My mind wanders during relatively brainless activity such as standing in line or pumping gas.

Last week, my neurons (and eyes) began to wander about as the tank was filled with the &8220;cheap stuff&8221; at a local station.

Somewhere around the 8-gallon mark, I saw them.

Hanging from beneath a large, jacked up, pimped out pick-up truck was a unique &8212; and rather disgusting &8212; public statement. What, exactly, this person was trying to say, I am not certain.

But the dangling display rocking back and forth was certainly saying something.

To me, the human-like genitalia peeping out from below the bumper was something that, well, quite frankly might give a person a chuckle, but otherwise is pretty nasty looking.

Like the proverbial family dog that sprawls out, spread eagle as soon as company comes over, this man&8217;s public display of his machismo is front and center, or back and center in this case.

Call me a prude, but momma taught me years ago that genitalia, sometimes called &8220;privates,&8221; should be just that &8212; private.

In this case, the golden orbs &8212; perhaps they were intended to appear made of brass &8212; were far from private.

Now, I&8217;m an adult. Seeing these do not offend me, personally, although seeing another man&8217;s &8220;privates&8221; &8212; even fake ones hanging from a truck bumper &8212; is not something I&8217;d like to make a habit.

Sorry, just not my thing.

But what I kept thinking as the gallon mark hit &8220;13&8221; and Mr. Macho Truck had rumbled away was, how do you explain that to a child?

I was an annoyingly inquisitive child. Don&8217;t think for a second that larger-than-life rubber testes would have gone unnoticed.

&8220;Momma, why does that truck have things hanging underneath?&8221;

Then, as I paid for the gas &8212; surprised by how my view of what a &8220;good price&8221; is now &8212; I started thinking about how difficult it must be to be a parent nowadays.

Several years ago, the vehicular public display du jour was one in a long line of the white-outlined cartoon characters urinating on various things &8212; names, people, logos, etc.

Again, how do you answer: Dad, why does that man&8217;s truck have a picture of a boy peeing on a Chevy logo?

Another tough one, I imagine.

Has our society become so homogenized that we&8217;re struggling to stand up and publicly show the world that we&8217;re so very different from one another?

The logic today seems to be, &8220;I&8217;m not just a guy who drives a Toyota truck, darn it, I&8217;m a guy with a unique tattoo and a piercing or two who drives a Toyota truck with human-like appendages. I&8217;m different. See?&8221;

All of the dinosaurs out there like me raise an arm &8212; if you&8217;re still physically able. I&8217;m tattoo less, no holes in me (other than God-produced ones) and my Jeep has no human-like characteristics.

Well, that&8217;s not entirely true. It&8217;s got a navigation system that gets ticked off when you don&8217;t follow her directions (the voice is female).

Go the wrong way and in a slightly snitty voice she&8217;ll say, &8220;When it&8217;s safe to do so, please make a U-turn.&8221;

I cannot begin to imagine her reaction if the Jeep ever &8220;grew a pair.&8221;

Kevin Cooper

is associate publisher of The Natchez Democrat. He can be reached at 601-445-3539 or

kevin.cooper@natchezdemocrat.com

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