Though I hate to admit it, I actually have a confession to make. I, Jason Summers, am not exactly an alpha-male. In fact, you might refer to me as a beta-male. Who are we beta-males?
We’re not exactly known for ostentatious displays of valor. My knowledge of all that’s “macho” consists of an image of Randy Savage snapping into a Slim Jim exclaiming, “Oooohhhhhhh yyyeeaaaahhhhhh.” If war were to break out, I’m more like Archimedes. I just sort of look around, try to stay out of the way, and work on geometric proofs in the sand.
I rarely take my shirt off, and all my sleeves remain intact. I have no tattoos, I’ve never smoked a cigarette, and I can hardly even think of pointing a gun at another human being. However, I’m pretty epic with fireworks! We can tie G.I. Joes to 12 oz rockets and launch them across the neighborhood! Take that alpha-males! Jerks!
I’m the antithesis of macho. Late one night I was out walking and I saw my cat, Mama-Boo get run over. She didn’t die and her two back legs were broken. She slowly crawled off of the road into my driveway under my car and moaned for a while. I got out my .22 rifle and aimed it at her head, knowing she was suffering and was surely going to die, but even in those circumstances, I wasn’t able to shoot a mere animal. She stopped breathing soon after the accident and I buried her the following morning.
I found myself building a little memorial out by the creek, reflecting on the memories we shared. She was an old stray who had been abused by someone who lived nearby. She was terrified of people and always ran away. But she eventually got to know me because I oftentimes sit on the front porch at 3 AM and stare up at the stars. I actually got to a point where I could pet her. I took care of her for several years.
I also have a relationship with a raccoon from the creek. I leave food out on the porch late at night and it comes to eat. It’s figured out that I’m the source of these wonderful delights and has gotten a little too comfortable around me. I’ll be sitting in my chair on the porch and it’ll come right up to the side and put its paws on the chair’s arm. It then lifts itself just six inches away from me and looks me in the face, almost like it’s asking, “Do you have anymore of that stuff?”
Yep. I’m a beta-male. While Fonzie may snap his fingers and the women come running, about all I can do is help you with your math homework. Even still, if you text that you need me, I’ll come running, though I’ll likely be just as intimidated by the spider in the shower as you are, especially if it’s a big one that jumps. Do big spiders jump? I think they do. On second thought… *shivers* “You can do this Jason, you can do this!” After thirty minutes of intense planning and deliberation, I’ll end up trapping it in a glass and release it outside in the backyard.
Thinking about it, I don’t think I’ve ever talked to a woman in the imperative tone of voice. The only time I snap my fingers is when I’m cooking in the kitchen. Do my little dancing jig as I make stir-fry! Shake the pan, “Whoooo”, place the pan down on the burner, spin in place, then snap the fingers. You hungry?
I do actually lift weights and exercise, but I’m not known for my huge muscles. I can just barely bench-press my own body weight, yet, even still, I am aware of all the current political events, the state of the economy, and other social issues. That counts for something.
I’ve never grilled a big steak dinner as I don’t like to eat red meat. It’s not good for the old heart and I kinda feel bad killing other sentient life. I tend to stick with a vegetarian diet.
I do have a weakness for nice cars and Harley motorcycles. No lie. I couldn’t work on them to save my life, but I’ll gladly go riding cross country with you on a road-trip! Hop on the back babe, I’ll take you anywhere you like! How could anyone not like motorcycles?
These are just a few of the beta-male qualities. Actually, I think I’m the only beta-male.