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Boys are tough, um, boys don't cry. And when it comes down to it, you fight not flight. So I was six and I was taught how to punch. It was the anti-bullying movement back then, um, the first time one of my classmates, um, took a "your mama" joke just little to far. I remember all my training and I hit the boy square in the face. I turned his nose into a fountain. My skin horrified [inaudible]. I closed my eyes. I made a wish. I came home with bloody knuckles and it was the first piece of art work we hung on the fridge. Yeah. I remember staring at my hands they same way you stare at a mid term, you know, when all your answers are correct. And I had no idea what class this was, but I did know something. I was actually acing this class and isn't that what masculinity has become, um, you know, a bunch of dudes afraid of their own feelings, terrified of any emotion other than anger, um, yelling at shadows on the wall. But still haven't realized that we're the ones standing in front of the light. So we learned how