I'm going to say something that's probably going to piss off a whole lot of people, and I don't particularly give a shit.

I'm getting embarrassed for the male race.

Seriously. What the fuck is happening to men?

I get on social media and see grown-ass men standing in front of bathroom mirrors with their lips puckered up, their asses sticking out, and their heads tilted sideways like they're posing for the cover of some goddamn romance novel.

Then there's the hair. The eyebrows. The lip gloss. The seventeen different bottles of shit lined up across the bathroom counter.

Some of these fellas have eyebrows so perfectly shaped they look like somebody laid them out with a carpenter's square.

I've built decks that weren't that goddamn straight.

When did men start wanting to be treated like delicate little princesses? When did getting attention become more important than getting something accomplished? And when did grown men start needing somebody to tell them how beautiful they are every fifteen minutes?

I don't remember men acting like this when I was growing up.

Hell, most of the men I knew were lucky if they remembered to brush their teeth before leaving the house.

Now we've got fellas who apparently need a forty-five-minute skincare routine just to go buy a gallon of milk.

And here's something I've been dying to ask the women.

What in the hell do you think about all this?

Are you attracted to a man who spends more time getting ready than you do? Do you share makeup? Fight over the good tweezers? Have to hide your expensive moisturizer so your boyfriend doesn't use the whole goddamn jar?

What does date night look like?

Do you go get facials together? Book matching appointments to have your eyebrows waxed? Sit across from each other drinking something pink while comparing your hair care products?

And who the hell gets the bathroom first?

I can picture some poor woman standing in the hallway, already dressed and ready to go, yelling, "Honey, are you almost finished?"

And from inside the bathroom comes, "JUST A MINUTE, BABY. I'M CONTOURING!"

Jesus Christ.

Put Down the Makeup Brush and Pick Up a Goddamn Wrench

Every time I get on TikTok, there's another grown man teaching people how to apply concealer, shape their eyebrows, or get their hair to look like they just stepped out of a beauty salon.

Fellas, for the love of God.

How about showing somebody how to change the oil in their truck?

There's a fucking idea.

How about teaching some sixteen-year-old boy how to change a tire? Replace a dead battery? Fix a leaking faucet? Find the water shutoff valve before his bathroom turns into an indoor swimming pool?

Teach him how to use a drill without putting a screw through his hand.

Something useful.

I've built decks for grown men who couldn't tell a Phillips screwdriver from a socket wrench.

I'll ask a homeowner to hand me a tool that's sitting right beside him, and the poor bastard freezes.

He starts looking through everything like I've just asked him to identify a bomb.

Son, I asked you for a screwdriver. Not a fucking kidney.

And here's the part that bothers me.

Some of these men have sons.

Who's teaching those boys how to do anything?

Because someday that boy is going to be standing beside a broken-down car, and knowing how to blend concealer isn't going to get his ass home.

We've got enough people teaching boys how to look pretty.

How about somebody teaching them how to do something?

When the Shit Hits the Fan, Who's Going to Handle It?

Now here's what really pisses me off.

Because eventually these fellas grow up, get married, have children, and suddenly find themselves responsible for a family.

And I want to know who's going to handle the hard shit.

The furnace quits in January. The truck breaks down. Your wife loses her job. The mortgage is due, the checking account's damn near empty, and your kid just got suspended from school.

What happens now?

Who's going to make the decisions?

Who's going to figure out what needs doing?

Because I look at some of these fellas and wonder whether they're prepared to take care of a family or whether they're expecting the family to take care of them.

What happens when your wife is scared? When she's exhausted? When she's had about all she can take and needs somebody to tell her, "I've got this. We'll figure it out."

Can you do that?

Or are you going to need somebody to sit you down, rub your back, and tell you what a brave little boy you are first?

I'm seeing grown men who seem to need constant reassurance that they're special. Constant compliments. Constant attention.

Every little inconvenience becomes a crisis.

Every difficult day requires an audience.

Every goddamn thing has to be about how they're feeling.

Well, here's some news for you.

Sometimes your family needs you to put your own feelings on the back burner and handle something.

Sometimes you have to make a decision nobody likes.

Sometimes you have to work when you're tired, fix something when you'd rather sit down, and figure out how to pay a bill when you haven't got the slightest idea where the money's coming from.

That's life.

And a grown man ought to be able to face it without needing a standing ovation.

And here's another question. If both people in a marriage are standing around waiting to be pampered, reassured, and rescued, who's actually running the goddamn household?

