Dad

All men have Dads, but not all Dads are men . . . and some men are Dads. The older male understands these distinctions, especially if he is a Dad. 

Being Dad has its rewards, and having money helps.  But as the manopausal male sees his children growing beyond his influence, he is grateful that his wife did such a respectable job of parenting.  And sometimes his heart swells with gratitude when one of his children sends a text which reads:  "Love you, Dad."  He wonders why they would love him at all--or if this is just a ploy to squeeze dollars from his insurance policy after he expires.

Being the Dad to older children--now adults--is a tough gig.  On the one hand, the manopausal male is thankful that the children are out of the house and now he can concentrate on giving his wife the attention she so desperately craves.  He asks her daily if she craves it.  She doesn't, of course, and so the male moves on to the important matters such as watching reruns of Gomer Pyle.

Throughout the house there are reminders that the older male is Dad.  There are photographs on the wall, vacant bedrooms littered with adolescent awards and trophies, and enormous bills from universities detailing what Dad must pay for a comprehensive campus meal plan that includes fresh salmon and cracked crab legs.  Dad writes checks to the Bursar's office even as he gums another peanut butter sandwich and stacks ten pound cans of pork-n-beans inside a bare cupboard.  

Soon, of course, the older male will not be called Dad any longer.  His children will become independent . . . which was the goal all along . . . and they won't send Twitters any longer.  They will move to far away places like Schenectady, and they will take up residence in cal-da-sacs, busying themselves with laundry and lawn care.

But the older male sees this as another rite of passage.  He just grays a little more, lifts a little less, and hopes his wife will consider eating at Applebees.  Afterwards, in the heat of a passion which they can no longer fulfill, they will watch the final fifteen minutes of Wheel of Fortune and call it a night. 

And when the older male says his prayers at closing time, he remembers why he became a Dad.    

Cyber Monday Man

Statistics reveal that over 90% of Cyber Monday shoppers are men, and over 50% of these males complete their shopping while sitting on the sofa in a tattered pair of boxer shorts.  The most popular item purchased on Cyber Mondays are those shrink-wrapped baskets of summer sausage and stinky cheese, which means that most manopausal males are purchasing gifts for other males and that women should clear the room on Christmas morning.

Cyber Mondays are popular with the manopausal male because he doesn't have to leave the comfort of his own home and hob-knob at the mall with 50,000 women in faux furs.  He can empty his bank account with Bed, Bath & Beyond purchases.  He can shop at Target, Pottery Barn, and the Lid Factory without burning a gallon of gas . . . even while he passes gas . . . and since he is alone at home, he can eat more nacho chips.

Manopausal males love Cyber Mondays because they can complete their entire Christmas shopping in less than twenty minutes and still feel good about themselves in the morning.  They never have to worry about returning items for exchange, not even tube socks, and they can also purchase items for themselves--such as fourteen pound cans of mixed nuts--and delude themselves into believing they are getting a bargain.

The manopausal male also loves Cyber shopping because he can casually drop questions into dinner conversation with his wife such as, "What do you want for Christmas?" or "Name five items you love that cost less than $10.95!"  In essence, the manopausal male can purchase the same item for his wife which he has purchased for the past thirty years . . . which is a bottle of perfume . . . and he can justify it by reasoning that he is making his wife smell better.  Naturally, the woman would like more variety in her Christmas gifts, but this is impossible, given the strict rules and time-constraints inherent in the male shopping season--which has now been reduced to a twenty-four hour time period or half time of a Notre Dame football game.  The older male knows he can do no better--which is exactly how he feels about sex--and so he presses the "my shopping cart" key with abondon until the bank calls to inform him he is, at last, overdrawn.

By the time Cyber Monday comes to an end, the President informs the general public that the fiscal cliff is no longer a problem, as the federal government has received more than 80 trillion dollars from Walmart purchases alone, and the women haven't even started shopping yet.

Just wait until Christmas.  The manopausal male once again holds out the hope that he will die before the holiday enters full bore.  And for comfort, he cooks another pot of soup.  

Man About Town

Sooner of later the manopausal male is forced to venture out of his home.  This usually occurs when his wife conscripts him to shop for Christmas gifts or when he he doesn't see his shadow.  Naturally, going public, he must then put clothes on, as his usual attire is not suitable for a visit to Radio Shack. 

