I understand that a reference to the “prodigal Son” involves the restoration of a believer into fellowship with the Father.

However, I’m feeling controversial today. And, I know this post’s heading will grab attention and set a good stage.

And, it started with something I witnessed on Fathers Day, at the pool, as I was finishing up a work-out. Earlier in the week, as we made our way onto a local pitch (soccer field) for practice, we observed a group involved with a (pointless) youth football mini-camp. The Mom’s, in particular, were almost rabid with their earnestness (I used that word because it’s different than enthusiasm). The Dad’s were just awkward and tense.

SIDE NOTE: There was a little girl with one of the Mom’s at the football mini-camp wearing a t-shirt that read: “One Day I’ll Get Trashed at Prom”. This is likely a girl being raised by her Mom to be a cheerleader one day.

To wit…

I’ve realized – and, it’s not a simple opinion, that the best form of a son is that of a daughter.

Little boys whine a lot. Especially in sports.

We all know the family with the young lad raised by sisters (treated like live-in servants). He’ll make like a princess whose lost her pea and wail like a siren at the smallest slight. You Georgia Mom’s, in particular, and pee-wee football (“you doan’t understand… This is ah liiiife!”), know just who you are.

Lacrosse and Soccer just seem to bring out better qualities in people.

So… Circling back to the prodigal son angle… I observe the hapless earthly fathers of these girly-boys stand back in uncertain horror, and denial, at what they observe. But, in all fairness this is likely a reflection of their own young lives as well.

NOTE: My own Mother was a high-diver and brooked no weakness in her sons. We learned to swim, and well, before we could walk. And, taught us to value her. And, you’ll see that reflected in how I treat my own daughters (of Zion, or not).

By the way… I’m only picking on the sissies and the Mom’s who fit the above descriptions. So if it’s not you, described here; or, you can’t see yourself reflected in these words, don’t feel like you need to get all heated-up. Please… Feel free to prove me wrong, by all means.

Peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.

Brian Patrick Cork

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