I see women working all day, coming home, cooking dinner, taking care of children, paying bills, and keeping the entire household running while their husbands sit around waiting for instructions.

What the fuck are you doing?

Your wife shouldn't have to raise you.

She shouldn't have to make you a chore chart, remind you to take the garbage out, and tell you when the grass needs cutting.

Look around. Use your goddamn eyes.

And if something needs doing, get off your ass and do it.

I believe a man ought to take responsibility for his family. Not sit around waiting for somebody else to take responsibility for him.

Call me old-fashioned.

I've been called worse.

Who the Hell Is Raising These Boys?

And this is the part that worries me more than anything.

Because boys are watching all this shit.

They're watching Daddy spend half an hour taking pictures of himself in the bathroom mirror.

They're watching him sit on the couch while Mama does everything.

They're watching him complain about every inconvenience and avoid anything that requires effort.

And they're learning.

I'll see some woman dragging two big-ass garbage cans down the driveway while she's got two teenage boys sitting inside playing video games.

Why in the hell is Mama hauling garbage cans?

Get those boys outside.

And where's Daddy?

Why isn't he standing in the doorway telling those boys to get off their asses and help their mother?

Maybe because Daddy's sitting on the couch right beside them.

Well, there's your goddamn problem.

You can't raise a responsible man by showing him that responsibility is somebody else's job.

And you can't teach a boy how to stand on his own two feet when he's spent his entire childhood watching you sit on your ass.

Now, I know there are boys growing up without fathers.

I was one of them.

I didn't have a daddy at home teaching me how to swing a hammer, work on a truck, or fix things around the house.

But I had Grandma Arlene.

And that woman didn't put up with a whole lot of bullshit.

If she couldn't teach me something herself, she found somebody who could.

She made sure I learned how to work. How to use tools. How to figure things out.

And she sure as hell didn't let me sit around expecting somebody else to take care of everything.

Grandma Arlene wasn't interested in raising some helpless little son of a bitch who couldn't function without somebody holding his hand.

She wanted me to grow up and be able to take care of myself.

And thank God she did.

Here Come the Equality Police

Now, I can already hear somebody warming up their keyboard.

Here come the equality police, charging out of the fucking woods with their badges flashing.

So pay attention.

This ain't about being gay or straight.

I've known gay fellas who could build a house, fix a truck, and work circles around half the straight men I've met.

And I've known straight fellas who get up at five in the morning so they've got enough time to work their hair into the perfect man bun.

Being gay doesn't make you less of a man.

And being straight sure as hell doesn't automatically make you one.

I'm talking about responsibility. Being useful. Taking care of the people who depend on you.

And yes, I think it's ridiculous when a grown man spends more time worrying about his eyebrows than learning how to take care of himself.

I think it's embarrassing.

You want to call me an asshole for saying that?

Get in line.

But don't come crawling out of the woods trying to turn this into some argument about sexual preference because you don't like what I'm saying.

I've got an opinion, and I'm going to express it.

I'm Raising One of These Boys Myself

Tucker's a teenager now.

And I think about this shit more than people probably realize.

I'm not a perfect father. I've made mistakes, and I'll probably make plenty more.

But I'm damn sure not raising a boy who expects somebody else to handle every difficult thing that comes along.

I want Tucker to know how to work.

I want him to know how to fix things, take care of himself, and figure out what to do when something goes wrong.

I want him to understand that sometimes you have to do things you don't feel like doing.

And that when you screw something up, you own it.

Sometimes it'd be a hell of a lot easier for me to do something myself than spend an afternoon teaching Tucker how to do it.

But what would that accomplish?

I'd have the job finished, and he'd have learned absolutely nothing.

One day that boy's going to be grown.

He might have a wife. He might have children. He might have people counting on him.

And when life hands him something difficult, I want him to have enough sense to roll up his sleeves and say, "Alright. Let's figure this shit out."

Not because he knows everything.

Because he's willing to learn, and he isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

That's what Grandma Arlene taught me.

And that's what I'm trying to teach Tucker.

Because I'll tell you something.

I don't give a damn how many people think my boy is handsome.

I don't care how many followers he's got or whether he knows the proper way to apply some goddamn facial serum.

I want him to be a man who keeps his word, takes responsibility, and doesn't run away when somebody needs him.

If this is where we're headed — where men are more concerned about winning a goddamn beauty pageant than they are about protecting their families — God help us all.