Dangerous Book for Boys: Prequel

If you haven’t already guessed, while I’m figuring out how to film 3B walking while preventing him from opening the balcony door, eating my bicycle chain, or climbing onto the stove, I’m going to be stalling by presenting the more interesting contents of my “baby book.” Of course, after I get some footage, I’ll need some time to hack it together to the tune y’all selected. (Technically, I’ve stopped counting votes, but really, I’ll keep counting bribes as long as you want to send them.)

If you thought that the Dangerous Book for Boys was a hazard, that just means that you haven’t seen this yet. This is what Mom was given by the hospital when I was born.

Take a gander . . .

Circa 1968, a boy was not so insecure as to have a little pink on the cover of his booklet, apparently.

“The dignity of manhood”? Clearly, you had no idea what indignities the 70s would bring us. [via BIL’s Sonic Airhole]

“He likes ice cream, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street . . . fire engines, Pickles the Fire Cat . . .” er, waitaminnit.

What now? Who is that boy across the street?


“When you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams . . .”

God, how I long for the good ol’ days, when a man could go to work full of optimism and faith and return home every evening with all of that goodwill crushed into a thimbleful of dust that he would pour into his martini and watch vanish into a whirlpool of booze as he swirled his olives around the rim of the glass.

Yeesh. I’m less worried about what a boy is than what being a man in that time was like.

Tomorrow: Helpful tips for mothers–including when you can smoke in the maternity ward.

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  • Sorry, you lost me back at “the adult males pack them off to bed at night”. I guess that’s when the moms get to drown their shattered hopes and dreams in some bonbons, right?

  • Um, yeah, I think that’s about as realistic as “the adult males cut their fingernails” or “the adult males pick the boogers out of their noses” or, in those days, “the adult males change a diaper.”

  • Wasn’t that still the era of “the adult males pack themselves into the recliner while the adult females, wearing an apron and a nice set of pearls, mix them a nice drink, and the kids were in bed an hour ago so that the dominant male family member could have peace and quiet after a long, hard day crushing his hopes and dreams at Widgets-R-Us”?

    Or maybe I’m reaching a little too far back into the mists of time.

  • I stand corrected. I think you have that about dead on. Of course, the funny thing about all of this is that this is what Mom was handed when I was born, and I grew up in a household that was well past all of these older social norms. Perhaps she saved it because she thought it was an interesting artifact of the past.