Last night, I watched Oprah’s special on the Women of India with my mom. Side by side on the sofa we watched a surprising world unfold.  In ancient times, Indian men used to practice archery skills by aiming at their wife's red dot. I learned that this is one of the reasons why Indian men had many wives. 

There are no cars in India, instead they ride elephants to work. The government is trying to encourage ride-sharing schemes.

Think I’m kidding? Maybe, but the world that Oprah shaped didn’t miss that mark by much. Try an entire culture brainwashed into believing that casting away your mother when your father dies is the best option, a culture that maintains an island of widows modeled after the island of misfit toys from the movie Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  Who knew that behind such a spiritual, intelligent and advanced culture there is still such an oppressive world being shaped by a bunch of men with mustaches. 

Do you speak Hindu? Yes, I also speak Jewish, Islam and Christianity.

How was I to know? I mean the only regular exposure I have with Indian culture is when I try to change my Verizon service and I can’t tell if the person on the other end has a mustache or not—it sure doesn’t sound like it. 

After watching Oprah’s special I felt really different about my favorite Indian restaurant in Jackson Heights. Knowing now what I didn’t know then, I certainly would have protested. It’s the American way to protest, after all. 

A man without a mustache is like a cup of tea without sugar. One like this is like filling your mouth with corn syrup.

Had I some inkling that some of the very people serving me were probably part of this great oppressive montage, I would have jumped on the waiter's back (This would have been my Rosa Parks moment), grabbed each end of his mustache and made 'Vroom Vroom' sounds. (Occupy Mustache certainly had Encyclopedia Britannica potential). 

After the special was over, my mom and I sat in silence. Then, I told her that maybe we should both call Verizon and speak our mind. (While it was still fresh and all).

“If I call,“ I said, “Then, it’s just some crazy guy. But if you call too and tell them you’re my mom, it could change things. But, just make sure to tell them that your husband is still alive”. 

You can have a top-of-the-line bike, but if you pair hairy legs with tight spandex, the cycling police are coming to get you.

She said if change was going to happen I needed to get to the root of the problem. I knew she was right. I needed to come up with a product like Nair, a hair removal product for women’s legs manufactured by Church and Dwight that kills hair follicles at their root.   

I went to sleep that night singing "We wear short shorts, Nair for short shorts,” wondering how a simple guy like me could take on a social epidemic in a country where the mustache was never banned from fashion... all without giving up my regular rations of Bhindi Masala and Nag Champa.

In the morning, (with Chauncey Gardner-like force) I was awakened by the solution. I stared wide eyed at the ceiling.

It was obvious. The root of the problem is that the world is full of little boys living inside the bodies of big hairy men. But, they’re not really big hairy men. They’re really just little boys. 

Jumping off the roof takes on a whole new meaning in a sheet fort.

Across the globe, all of us little Boymen share one common testosterone-filled denominator that makes us who we are: We have personal fantasies (yet unfulfilled) that once came alive late at night in a sheet fort. I’m not talking about those bleep bleep fantasies that you bleep bleep for your bleep. I’m talking about the common denominator fantasies that shape our manhood.

THE EPIPHANY

What if there was a way to turn men back into boys and let the boys run the world (which by default would give power back to their moms)? Refer to Time Out, Spanking and You're Grounded for Life for additional information 1

Since everyone likes holidays, I decided a good solution would be to take over 2013 - not all of it, just four months of it. A quarter of a year. During each month, I would plan to bring awareness to boyhood fantasies (yet unfulfilled) as a way of helping soften our entire global community of men. 

Drum Roll, Please

Introducing.... The Quarter Year of Male Restitution. Four months where our entire global community will conspire to help men worldwide actualize their boyhood fantasies. 

JANUARY 2013: YOU WANT A HAPPY MEAL MONTH

Dear McDonalds cashier, Don't give me that look, there's no age limit on a happy meal. Sincerely, Don't forget the toy.

The company that brought you boy toy/girl toy options, red and yellow spandex and Ronald McDonald collaborates with GQ’s annual guy gift team to stuff those happy meals boxes for an entire month. What man won’t melt when he eats a little kid hamburger with his big beefy hairy fingers and then finds a wifi helicopter that runs on an iphone app inside?

FEBRUARY 2013: RUN A BATH FOR YOU MONTH

All the guys in the John Wayne movies took baths and it was never a problem. Every male athlete with a NFL, NBA or MLB contract calls it a hot tub and it’s not a problem. The male ruby-throated hummingbird calls it a birdbath and he still gets his monthly rations of sugar water from the male bird watchers of the world. If we can get men in the tub, real change is imminent. Let’s face it, there’s something wonderful about watching your fruit package shrivel up and float in a tub of hot water and then walking around in your Wrangler jeans later.


Hi Gene, how often do you take a bath?

MARCH 2013: WISH UPON A STAR MONTH

When Manboy was a Boyman, he used to wish upon a shooting star. And the wish would come true. This is why the world is now overrun with wealth, yachts and insanely attractive people eating  sumptuous foods. This is the month that each man puts on a squirrel costume, goes outside, and offers his dreams to the world under the quiet light of the star-filled sky. 

APRIL 2013: BE AN ASTRONAUT AND VISIT HEAVEN FOR A MONTH

Before there was the UPS man there were astronauts and before astronauts there was Prince Valiant (in his panty hose and bobbed hair).  Now, every Boyman gets a chance to put on a space helmet and an aluminum foil suit, sound like Darth Vader and be that one special boy who wins over the heart of his third grade teacher.  He’ll get a chance to visit heaven and maybe meet the tooth fairy at which time he’ll get to trade in those abandoned teeth and get cash in exchange.

Can You Help?

If you can provide a modernized version of tech support, I can use your help. Thank you very much.

I’m looking for everyone who likes Indian food to help me get the word out. I’m not asking you to send a postcard to your congressman. Simply, write the url of this blog post down on the napkin next time you eat at the $9.95 Indian Buffet and hand it to your waiter. There is strength in numbers and napkins. With your help we can buy a razor for the Marlboro man and buy him that Red Ryder BB gun he’s been longing for since he lost his childhood and started ruining it for other kids by smoking. Remember, reform means that each one of us has to change. In the words of Robert C. Gallagher, “Change is inevitable - except from a vending machine.”

About the Author

Slash Coleman M.A.Ed.

Slash Coleman, M.A.Ed. is an award-winning writer and performer best known for his PBS special and Off-Broadway one-man show, The Neon Man and Me.

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