Not many generations ago, men dreamed and fought. They built things, they risked, they dared, they lived big lives, and did great things.
On the playground, and in the alleys and backyards, and behind the barns, children called out as they prepared to fight, “My dad can beat up your dad!”
But now, as men have settled into listless lives, they focus only on the needs of their bellies, of comfort, of getting through the day so they can gaze at a screen through the night. Now they huddle in cubicles too afraid to dream or battle or build.
And now, on the playgrounds, and the baseball diamonds, and in the basketball courts, small men, terrorized by their own insignificance, cry out across the arena, "My child can beat up yours."