I used to be a pretty manly man (and by that, I mean reasonably, not attractive). Even back when I was a scrawny little kid, I did a lot of hard physical labor on our tree farm. My brother David and I started out hoeing weeds and picking up rocks all day in the hot summer sun before we were 10. There’s a picture of the two of us pulling a hand plow with a rope; and not just along the ground, but with my dad driving the tines into the ground to break up this damned hard Indiana clay. As we grew, we progressed to harder and harder work – digging trees, carrying them, planting them, landscaping, etc., pretty much all by hand.

In high school, I proved I could take a beating by joining the football team as a 4’11”, 98-pound freshman. My coach was so offended by this, that he enjoyed putting me in tackling drills with the seniors. I ate a lot of dirt (a LOT), but I always got back up – if for no other reason than to piss him off. Fortunately, the next summer, I had a growth spurt, and ended up a respectable size.

In the Air Force, especially in the first 10 years, there was a lot of heavy lifting and carrying: 30- pound parachutes (always at least two at a time, but my record was nine, if I recall correctly – and if I don’t, just let me have this one OKAY? – carried up two flights of stairs – there were a bunch of us young guys, all trying to outdo each other), survival kits, 200-pound liferafts, etc.

After I retired from the Air Force, I spent some time working at a local sporting goods store, where I was pretty much the heavy-shit mover: big gun safes, exercise equipment, free-weight sets, etc. Of course, even that was 10 or 15 years ago, and I did it a lot slower, and had to take a lot more breaks.

Anyway, I realize that may all sound like bragging (and yeah, there is a bit of that), but the point is that I might not have been the biggest, or the best, the meanest, or even the strongest, but when it came to basic toughness and manly-man-ness, I could at least hold my own.

Naturally, as I got older (and fatter), I’m not able to do nearly as much physically – it happens. I blame some of that on the fact that I basically abused my back, arms, legs, and joints (I find that, when referring to self-abuse, it pays to be specific) so badly that I kind of burnt out the warranty (Oddly enough, my brain doesn’t seem to be nearly as worn out – you can draw your own conclusions about that).

Anyway, the point of all this is that, although I’m not nearly as strong or tough or manly as I used to be, I still felt reasonably confident in my status as an at least mildly, manly man. At least I felt my man card was still valid. Until today . . .

A week or two ago, I noticed that one of the tires on my truck was low, so I filled it up with my air compressor (a manly man just has stuff like that). A few days ago, that same tire was low again, so I decided I’d go ahead and change it soon.

I should mention, at this point, that my wife, the lovely, talented, and much (MUCH!!!) wiser Jess, had suggested I just take it in to a shop to have it done: a suggestion that I frankly found unkind and offensive. What kind of manly man worthy of the title does that?

I didn’t have much to do today, so this morning, I put my big-boy pants on and went out to tackle the job. I will admit that I’ve never been particularly quick at changing tires (my dad, who was the manliest manly man I’ve ever known could have shown the dad in A Christmas Story a thing or two about changing a tire quickly), but I’ve certainly changed my share of tires over the years.

I got off to a good start: I knew exactly where the jack was, all the pieces were there, I managed to get it placed, and got the truck jacked up within a few minutes. I got the lug nuts off without difficulty, and then reality just sucker-punched me right between the eyes.

I couldn’t get the damned tire off. It’s like it was welded to the drum (or hub, or whatever. I’m not a car guy). I beat on it, kicked it, cursed it, got a heavy mallet and block of wood, crawled under the truck and beat the tar out of it, cursed it vehemently, lowered it off the jack, drove it back and forth a bit, popping the clutch, jacked it back up, and it still wouldn’t come off. I even sank so low as to rap a heavy-duty ratchet strap (what other kind would a manly man have?) around the wheel, hooked it to my front porch, and tried to winch it off, along with more kicking, hammering, and cursing, all to no avail. I even sank so low as to search YouTube for videos on how to unstick it. I found some, but they weren’t anything I hadn’t already tried. That mother was stuck.

Finally, I realized I’d wasted two hours on a job that should have taken about 30 minutes, tops, and it was time to concede defeat. I swallowed my pride, put half the lug nuts back on, and drove it to All Around Auto, in Fountain City, where I explained my plight to the two young fellas working there.

Incredibly, they listened to me without a single smile or smirk (a level of professionalism I respect!). Out they came with a huge rubber mallet, jacked up the truck, and knocked that stupid wheel off with one stinking blow. Then they popped the new one on and had me on my way in under 10 minutes total. Honestly, I can’t recommend All Around Auto in Fountain City enough. They’ve always bent over backwards to keep my much-abused vehicles rode-worthy. If you’re in the Richmond, IN area, you should give them a try.

Anyway, I drove home considerably humbled. I tried telling myself I was still a manly man, but I just couldn’t sell it. I told myself that at least I was still a man, but I’ve gotta say, I’m not so sure anymore. Think I’m gonna have to give up my man card. I’m hoping I qualify for an old-man card (for those wise enough to realize when they’re in over their heads, no matter what they used to be able to do, and ask for help).

Think I’ll have to check with some of my older friends at church to see if I qualify (and to find out if it comes with any discounts). ‘Til then, I guess I’ll just have to make do with the lovely and talented Jess’ sympathy and reassurance (which, honestly, would be a lot easier if if weren’t so obvious she’s doing it ironically – in addition to being lovely, talented, wise, and loving, she also has a propensity for hilarious cruelty). I’m a lucky guy.

Anyway, enjoy this clip from the Red Green Show about how Red (an unarguably manly man) changes a tire: