to Gillette - What is a man?

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
Ifyou can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

“Have you news of my boy Jack?”
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

Pardon me whilst I wipe the privilege running from my eyes and collect my thoughts.

“Anyway, I don’t consider men grilling to be toxic at all. Who are these idiots? “

Most REAL women love their guys grilling meats for them.It’s the arugula salad ladies who don’t care.

When I bought my condo 13 years ago,(no dogs allowed),I gave my little female dog to my son and his family because she had spent a lot of time with them when I traveled.

She LOVED it there,because my son grilled often,summer and winter. I don’t think she missed me at all,I never grilled. :-)

My little dog was a conservative woman at heart.

The Quitter
________________________________________

When you’re lost in the Wild, and you’re scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you’re sore as a boil, it’s according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: “Fight all you can,”
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it’s easy to blow . . .
It’s the hell-served-for-breakfast that’s hard.

“You’re sick of the game!” Well, now that’s a shame.
You’re young and you’re brave and you’re bright.
“You’ve had a raw deal!” I know—but don’t squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don’t be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit, it’s so easy to quit.
It’s the keeping-your chin-up that’s hard.

It’s easy to cry that you’re beaten—and die;
It’s easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope’s out of sight—
Why that’s the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each grueling bout,
All broken and battered and scarred,
Just have one more try—it’s dead easy to die,
It’s the keeping-on-living that’s hard.

Robert Service, 1907

Also from Kipling - “The Young British Soldier”

WHEN the ‘arf-made recruity goes out to the East
‘E acts like a babe an’ ‘e drinks like a beast,
An’ ‘e wonders because ‘e is frequent deceased
Ere ‘e’s fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

Now all you recruities what’s drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an’ ‘ark to my lay,
An’ I’ll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what’s fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o’ the grog-sellers’ huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay’nets that rots out your guts -
Ay, drink that ‘ud eat the live steel from your butts -
An’ it’s bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes - as it will past a doubt -
Keep out of the wet and don’t go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An’ it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o’ your foes is the sun over’ead:
You must wear your ‘elmet for all that is said:
If ‘e finds you uncovered ‘e’ll knock you down dead,
An’ you’ll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you’re cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don’t grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it’s beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old -
A troop-sergeant’s widow’s the nicest I’m told,
For beauty won’t help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain’t enough for a soldier.
‘Nough, ‘nough, ‘nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch ‘em - you’ll swing, on my oath! -
Make ‘im take ‘er and keep ‘er: that’s Hell for them both,
An’ you’re shut o’ the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an’ you’re wishful to duck,
Don’t look nor take ‘eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you’re livin’, and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When ‘arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don’t call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She’s human as you are - you treat her as sich,
An’ she’ll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin’ their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o’ the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an’ don’t mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer’s dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier of the Queen!

Congratulations on this impressive thread, your first, and hopefully the first of many. I liked that you drew on Kipling and literature to make your point.

As a teenager, my Dad taught me something of what a man is by reciting a few lines from epic poems. He did that during late hours in a darkened dining room with a bottle of Seagram's 7 as his companion.

Tennyson's "Noble 700" in Charge of the Light Brigade, "the unconquerable soul" of Invictus, the "water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink" from the Ancient Mariner, "Out out brief candle. Life's but a walking shadow.." from Shakespeare. Fifty years later, I recognize these occasional meetings with great poets may have led to my career as a journalist/analyst in the tech world.

Perhaps my Dad's most quoted passage was the Army colonel narrator of Gunga Din saying: "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din." Credit Kipling for exalting a man whose military rank was lower than a recruit infantryman... but whose loyalty and self-sacrifice made him higher than a Caesar.

Great to hear about the hero of Guadalcanal -- very inspirational to hear he lived to a ripe old age. My Dad was an LST gunner's mate at D-Day Normandy and D-Day Okinawa. To commemorate him, my brother are I are meeting each other next summer in Chattanooga aboard the last LST afloat, when LST 325, pays a visit.

I've also largely abandoned American TV, but mostly because my Japanese wife has programs she wants to watch.

It's not that the CBSs and NBCs don't know how to create great programming: look at the spectacular way they produce television for football.

But in terms of programming that's uplifting, or educates the young, or praises the Kipling "IF" men of business and battle, well, the Fake Media has no use for that type of TV. They'd rather destroy civil society to make more money.

And yet my daughter just showed me a Netflix cooking/documentary about salt, and it was outstanding. Netflix is hopefully going to take the others for a ride. But we'll see.

There's some great television on NHK (Japan TV) and I can enjoy it without knowing Japanese. They produce game shows and comedies, samurai dramas, mysteries, and detective shows. Great acting can be appreciated even when you can only half guess the meaning of the plot (NOTE: once a week they do show movies with English subtitles).

This art is created by honest, hardworking, honorable, and intelligent men and women, writers and actors whose solid character permits them to portray all shades of yin and yang, male and female, weak and strong, and every other human trait that each of us possesses in greater or lesser degree.

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