When the older male ventures forth into society, he clearly lacks the savvy necessary to navigate a Walmart aisle, and yet he knows where to find a pound of bacon.  He feels conspicuous, and hopes that he will not run into anyone he knows.

As the male ages, he also desires to get his shopping done in as little time as possible.  This time-saving enterprise is important, as he knows he has less time to mess with.  So, he shops quickly--much like a jack rabbit on amphetamines.  The older male is an expert, for example, at stocking food for an entire week in less than five minutes by visiting the frozen food aisle where the hot pockets are displayed. He can purchase a greeting card for his wife in less than fifteen seconds if the word "love" is written on the outside of the card (the card's guts are unimportant, as he knows women care more about love than they do other sentiments like "world peace", "beautiful eyes" or "that thing you do to me when you say 'beer nuts' with that alluring lilt to your voice").  The older male can also complete his Christmas shopping in less than twenty minutes, especially if all of his gifts can be found in a single aisle at Target. 

Once the older male completes his shopping he is usually famished, and if he is in a mall, he begins the search for an Orange Julius.  Naturally, after an hour, he realizes that this establishment went out of business decades ago and he settles for a Cinnabon.  He sits in the food court for another fourteen hours while his wife completes her shopping and returns with one measly bag.  "Nothing was on sale," she announces.  But the older male knows this is a ploy to get him out of the house the following weekend and he grows to resent it.  He eats another Cinnabon to stave off depression.

The manopausal male returns to his lair, bloated and weary, and assumes his previous attire in sweat pants and coffee-stained T-shirt.  His wife wants to know why he changed his clothes so quickly, as she was hoping they could go out to dinner.  He offers to fix a big box of Hamburger Helper.  The woman weeps. 

The older male succumbs to pressure and dons his finest dark suit and red tie.  The woman perks.  They smile at each other.  He can't wait to get to Wendy's.       

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. 

Understanding Male Evolution

The genesis of the modern male has long been the subject of debate.  Centuries ago, it was believed that males arrived when a woman and a midwife screamed at each other in a secluded room, the male being delivered on horseback by a circuit preacher named "Freddie".  However, as people slowly left behind these superstitions and entered the era of modern medicine and disposable diapers, they came to realize that the modern male has evolved through centuries of trail-and-error and because dad didn't wear a condom.

Biologists, however, have identified several stages of the male evolution.

The Neolithic Period
     In this earliest stage, the male emerges out of a stooping position, having spent too many years as a catcher in little league baseball.  He stands erect for the first time during his middle school years, revealing inches of butt crack hanging over the tops of his blue jeans, which are belted, roughly, at his knees.  During this early period of development, biologists agree that the male begins to grunt, forming the sounds necessary to communicate his need for a corn dog.  These sounds, though not yet a formed language, do possess the rudimentary elements of an alphabet, and some males at this stage can recite the A, B, C's.  The Neolithic Period in essence is defined by the formation of limbs, with some males beginning to sprout hair underneath the loin cloth.

The Neanderthal Period
     This stage of male development, known in some circles as the "terrible twenties", sees a rapid rise in the male interest toward the opposite sex.  Here the male ventures out of his chicken bone-littered lair and tries to grab a female interest by such feable attempts as flowers, boxes of assorted road kill, or poetry written on cave walls with charcoal and glow-in-the-dark stickers.  Some of these poems represent the first formed language of the male, and can involve words like "love", "eHarmony" and "honkers".  This stage of male development, however, is very basic, and should not be confused with the fully formed man.  The mature male, generally, does not evolve until much later, usually just weeks before his death, when his wife realizes how much his life insurance policy is worth.

The Cro-Magnon (or Modern Male) Period
     Biologists agree that the modern male does not emerge until the creation of baseball.  This period of male development can best be defined by 1. a back that is fully covered with hair 2. the waxing of the back 3. balding.  In this stage of male development we encounter a man who is fully articulate, who can speak of "disillusionment" or "antidisestablishantarianism" or "golf".  Here the male is also able to express himself openly and honestly with an older woman, offering compliments such as "you're squeezably soft" or "hello!" or "I love what you've done with the place."  The Cro-Magnon male is fully developed in every way, including his nipples, and he generally sports four or five tattoos, two of which involve snakes and skulls.  Scientists have discovered evidence of the Cro-Magnon male in such places as Siberia, Milwaukee, and Sammy's Sports Bar and Grill.  

