Maleness, Explained
So on Monday we’re at the Royal Saskatchewan Museum, in the dinosaurs and fossils section. Three kids of varying rambunctiousness are being shepherded around by a patient, vigilant mom. The oldest of them is a boy, somewhere between eight and ten. He’s the one whose immediate response to every exhibit is to attempt to climb on it. The only thing he doesn’t bother to touch is the piece of triceratops tibia specifically presented for touching purposes.
He sees the glassed-in diorama housing models of Saskatchewan’s late-period dinosaurs in a recreation of their natural habit. His eyes widen. He runs up to it. He says, “I’m going to see how far I can get inside it.”
Now, this is obviously a bright kid. He knows perfectly well, literally speaking, how far he can get inside the diorama. It’s glassed in. He can’t get inside the diorama.
Nonetheless, he proceeds to head-butt the glass, as hard as he can. Thereby empirically proving that the amount he can get inside the diorama is zero.
He staggers back on his heels, dazed and happy.