Whirl

I guess I’m slow. At least too slow to keep up with redneck culture—as an Arkansas boy, I should be up to speed on these things. But I’ve obviously fallen behind. That’s why I was so surprised to learn about truck testicles.
Last week, while on a business trip in Cleveland, one of my colleagues spotted a pair of these (lovingly rendered in chrome) swinging from a trailer hitch. It took us all a while to stop laughing. Then the opinions started. Since we were co-workers and relative strangers we were perhaps somewhat reserved in expressing ourselves. But I could sense a fairly normal range of reaction within the car.
First it’s not all that startling. As adults we’ve all seen plenty of this type of product before—think mud flaps and rebel flags. And for most of us, it’s not that unusual to have mixed feelings about it. For our little group, I think those feelings ranged from amusement and a general sense of harmlessness, to a legitimate sense of offense and dismay.

For me it is a just a small symptom of a much larger issue. It’s a perfect example of our testosterone driven, global society. This was not the work of a single hobbyist with a couple of rocks and a burlap bag. These cojones were obviously manufactured products. And these days manufacturing is rarely a local endeavor. To get from the original idea to this point probably required a small army of people: designers, engineers, business managers, and the requisite host of lawyers (all, my wife reminds me, likely male).

Think about it. Somewhere on this planet, an underpaid worker is supporting a family by cranking out boxes of plastic testicles in various colors (I’m assuming only one size). I wonder what she thinks of it?

Such is the power of money and male insecurity. Our need to define ourselves in terms of our own masculine self image has driven business decisions—large and small—for millennia. Birth control is a good example. Why is there no male pill?

It’s not medical. The medical obstacles could have been overcome had we applied the same degree of money and effort as we did to female contraception. The basic reason we do not have a birth control pill for men can be summed up in a few simple words: if you made it, no one would come.

Sure, men would get prescriptions. We’d wear strings of pills around our necks in singles bars and decorate our apartments with empty bottles. But would we use them? Would any woman in her right mind ever, ever, trust a guy to really take them?

A few days ago Katharine and I were working our way north through heavy traffic. I could hear a fire engine roaring up behind us, but it had not yet crept into my field of view. When at last the truck overtook us, I remarked that it must be a thrill to drive one of those things through traffic at high speed.

“Make way, penis coming through” she said.

There is a funny side to all of this. And we—men and women in all cultures—enjoy the banter that comes with it. Truck balls certainly feed this little fire.

But testosterone rules my basic wiring more than I care to admit. My not-so-unique version of suburban masculinity requires me to maintain the greenest yard, fix the family vehicle, and be able to repair anything about the house with absolute confidence and competence. I suck at all of these things, but I like to…no I need to…pretend I’m in control. As a result, the person I love most has to bear the burden of my male insecurity and subtly use my cluelessness to get things done. I cannot blame her if it pisses her off.

But most women have developed this skill—southern belles are not accidental. It is an instinct born less because of tolerance than the necessity of survival.

That’s because our male insecurity is much more about power and dominance than it is about sexuality, and it lays claim to countless acts of violence, rape, murder, and even war. The myths are so ingrained into our behavior that we’ve adopted whole sociological frameworks to contend with them. Think of stoning, female circumcision, sodomy laws, and the ten commandments. Today a good measure of international diplomacy revolts around soothing the fragile male ego of megalomaniacs such as Kim Jong-il and George W Bush.

Compared to war, truck testicles are just minor expressions of free, albeit immature speech. Some have proposed we should ban them. I think the better answer is to change the gender of our leaders. I cannot believe a world run by women would be the same. And I’m ready to give it a try. Please join me. Before we all wake up to see a giant pair of gilded testicles hanging beneath Air force One.

© 2007 by Rodney Gleghorn. All rights reserved.