When I was a kid I put people in boxes. Not literally natch, just neatly labeled pigeon holes that let me sort out the world. It was rather like the exercise I did in first year biology where one categorized various imaginary creatures by their distinctive features until you ended up with a beautiful list from Kingdom down to unique species. The only problem was that I ended up in a species all by my lonesome with the rest of the world all happy together in their more populated slots.
It went something like this:
Catholic or protestant? [eliminated 90% of my peers]
Mormon or other? [zing - down to 5% remaining]
Folk dance or Flash Dance [aaaaand it's now my sister and I]
Ballet or violin [yup, just me]
And this is without pulling out the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, home-baked (round) whole wheat bread, no television allowed, Smothers Brothers and Tom Lehrer (as the modern music choice in the house) and so forth. When I left home I bought some squishy white bread, signed up for cable tv, opted out of religion and resolutely stopped playing the pigeon hole game.
But now and then I backslide just a bit so last night as we watched the Olympics I couldn't help but firmly mark two clear boxes. When watching superb athletes at the peak of performance does one
a) make plans to take up swimming in addition to one's already thoroughly active lifestyle or
b) sit comfortably on the couch and ignore the niggling voice that points out that walking a few miles a day (not always at top speed, let's be honest) is not exactly hard-core exercise.
The male child is definitely in one of those categories. The rest of us...