman.  Each attends to fighting evil with his various assortments of gadgets or gizmos. 

The older male likes to think of himself as a type of superhero, but instead of fighting evil or crime, he's fighting the insidious onslaught of arthritis.  He's waging war against the elusive Dr. Gout.  He dreams of wearing a cape and getting the girl.

Secretly, older males wish that Hollywood and graphic artists would not depict these superheroes in tights.  He knows he would not look good in a leotard, especially chartreuse, and would forever be tugging at the fabric wedged between his butt cheeks.  Tights are not realistic.  But the older male dreams of a superhero named Oldman or Graybeard or Pharmacyman--a superhero who could embody the concerns of the older male population and represent him among the pantheon of crusaders.

The manopausal male no longer dreams of saving the world.  He has tempered his imagination and now dreams of saving money on car insurance.  If he is lucky, he can save half of his dinner steak in a doggie bag for lunch the following day.  His only strength resides in his ability to see his own weaknesses and to arrive at the conclusion that he is fortunate to still have a willing wife (Wonderwoman). 

Men of a certain age do, however, frequently fly through the air.  But now, when they land they break a hip.  Afterwards, they receive a super-bill for services rendered.

Superheroes are normally portrayed in the prime of life.  We don't know what happens to older superheroes, or where they go to die.  But the manopausal male still considers himself invincible.  He doesn't don a cape, but he can work a spatula and he keeps his arsenal of lawn equipment at hand.  He keeps his gaze ever fixated upon the skies, waiting for the signal to appear that will vault him into his costume and onto his riding mower.







 

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