Manliness in its purest form

I made reference to frisbee assaults in this recent post, and in recalling several recent frisbee-related incidents since then, I know you might soon get the impression we do little else but toss around the ol' plastic-skin. For now, though, I figured this bit of insight into the budding masculinity of my 4-year-old son was definitely worth highlighting:

The two of us were at the park throwing his frisbee around when I delivered a perfect throw that was so perfect it smacked him right between the eyes. Now, in my defense, most every other throw was tossed gently somewhere near him, just to avoid this problem. But it was an especially windy day in an area known for its wind, and somehow this thing ended up coming off my hand as a laser-guided missile (pronounced "miss-aisle", because I said so and I want this blog to sound classy in your head).

Me: Are you okay?

D- (clearly in pain): Yeah-- I'm tough (stops rubbing his head, then crosses and uncrosses his eyes a few times).

Me: You can be tough and still get hurt, you know.

D- (waiting a couple seconds while looking at me like I'm an idiot): I'm not hurt.

Me: Okay.

We went back to playing for a minute before I decided to write this exchange down for your benefit, so I pulled out a little notebook and scribbled down the gist of it. While I was doing this, D- decided to pass the time (and likely protest the interruption) by repeatedly trying to guide a miss-aisle into my nuts. He started out at a distance that offered him plausible deniability, but he found himself creeping closer each time as a silent acknowledgment of his complete lack of ability to direct the frisbee anywhere other than the ground a few feet in front of him.

Having much experience with this kind of thing, I was able to quickly turn myself away each time, waiting to say something till after I could be sure I wouldn't lose my train of thought by doing so. Each time I turned away, he would pick up the frisbee from wherever it had landed, and then reposition himself right in front of me. Once he started scrambling to be toe to toe no matter which way I turned, I stopped him with a quick word and he defended himself with the following gem:

"I'm just trying to see how far I can throw it!"

And this utter BS covering such cold-hearted dedication to comedic violence caused me to reflect that for as uncompromisingly tough as he may be, I know that I'm the kind of tough that might allow myself to water that fresh-cut grass with a manly tear or two if he ever connects as hard as he would have then.

For more pain or near-pain involving my crotch, see these posts.