Utility Man

The manopausal male is a seasoned veteran of Thanksgiving and understands his role in the traditional feast.  He will not participate in any level of the food preparation--although he may stick his hand up the turkey's butt to remove the giblets.  Otherwise, he will stand in the corner, make favorable comments about the cranberry sauce, and cut the cheese.

The older male, however, will be asked to carve the bird.  He has been making preparations for this adventure all year, sharpening blades in the garage, honing his knife skills, covering his wounds with clumps of gauze.  But when the time comes for him to enter the game from the bullpen, he will be warmed and ready.

The manopausal male loves this attention, when all eyes at the table are fastened upon him as he announces:  "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you . . . the turkey!"  Here he twirls the blades, plays a quick game of mumbly-peg with the youngest child at the table, and then begins to carve the dark meat first, hacking away at this--the dumbest bird in the animal kingdom--with a relish and aplomb that astounds everyone in attendance. 

The guests, of course, do not really like turkey . . . they have come to see the show.  And the older male does not want to disappoint.  The manopausal male hacks away at the bird, performing the same routine that he has received from his forefathers through their foreskins, and ends by telling his son, "Some day I shall pass the baton to you and you will break the cycle and switch to canned ham."

There is always applause at the end of this manopausal tradition, and some guests are not too sicked to eat the deviled eggs.  A few will enjoy the stuffing, which has been prepared from the guts of the bird itself and doused with herbs and spices.  Everyone at the table will give thanks that they were not injured in the carving of the bird. 

Eventually Thanksgiving progresses to football, which is the thing men are truly thankful for, and the women wash the dishes, which remain piled on the table in a great, steaming heap of porcelain.  Throughout the day, most older men return to the table to pick through the liver and gizzard--which are those two dark particles of matter that the dog has left on the floor and will not eat. 

When the horn sounds, the manopausal male binds his wounds and returns his knives to their respective sheaths for another year, anticipating that uncle Gilbert will soon make the announcement that he is leaving--and hoping that he is talking in veiled terms about his death.  Sacks of food will be distributed to each, and another Thanksgiving come to an end.

Naturally, the manopausal male falls asleep on the couch, and he dreams that next year, he can carve the bird with a chainsaw.