What does it mean to be a man?  Is it a measure of toughness?  The ability to hit and be hit with unforgivable vengeance, yet not fall to the floor.  Is it a matter of money?  Does an overabundance of printed green paper confirm upon us the true measure of masculinity?  Is it our flair with the ladies?  Our ability to attract them when we want them, repel them when we don’t.  And always know how to stick around just long enough to have our fill without the ever looming threat of commitment?  Or is the truth of manhood of simpler note.  Is it the passion in our voices, our willingness to stand and be counted, our ability to roar… and our ability to cry.  To love.  To be loved.  To be both strong and fallible.  Not to never make a mistake, but to be willing to commit ourselves to a lifetime of improvement.  What does it mean to be a man?  To be real.  To be true.  To be free.  

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