WORD VIRUS: 6 Rites of Passage Into Manhood You Would Never Pass

At 33-years-old, I still feel like a child. I live in a tiny one-roomed apartment (not a one -bedroom apartment, my apartment is literally one room), I drink myself into oblivion on weekends, and the only food in my fridge right now is rotting lettuce and an empty mustard bottle. I sleep on a mattress on the floor. The only tools I own are a hammer and a wine opener. My bank account is empty, my merchant accounts are stagnant. I own a cat whom I say things to like “who’s my cute little kitty?” and “meow”. I do not own a car, I do not even own a bicycle, yet I somehow consider myself superior to the “losers” surrounding me on the bus.

This is not the description of a man. This is the description of a teenaged frat boy living in a man’s body, not impressing anyone while destroying this poor man’s internal organs. I blame the fact that I was raised without a father. No man around to teach me how to change a tire or how not to crumple into a pile of tears in the face of a bully. I find myself in need of something. An event. An obstacle course. A girlfriend to buy diamond earrings for. Hand-to-hand combat with a sleeping kangaroo. Anything to set me apart from the immature, irresponsible man-child who nearly set his apartment ablaze while changing a light bulb.

The following are extreme examples of how other cultures separate the men from the boys, many of which separated the smile from my face and the joy from my soul.

Hide and Go Stab

Practically handed a shield, a spear and a pair of crossbows once the umbilical cord was cut. The Spartan boy was taken from his family and trained in the art of war from the tender age of 7. He is trained to fight and kill for the next 11 years, and once he reaches the age of 18 he undergoes a rite of passage known as the krypteia. Armed with nothing more than a knife and his arms, he is sent out to kill as many helots (state-owned slaves) as he can and return home without getting caught.

Regular slave to another regular slave: Could be worse! These fields could be riddled with pimple-faced Spartans just waiting for the chance to jump out of the bushes and shiv you.

Bungee Jumping’s for Suckers

I am proud to say that I have jumped out of an airplane, while it was in the sky. Okay, well technically the skydiver jumped, I was the quivering mess of a “man” attached to him. But the point is that I had to courage to let it happen. I had to testicular fortitude to remain conscious as we fell towards the earth at unbelievable speeds. Did I scream at frequencies only detectable by dogs and bats? Yes. Did my underwear fill to the brim with the evacuated contents of my colon? Thankfully, no. Will I ever give bungee jumping a try? Hells to the no! I’ll trust a highly skilled professional under a parachute over a giant rubber band any day. Which is why the land divers of Vanuatu are what medical professional would call “bananas.”
Without a helmet, a crash mat, or a thousand feathered pillows to break their fall, the young men from the Vanuatu archipelago of the South Pacific prove their manliness by jumping from 100-foot wooden towers, with nothing but two tree vines attached to their legs.

The goal is to jump from as high as possible, and stop as close to the ground as possible. Which means the vines have to be of the perfect length, and the right thickness to support the weight of each jumper. “The judgments have to be precise. Just 1 ounce too much weight, or 1 inch of dry vine, can cause the vines to snap, slamming the jumper into the ground. A fall can cause serious injury, or even death.” (source) The manliest of men actually touch the ground, hopefully without shattering their faces. Umm, no thanks, I’ll just hang out over here, with the girls.

Walkabout

So much more than just a book I was forced to read in high school, and later forced to watch as a movie. When an aboriginal Australian boy would reach the appropriate age, he was sent on a journey into the desert, alone, for periods lasting up to 6 months. The Australian desert? Are you shitting me? I wouldn’t last 6 days in the suburbs! You know a rite of passage is baddass when your elders hand you a stick, extend their arm, and with a slight grin on their face say “Go ahead, walk. If you come back, we’ll call you ‘sir’”.

Ant Gloves from Hell

I know what you’re wondering and the answer is “yes,” Ant Gloves from Hell is the greatest band name of all time. It is also one of the most diabolical tortures-dressed-in-a-rites-of-passage-suit I have ever seen. Whenever I start complaining that my hair is turning grey or that my love handles are becoming more love handly, I will think of the boys from the Sater-Mawe tribe in the Brazilian Amazon, and I will shut the hell up.

Hanging the Mandans

Have you ever been in so much pain, that you wish you could be knocked unconscious? Anyone who’s ever rolled an ankle or dislocated their knee knows of the pain I speak. Now imagine how much pain you’d actually have to be in for your brain to be like “Okay that’s too much, time to shut down”. It’s quite an amazing gift actually. Now imagine waking up, the worst of the pain has passed, and then your uncle kicks you in the balls. This is sort of what the young men from the Native American Mandan tribe had to endure before they were considered true warriors. First they would fast for three days. Then they would have wooden splints pierced through their back, their chest and their shoulders, from which they would then be hoisted towards the ceiling on ropes. Eventually, the warrior-to-be’s brain would grant him the sweet sleep that comes from the pain and loss of blood. But wait, it gets better! When the boy wakes up, his pinky finger is chopped off as an offering to the gods. But wait, it gets better! The man would then have to run around as the other men of the village ripped out the splints, and not from where they were entered, but from the other side, causing extra damage, making him an extra man.

Mardudjara Manginas

I am extremely thankful that my foreskin was removed when I was tough enough to handle it and baby enough not to remember it. Not so fortunate are the 15-16-year old boys from the Australian aboriginal Mardudjara tribe. During their coming of age ceremonies, two tribal moyles slice off the kid’s junk hood. The elders would then tell the boy to close his eyes and open his mouth, at which point they would feed him his own shaft sleeve. Once swallowed, they would tell him what he just ate, and that he will now grow up to be strong. A few months later, just as he started to lose his awkward limp and learned how to smile again, the boy is once again abducted by the people he has come to call “Those f**king a**hole c**k mun**ing s**t squat***ers!” They drag him to a nearby fire,and with one elder sitting on his chest holding his boy bits, and with one stick jammed in his pee tube to brace the tip of a blade against, a second elder slices his sausage open from tip to scrote.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go vomit my skeleton into a wastebasket now.

Okay, I’m back…now wait, there’s more…

Alright I’m really back this time. The boy is now considered a man, even though he now has to squat whenever he pees.

I’d love to hear a Mardudjara and a Jew discussing their rites of passage into manhood.

Jew: When I was 13 I had to read from a book, I was thrown a giant party and then handed a giant sack filled with cash. What did you have to do?