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Bobcats and Barbie dolls

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By Jefferson Weaver

Happy Wade is my new hero.

To begin with, that’s a great name. I’ve never met him, but I know folks who know him. All indications are he’s a regular type of neighbor, a good fellow who is devoted to his wife and family. The family even helps with unwanted pets. They have a rescued cat.

The Wades are obviously good fur parents since they were taking the cat to the vet the other day when something happened that catapulted them to fame. Miss Kristi was holding the cat carrier on the way to the car when she was attacked by a rabid bobcat in the family’s driveway. Happy doesn’t hesitate – he grabs the bobcat from where it had hold of his wife, and he threw that rascal like a minor league pitcher facing down the winning runner in the ninth inning of a game where the umpire is the Angel of Death. Instead of running for cover immediately thereafter, Happy drew his concealed carry handgun and eliminated the threat to his family and his community.

The whole thing was caught on security video, which has since gone viral on both social media and the news. He set a new standard for men in this age of toxic masculinity and puberty blockers designed to turn boys into girls so their parents can brag about abusing their children into politically correct popularity.

A healthy bobcat is tough enough; I’m not sure how many I have dealt with through the years, usually trapping but occasionally hunting. They do not like people, and will avoid contact with people. They sure by cracky don’t look to humans for help. The average Lynx Rufus is rather antisocial, if you get right down to it.

I just about had my entrails handed to me by an old bob-tom once when sentimentality got the better of me. The critter had held off at least two, if not three, coyotes throughout the night, all the while with one paw confined in a trap. I decided anything that tough deserved to remain in the DNA pool. The fur market was spiraling down at that time anyway, and I couldn’t see wasting an animal. So, I went to release him. That cat, however, was a warrior. To keep this family-friendly, let’s just say I did better than I anticipated selling him to a taxidermist.

Even a small bobcat, like Happy’s, is a handful. A whirling, spitting, scratching, biting handful of death. I have never dealt with a rabid bobcat, but I have trapped and destroyed rabid foxes and raccoons. I once saw a rabid coon attacking traffic, after it put three grown men to flight (I was one of them). I’ve dealt with a couple of rabid foxes, and even as tiny, timid and shy as they seem, a rabid fox is no Disney character. Thankfully, I have never been in hand-to-hand combat with any of those things.

Happy Wade, however, stepped up to the plate, and hit a home run. When it came down to home and family, he didn’t hesitate. He took care of business. Cuddly-wuddly majestic nature took a backseat to what truly matters. It makes me wonder how many more men of courage are out there. I do not mean those who will fight a bobcat mano y gato; I mean those who are willing to say enough is enough.

Someone, somewhere, somehow decided that to be male was to be bad. To have natural male tendencies, as well as to bear responsibility for keeping lesser tendencies at bay, somehow became evil. To be attracted to a female, as God designed it, is rapidly becoming an aberration. How we are supposed to reproduce as a species after all the males have been gelded is beyond me, but then again, I am just a stupid guy.

Apparently, it’s currently desirable to have some kind of vague job that never pays off one’s $200,000 in student loan debt, as opposed to having a real career in a real trade and being a productive member of society. There’s something inherently wrong about getting one’s hands dirty or burned or even bloody and making a good living.

I’m not going to be ashamed of being a man any more than I am going to be ashamed of being American, Southern, Christian, heterosexual, Caucasian, pro-Constitution or carnivorous. You’re welcome to be a feminized male if you so choose. I won’t beat you up on the playground, but I sure won’t welcome you into my circle of friends.

I’m of the opinion that if a little girl wants to play with trucks, GI Joe and toy guns, it’s because she likes them. Same thing if a little boy wants a Barbie doll. Kids are curious, and like different things. There’s a better than average chance that once that curiosity is satisfied, if nobody makes a production out of it, that the little kid in question will go on being, well, a little kid. I think it’s criminal to rush to medically mutilate and assign a chemically-induced gender to a child who just sees someone else’s toy as a different kind of toy. We need to let kids be kids, regardless of what the hashtag-trending crowd of whackadoodles in Hollywood’s gated communities deem proper for us peons.

And men need to be men.

That testosterone so demonized by many on the left (unless it’s being pumped into a little girl) has been responsible for building much of what we consider precious, as well as the mundane we take for granted. Now, I am firmly of the opinion that the contributions of women deserve equal adulation, but why must one side be run down and the other artificially promoted? All that does is make it the new “woke” norm more suspect. Most people don’t place a person’s value on how much that person says they are superior to someone else. Modern society has blurred the traditional roles of men and women. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Young men need “women’s” skills – including the basics on how to care for a child – just as much as young women need to know how to change a tire, shoot a coyote, patch a pipe or drive a nail.

If we allow it to happen, the masculine American male will soon be anathema. Sadly, too many men are willing to allow themselves to be screamed into submission, since it’s easier to get along and hope for the best in the future.

The time has come for men and women to be willing to stand up and say no. There’s nothing wrong with being male or female. We were designed that way, regardless of what might be in fashion this week. But allowing those simple truths to be ground into the dust is a good way to bring us closer to a day not when everyone will be equal and happy, but when we realize that we need men of courage, and there are none left.

We need more men in this world – not rump-slapping, beer-drinking boors who spit and curse for amusement, but men wiling to defend their families, society and America from both literal and metaphorical rabid bobcats — with their bare hands, if need be.

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