There are so many rules you know.
There were. I grew up with them.
There were simple ones.
Clean shoes and Neat hair.
Ironed shirt and Good manners.
Those were easy ones.
And then there were other kinds.
Do not cross legs while you sit they said. Boys don't do that.
There are rules to be a boy.
They don't cross legs. I didn't. I don't.
When I did in the solitude of my room. I quickly reverted and obeyed rules.
You can't have a hand gestures.
You can't cry.
As they famously put it, "boys don't cry."
You talk a certain way not because you feel like it,
but that was what asked of you.
You obeyed them just like I did.
No questions asked no answers given.
I showed up when the neighbor that I hated died.
I mourned externally but beautifully.
That shows how refined I am they said.
I was a child. I believed.
Half-heartedly but beautifully.
I still hated him. I still do.
Drink beer they said.
Only a child drinks a yellow and red thing called juice.
Beer - did it make them men?
It was bitter when I first tasted it.
But oh'boy did I convince them how I liked it.
Dammit! I drank more.
CHEERS I said. I am not a child anymore.
I am a man.
And that is the true aspiration - being the "idea of man."
"Idea of man" but not a human that is important.
Ideal man or woman not a human.
Men don't like reading. They like football.
Anything other than that is for sissies. Yes they have a name for it.
They have other names,
- fat, ugly, weird and bunch of others.
They aren't who they are supposed to be.
It's a crime. Social suicide.
They need to be slim, beautiful, popular.
Yes, popular. That's the word.
They won't survive otherwise. Not a chance.