Girls are Cool

Girls are Cool…Here’s My Twenty-Sixth Reason Why

This week, we celebrate Christmas on Girls are Cool. We do so by tributing one of the finest illustrations on why Girls are Cool and boys aren’t. The truth to boys and their affinity and magnetism to danger and injury is no better illustrated than in The Christmas Story where a boy’s endless pursuit of a firearm eventually leads to him nearly ruining his vision forever in a freakish accident in the backyard involving an icicle that went rogue and almost took his eye out. If it weren’t for having bad vision on top of bad aim, he would’ve lost that left eye and looked like Slick Rick or Lisa Lopes for the rest of his God-given life.

It’s a matter of fact that boys are more likely to get injured in freakish firearm accidents in the backyard. That’s a fact. As a young boy on the come-up, you proudly wear your BB bulletholes like 50 Cent pulling up his shirt to display where he was shot nine times in the torso. The tougher kids were shot by an air rifle. It’s your badge of courage even though it probably happened when your little brother accidentally shot you as you were setting up a beer can as a target. It’s not like you were defending your household against a pack of marauders. Boys are stupid in this regard. They love their firearms. John Eldridge in the book Wild at Heart describes the nature of boy and describes them as having a natural gravitation to violence and acting out. He mentions how with limited context or exposure, a boy will make anything into a gun. He’ll be at the dinner table chewing a piece of food down into the shape of a gun.

Girls are cool because they’re less likely to shoot their eye out on some ignorant backyard behavior.

And, I need to take a moment to honor a woman who has been holding it down for ages and gets no respect or accolades for what she does. Without this woman, Christmas doesn’t happen for billions of kiddos. Sure, flying around the world delivering gifts to everyone is a hard ass job, but like Chuck D said, “If it takes a man to take a stand, understand it takes a woman to make a stronger man.” Behind every great man is a greater woman and, in the case of the Clauses, that woman gets nothing for what she does. Santa gets to make the appearances. Santa gets to eat the cookies. Santa gets to meet the president. Santa gets to rub shoulders with celebrities. But Mrs. Claus, this moment is for you. For the class you exhibit when your husband gets to be the star. For the selflessness that comes with being the wife of the most popular figure in folklore. For all that you do and don’t do but could, Mrs. Claus, this one’s for you.

Man, let’s go ahead and make the most of this post. Ellison Jayne got to meet Santa Claus this year even though our buddy Blake alleges that it wasn’t real Santa. Here, Santa is heckled by Blake as he stands point blank (grossly) range from the line of eager kiddos saying, “You sit on a throne of lies.” Blake, don’t ruin it for ’em. It’s the best we could do.

Yeah, that Santa is the red-headed Dale. We’ll call him Santa Dale. But when you’re only a hair older than three months old. It doesn’t matter who’s playing Santa. She would barely know Santa’s lap from her boppy. Here, Ellison appears to be chomping on Santa Dale’s beard. No telling where that thing has been.

And probably one of the weirdest, but nicest gift we received this year for Ellison came from our friends at Christ Lutheran Daycare where we took Ellison for a whole two weeks. In that time, the staff got really close with her and became really attached. In just two weeks, they developed such a good relationship that, apparently, Ellison was willing to wear angel wings and pose for a Christmas ornament. Now, I thought this was a little weird at first, but I came around. I mean, I leave my daughter with you and you take her, style her hair, put her in a costume and take pictures of her? What gives? But then again, it’s freaking cute. Angel wings and her Stay-Puft legs.

That’s it, folks. Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine.

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