Where does the imaginary line between boyhood and manhood lie? Is it a magical age? Our culture has established some rather arbitrary and inconsistent thresholds: when one can vote, drink, smoke, drop out of school, see an "R" rated movie, or get married; the age of "majority"; when one can run for Congress or the presidency; and there others. Religions have them, too: Judaism has the bar-mitzvah and some Christians believe in the so-called "age of accountability."

But what is a man?

There are, as noted above, legal definitions, but popular culture has other means of determining it. I was recently reminded of this as I sat with a group of Midwestern farmers. Like men everywhere, they talked about the things they had in common; in this case, that was their work. They talked about their crops, the weather, the troubles they had had with their farming equipment, agricultural prices, and so on. Needless to say, I contributed little to the conversation. The conversation meandered until they debated the necessity for places that perform quick oil changes on automobiles. Well, I say they debated, but it wasn't much of a debate. They were unanimous in their opinion that such places were superfluous. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, they sought my opinion:

"You change your own oil, don't you, Larry?"

"Uh, well, no. I take it to an Express Oil. They do it faster and cheaper than I can do it myself."

I might as well have said that I enjoyed shopping or having my nails done. There was a general silence and eyebrows were raised in surprise. Then one of them, as if to make excuse for me, said, "Well, he lives in a big city and that's different." I don't think he really thought that it was different, but he said it, affecting a note of understanding, in an effort to get me off the hook. My manhood was, after all, in question on this point.

As I reflected on this incident I couldn't help but notice how, in an almost comedic moment, manhood was, even if only implicitly, being defined. In this agricultural community manhood was defined by flannel shirts, calloused hands, how many acres one possesses, a big pick-up truck, and hard manual labor. Why? Because that's what mattered there. A briefcase and tie were scorned in favor of more "manly" endeavors.

In my own world, the standard is different, but it is there nonetheless. It is, I think, defined by how well a man provides, how he provides it, and how early he starts his day. (Yes, some men take an inordinate amount of pride in getting up before the crack of dawn.)

Yet, the possession of these traits is no guarantee that your fellow man will accept you as an equal. There are unwritten rules (these are all unwritten, now that I think about it) and there are a few disqualifiers: men don't respect other men whose way was paved for them by others; being henpecked is an automatic disqualifer regardless of prowess in other areas; lazy men are deemed losers; and men who lack conviction.

But just as there are traits that may negate one's manhood in the eyes of his peers, there are a few universal truths that may contribute to one being deemed a man: physical strength, athletic ability, determination, trustworthiness, and, above all, character. Men respect, even if somewhat grudgingly, men of character. It is the trump card. It is the trait that overrides all other traits and shortcomings. In his classic work The Blue and the Gray, Amherst historian Henry Steele Commager, wrote (I write from memory): "Character is an elusive word, like all great words - truth, beauty, love, courage, honor - but we know well enough what it means, and we know it when we see it." Commager was right.