Song of the Real Man

No, I don’t know why I’ve taken to writing what are essentially song lyrics either. It could be something to do with my sons wanting Supercalifragilistic on more or less permanent loop. This one is a sort of sequel to the previous song, inspired by my oldest son, whose ambition aged 5 was to be a pink fairy.

Should I dare to be a fairy wearing airy-fairy pink?

For someone who’s like me, you see, it’s harder than you think.

I’d love to flitter-flutter, fly; I am, however, coy,

As fairy wings are not the thing when you’re a little boy.

 

The grown-ups say ‘Go out to play! An Action Man! A Gun!’

Though I’d not thought mass slaughter was a sort of sport or fun.

A ball is not for me at all, and nor a thing that kills.

I’d rather care, be nice, and share, and do it wearing frills.

 

Now who’s to say that boys can’t play with toys that have a heart?

Like sewing, knowing how to cook, like books and craft and art?

And if they yell ‘Oh we can tell, you’ll never be a man!’

I’ll turn around and stand my ground and shout ‘OH YES I CAN!’

 

 

 

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