Mike Maddock Santa Claus was good to my family this year in several ways. The jolly old elf really came through for my children, but perhaps more importantly, he put my two– year–old baby boy to the test.

My son has two older and extremely girly sisters. I live with the constant fear they will strip him of his God–given manliness and turn him into some tu–tu wearing, tea party organizing, pink loving, sissy boy much like they’ve already done to me. I’m afraid with the incessant barrage of show tunes and ballets dominating my living room on a regular basis, my boy will have no choice but to acquiesce, don a feather boa, and chasse through the house to gain acceptance into his sisters’ frilly, little world.

But Santa answered my prayers Christmas morning, and he let me know my boy was going to be just that...a boy. Sure, the signs of manliness have been evident throughout my son’s young life. He giggles proudly anytime he expels the tiniest bit of gas. One of his favorite toys is the remote control, and like most boys, he has an instinctual need to karate chop just about everything, including his sisters. The “hee–yah” screams that accompany his karate chops would make Bruce Lee proud. But like most things in life, nothing is assured and a little test can be helpful.

Christmas Eve, Santa arranged my children’s gifts in such a fashion there would be no doubt which toys were for my girls and which toys were for my boy. He set–up pink to the left and pink to the right. In the middle was a Home Depot toy tool bench complete with drills and hammers, several nasty looking dinosaurs, a train set, and a large, manly big wheel. At first glance, the test seemed easy enough to pass. What boy would be attracted to all that pink when tools were in plain site? But intermingled through the pinkness were scooters and movies.

What man (or boy) could pass up a scooter and a chance to plop himself in front of the TV for a couple of hours? These were tests meant to trouble and confuse my boy. The scooters were not of the manly variety as they were coated in Barbie propaganda and flowers, and the movies were full of princesses and...gag... romance.

I admit I was nervous when my son entered the room to survey all the choices.

But to my delight, he did not hesitate. He did not even pause to look at anything remotely pink. Tears filled my eyes as my boy charged straight to his big wheel, hopped on, and begin running over Barbie dolls and tea sets with utter glee. Sure my girls were a bit traumatized as he reduced their gifts to piles of pink dust, but I was happy and my son was, and is, all boy.

I take great pride in the fact my boy passed Santa’s little test with flying colors, and I won’t worry that later that same day I caught him arranging tea cups at the toy kitchen while his sisters banged away on the tool bench. The fact remains when push came to shove, my boy chose a little manhood and that is enough for now.