As you can see, the evolution of the male has not been a quick or easy slope.  Centuries have been involved, and a great deal of liquor.  Women, in particular, will want to check their men carefully to make sure they are fully developed.  There are always signs.  Any man who still pees in the woods is a keeper.  
  

Next Man Up

The manopausal male is prone to groin injury and identifies closely with football cliches--especially when the coach announces, "Next man up!" The older male, in fact, often wishes that he could call in a substitute from the sidelines . . . a man, perhaps, who is fresh out of virility college and has earned a master's degree in romance and metal-craft.

When the manopausal male hits the turf hard, he rarely gets up quickly. Rather, he lingers on the ground until his wife rushes down from the stands, offers the appropriate sympathy, and agrees to rub his entire body with Aspercreme. He knows she wants it, but he parlays the injury with sorrowful moans until she also fixes him a grilled cheese sandwich and a steaming bowl of chicken soup. And if his wife has the heft (and the kind of deep resiliency a good wife should have) she might also carry him home on a stretcher.

While he's healing from his cotton candy injuries, the manopausal male may call another man up to do work around the house . . . a carpenter, perhaps, or some guy named "Randy" who is adept at changing light bulbs or fixing a shower nozzle. The manopausal male trusts that this next man up will be worth the $95 service call (plus parts and sales tax), and that the next man's help will provide him with the appropriate window in which to heal from his back injury . . . a soreness that began when he rolled over in his sleep the night before.

Naturally, the manopausal male hopes to be back on his feet soon, but he does enjoy catching up on Days of Our Lives and watching Judge Judy. He could get used to the pace, and imagines this is what retirement must be like . . . only with his wife at home, too, where of course, they will share endless romance on that tiny two-cushion thingy she purchased four years ago at a yard sale.

The older male hopes that his injuries do not cause him to be cut from the team--and without pay. Although he is only a shadow of his former self, he still dreams of carrying the ball across the goal line and would love to negotiate a new contract. He doesn't want his wife ogling the sidelines for a substitute male, and is grateful to be under her coaching tutelage.

Manswers

Men, as they age, are often regarded as bastions of wisdom:  which is why older men do a lot of sitting, so that they can look important on park benches and answer questions such as "can you recommend a good taco?" or "have you ever stuffed a flying squirrel?"

The manopausal male, because of his vast experience, typically can offer advice on a variety of subjects, even flamingo origami.  And because the older male has nothing better to do, he typically is willing to dispense his wisdom to any who ask:  adults, children, or even tax attorneys.

Most manopausal wisdom is usually dispensed in one of three categories:  sports, romance, and how to find an exceptional cocktail wiener.  But as for manswers, the most common here include:

A sport manswer:  Babe Ruth
A romance manswer:  eat plenty of vitamins

Astoundingly, these manswers satisfy most questions and will usually result with the person asking the question turning into the sunlight, raising an eyebrow, and saying, "I'd never thought of that before, O Wise One!"  Finding these manswers to life's deepest questions does not come easily.  Most men have dedicated long hours to this quest while sitting in the bathroom, pondering these deep mysteries even as they scream, "Can you toss me a roll?"

Naturally, young people who still have a life have not arrived at this level of wisdom, as they have not yet become greeters at Walmart.  The young are too busy playing sports and enjoying romance instead of pondering sports and romance.  The latter is reserved for the manopausal male, who could write dissertations on what he has learned about these things since he stopped participating in them.  He is an expert now.  And when he doesn't have a manswer, he asks his wife, who is typically even more decrepit than he is, and she makes him a grilled cheese sandwich and tells him, "You had me at hello."

The older male sits for hours in total silence, wondering if there is more wisdom he could be dispensing and if he should charge for it.  $1.95 an hour seems about right.  And he considers advertising.

Eventually the manopausal male realizes that no one is listening to him, especially not his children, and his wife is laughing at him behind his back. He decides to keep his opinions to himself--which may be the wisest trick of all--and when he goes to bed at night, he is thankful that he listened to himself and made the extra effort to floss his molars.  He must protect his wisdom teeth, even though all of them are filled with lead and serve as receptors to high-frequency radio stations being transmitted from Uzbekistan.  He goes to bed at night realizing that the Mayans were incredibly wise--being able to predict the end of the world and all.  His world will end soon, which brings him back to romance.  And when that doesn't work out, he turns on the TV and watches sports.  He knows all there is to know about badminton.  But he hasn't played in years.