By Dane Hicks
The Anderson County (Kan.) Review
The more I read, see and experience first-hand the more I fear for the American Man. The younger ones are endangering our legacy, and I think the only solution for them may be the U.S. Military.
Yep, the non-so-silent assault of feminization directed at us by popular culture (I'm pretty sure the Russians are behind it) has found its mark in the 18-30 year-old Millenial age group primarily on or near college campuses. Treatment starts with immediate exposure to a drill instructor.
I know… the thought of a mean ‘ole staff sergeant ordering your baby boy around for a few months of basic training and then a minimum enlistment period of, let’s say, 3 years – it’s probably enough to force you helicopter mom’s & dads of the 1990s to seek your own solace in chai tea and valium. But trust me, I have the best interests of both your boys and America in mind.
You see, as they are right now, a lot of your boys aren’t going to make it. Though liberal, feminist culture works hard to convince us all otherwise, the Laws of Nature which still apply to the real world simply won’t condone the survival of many of your young men with as few Real Man traits as many of them now exhibit. Women, with whom your sons will eventually need to copulate in order to ensure the continuance of the species, are concerned as well.
“There's just no masculinity anymore,” laments a 28 year-old woman replying in an article on a national women’s magazine website. “Between wanting to talk about their feelings, drinking girlie drinks, and dressing like an Abercrombie and Fitch model, there just aren’t many men out there who act like men.”
Depending on where she’s looking, I have to concur. It’s less true in rural areas, where most young men to a large degree still have to have a job – as Dave Ramsey says, to “go out and kill something and drag it back to the cave.” Masculinity is sustaining itself in rural areas, but we all know rural populations are shrinking as suburbia and cities grow.
And college campus towns are the worst. Armies of them, laying off a semester in pursuit of yet another major and maybe delivering pizza or working in a call center part time. They still tap mom and dad for cash regularly. They whine a lot about themselves and voice an opinion on everything whether or not they know the topic. They’re pale and pudgy with soft, moist hands – physiques honed by sitting inside apartments away from sunlight watching Netflix, playing Warcraft and eating Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked Ice Cream. What young gal wouldn’t swoon for a dude like that?
Call it coincidence, but they are the first generation whose fathers (us) did not face a military draft. My generation hasn’t been able to pass along any semblance of military bearing or heritage or values to our sons, because most of us never served after America’s military went "all volunteer.”
My father-in-law served in WWII, my dad was drafted Korean War -era, my older cousins were drafted for Vietnam – but the phenomena of having masses of men called by their country ended in the mid-1970s. Our own fathers taught us what they learned and what became ingrained in their character from their military experience, but our own sons – now in their 20s and early 30s – suffer with generational problems in choosing a direction, exhibiting gumption and getting off their rear-ends to get anything done.
Their fathers (us) never learned the valuable lessons of soldiering to pass along to them. We didn’t have to learn to absorb new information and learn quickly under compressed training and education timeframes; we didn’t have to learn to work as a team and be accountable for not letting that team down; we didn’t have to get used to functioning under stress; we didn’t have to learn that our attention to detail and our basic punctuality might be the difference between life and death – for ourselves or for someone else. These were the lessons taught so well by the military that men of my era were never forced to learn, so we couldn’t pass them along to our sons.
Instead we imagined they needed Ritalin for fidgeting in school, told them not to climb on the shed roof because they might die and assured them the reason they didn’t make the baseball team was because the coach just didn’t like them.
So we got what we got – sons who don’t know a drive belt from a Phillips screwdriver, who whine and moan too much and are more likely to idolize Ben Stiller than John Wayne.
If you’re one of the lucky ones with a son that bucks the trend, God bless you. For the rest, the cure starts by putting their feet on the yellow footprints.
–Dane Hicks is president of Garnett Publishing, Inc., and publisher of The Anderson County Review in Garnett, Ks.