After limping around with a bruised knee for a week, with no relief in sight, I'm living out an aspect of masculinity that I've studied quite a bit, namely males' tendency to take risks. We visit the doctor less often, are less apt to put sunscreen on, and get in far more accidents--on and off and road. Scholars attribute this propensity to take risks (or, as my wife would put it, "be stupid") to the male urge to distinguish ourselves. Raising half of the population to be willing to risk death in order to hunt and fight successfully made a lot of sense for much of the history of humankind. The men who survived could have more than one wife, and those who died (about one third of the group in many societies) served the interests of the group while alive by being daring hunters and warriors and could take a certain comfort, as their eyes closed for the last time, in knowing that people would be telling stories about them for generations to come.
Today, modern men of the western world seem to believe that taking risks sets us apart from women and gives us status among other males. I also think that taking part in competitive sports that carry the risk of injury (I hurt my knee playing soccer) makes us part of a brotherhood that is very strong and meaningful. Scholars who study men in combat find that the main reason they risk their lives, when it comes right down to it, is to help their brothers. I hear male professional athletes say the same thing when they retire, that what they'll most miss is that strong sense of belonging--and that they'd be willing to risk another concussion or two to keep playing another year or two. Still, a stationary bike and Zumba with my wife look pretty tempting right now. . . .
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