The fighting men

What is it with men?  They size up everyone.  They wonder who would win in a fight.  How many times have I heard, "who do you think would win in a fight?  Suzie or Max?  Max or Jim?  You or Suzie?"  Or, "I was thinking about what it would be like to fight him."  My man isn't even the fighting type, on the surface.  Sure he'll go toe-to-toe with me any day verbally.  I think maybe he should have been a lawyer.  I never think any of my barbs hit home until a week or so later when he might bring one up.   Inside every man is there violence?  Was it bred into them, genetically and/or historically?  Will it ever be gone?  This must be why we still have wars, still have men who need to go out and do battle.  Are there less of them now than there have been in the past?  Is there still a need for them in our society?  Wouldn't we all be much better off if we only had oral debates?  I guess fists are better than guns.  Less death that way.

I know a few men who actually do fight, and like it. With fists! I wonder how much they think about fighting.  You know the type:  "Go start the car, and keep it running, I'll be right out."  Some girls/women actually like it when their men fight, and blood spills, because of them.  I think these men tend to be chauvinistic and barbarian.  I have to admit that there is a small attraction to this, but my brain knows that there is really no use for this trait in every day society.  I would rather have a smart man anyday.

My son, as soon as he was able, loved to fight and wrestle.  I had to remind him I was a mom, and he could be much rougher with Dad.  I hate being so sexist but sometimes he just go too rough for me.  I loved some wrestling.  My daughter also did a bit of rough housing but not as much.  Maybe she just wasn't encouraged to do so though, rather than blaming it on genetics.

I honestly have never thought about what it would be like to fight someone, or who would win in a fight.  If I am VERY angry at someone, I might secretly wish some kind of revenge, for just a short bit, but it never involves me fighting.  I would run in the event of actual fists flying.   Once, in elementary school, some popular girls wanted to sign my yearbook. I didn't want them to.  We weren't friends.  Did they think they were so popular that everyone just wanted their autograph? Anyway, they blackened my eye and  bloodied my nose, among other things.  I never put down the yearbook, I didn't run, and I did not even try to fight back.  Eventually, the watching teacher took me to the nurse's office, but not until I was good and banged up.