Someone's going to have to teach our son to be a man, and that someone may be me

Once I found out we were having a son, most of my time spent imagining the future focused on all of the sporting events we would go to one day.

It was only recently it dawned on me that, in addition to teaching my son to swing, kick, shoot, and pass, I'm also going to have to teach him to be a man.

Only one problem with that -- I'm not sure I know how.

Oh sure, I can teach him some of the tricks of the trade: how to play cards, how to get unlimited extra men on Super Mario Brothers, how to treat a lady*.

*And I promise I will do it in a way that is less embarrassing than the instructions my father gave me, which mostly involved ordering for my female friends at Wendy's on the way to Mississippi State basketball games.

But when it comes to the real manly stuff, I am currently feeling a bit out of my depth.

I was reminded of this fact the other night, when Hilary discovered a snake in our garage. This snake wasn't anything for Samuel L. Jackson to shout about; it was perhaps a little over a foot long and maybe a few centimeters thick. It was basically an overgrown worm.

Still, it was a snake, and as the man of the house, it was my responsibility to resolve the situation.

So I did what I always do when faced with a difficult task, be it car, home, or serpent related -- I called my dad**.

** I could have asked my mom, but I have a feeling I already knew her recommendation. One time we were driving out to camp, and she swerved -- violently -- to avoid hitting a squirrel that had just run out onto the road. Several minutes later, a snake appeared on the road. My mom proceeded to run right over it, then backed up and ran over it again. 

My dad is my safety net. And it occurred to me as I was preparing myself for man-on-snake combat, that someday my son may want to do the same thing, and I'm going to want to be able to give him helpful suggestions.

Based on my experience so far, this will consist of two simple words of advice: "Google it."***

***Which is entirely similar to my three-word medical advice: "Drink some water."

Googling has probably saved me well over $1000 dollars this year in repairs to my car and washing machine. But is it manly? I want to be my own Google, capable of providing answers without consult of the Internet. I'm just not sure how I'm going to make that happen, short of signing up for shop class at a local high school.

There is one thing I did learn from the snake-removal process though that I hope to pass along, but before I get to that let me give the play-by-play of how it went down.

My dad's solution to getting rid of the snake was to grab a big broom, then vigorously sweep the snake into the street. That seemed reasonable enough. But not knowing if the snake was poisonous (what am I, an ophiologist?), I wanted to protect myself first. I grabbed my hiking boots, then thought to get my work gloves, but realized they were in the garage. Past the snake.

Shit.

No problem though -- like MacGuyver (or at least MacGruber), I adapt. If I can't get my work gloves, I'll use the next best thing, or at least the next closest thing to me in the kitchen -- oven mitts!

Getting a good mental picture of my look? No? Ok, how about an actual picture:

Snake removal attire (broom sold separately)

Honestly, look at this poor bastard. That's your dad, kids!

Here's the thing though. It got the job done. The score read Micah 1, Snake 0, and I never let the fact that I looked like a complete imbecile slow me down, nor keep me from posting the above photo despite certain-to-follow ridicule. And that's the lesson I hope to impart to our son. If you are comfortable in your own skin, everything else can be dealt with.

Maybe I can't teach him how to build a deck, or rebuild a transmission, or grill the perfect burger (ok, that one I probably need to work on). But if nothing else, hopefully I can teach him to have self-confidence.

Google can take care of the rest.