So in all this talk of “real” men, let’s remember that a “real” man is not defined by his physical prowess or a set of cultural expectations. A “real” man is a man who sacrifices to serve those around him. Whether that means as a husband or father or uncle or brother. Whether that happens in the kitchen, the classroom, or on the factory floor. Real men are not defined by their contexts but by their character.

It’s not often that I get hit on in the grocery store.

It might be because I’m typically wielding a three-ring binder full of coupons; it might be because my cart is piled high with the damaged boxes of pasta that I snagged for $.25 in the Manager’s Special corner. Or it could be that I’ve been known to stop complete strangers in order to guide them to better deals. But last week, something was different.

I needed baby shampoo so after dropping my 4-year-old off at preschool, I headed to the nearest Kroger. Easing my buggy around the corner of aisle 15 into aisle 16, I could see a young African-American woman stocking the baby formula and further down two guys in their early-to-mid twenties (from here on known as Big One and Little One) stocking Pepsi on the shelves facing the diaper section. The baby shampoo was right next to the diapers.

The two were obviously enjoying their work, telling stories and joking with each other. Big One’s ipod was blaring a song with all kinds of offensive lyrics, but as I approached, he flashed me an uber-confident smile and said,

“Here let me just turn off this music, now that there’s a lady in the aisle. I wouldn’t want you to have to hear that.”

Smile #2.

In situations like this, I find it best to casually deflect while making it clear that I’m not interested.

“Oh, honey,” I replied (we are in the South after all), “I’m a mom–I’ve seen more and heard more than you ever have. I just need to get some baby shampoo and I’ll be out of your way.” (I was tempted to add that while I couldn’t be certain, I was pretty convinced that the person stocking formula just ten feet away from us was, in fact, both 1) a woman and 2) in the aisle, but something told me least said the better.)

Little One found my comment funny. Big One kept talking.

“Yeah, I turned off that awful music because I know how to treat ladies right.”

Smile #3.

In response, I plastered a smile to my face and tried to more obviously focus on choosing a bottle of shampoo. In the background, Big One kept talking, regaling Little One with his achievements in playing Grand Theft Auto and trying to draw me into the conversation.

“…and then I knocked over this convenience store and ended up shooting a cop… I mean I had to because he was shooting at me…”

Little One: “Did you hear that? He shot a cop! Man, I should turn you in. (*snicker, snicker*) Now, ladies, (knowing look at me) they don’t like that. That’s not good, that’s not good at all.”

My internal monologue went something like this: “Baby shampoo, baby shampoo, baby shampoo, la-la-la-la-la, I can’t hear you, baby shampoo. Now which should I get… the baby shampoo or… the baby shampoo. Hmmm… I think I’ll go with the baby shampoo.”

Smile still plastered to my face.

The banter continued as I struggled to find a bottle that wasn’t sticky, and soon enough my two Don Juans finished stocking the shelves, wished me a warm goodbye, assured me of how much they enjoyed our meeting and here’s hoping it will happen again soon. They weren’t out of the aisle fifteen seconds, when the woman stocking formula piped up with the soul and snap that only an African-American sister can offer,

“Mmmmm…” she said shaking her head, “That’s right. ‘Cause we ladies all know there’s ain’t nothing sexier than a grown man who plays video games.”

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There’s been plenty of chatter lately about what makes a “real” man. There have been conferences and reactions to said conferences. We’ve deconstructed stereotypes and erected new ones in their place. “A real man does/doesn’t _________.”  (Fill in the blank with your particular paradigm.)

Perhaps like me, you’ve grown weary of these conversations and simply want to leave it altogether. And I suppose we could if not for the stats. If not for the fact that over 40% of all children in the US are born into this world with only a mother to care for them. If these same children didn’t (statistically speaking) face “elevated risk of experiencing cognitive, social, and emotional problems.” If we didn’t actually have a problem as a society.

But even as we parse these realities, let’s be clear about one thing. This is not a crisis of a particular brand of manhood so much as a crisis of maturity. This is a crisis of love.

In I Corinthians 13, the Apostle Paul talks about what marks a mature individual—what makes a “real” man. Because most of us think of I Corinthians 13 as the “love chapter,” we can easily miss another point that Paul is making.  In verse 11, Paul writes, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.”

Simply put, Paul’s assumes that there is a difference between men and boys. Men put away “childish things.” So when we talk about what makes a “real” man, we’re not talking about what separates men from women but what separates men from boys. And given the context of I Corinthians 13, it’s safe for us to assume that the primary thing that separates men from boys is sacrificial love.

As any parent can tell you, childhood comes with a certain amount irony. Despite the fact that children can smother us with affection and melt our hearts with their sweetness, childhood is more often defined by self-absorption. A child’s world is small and his or her most immediate needs consume his or her thoughts. And he inflicts these demands on those around him simply because he has not yet learned to put himself in another person’s place.So the fundamental goal of parenting is not simply to help our children reach physical and academic maturity but to reach spiritual maturity. To teach them, to love God and to love their neighbors. To show them how to turn their attention from their own needs and desires to seek the good of those around them.

Growing up, my father taught us that we would become “adults” when we took responsibility for someone else. He didn’t put much stock in the typical rites of passage. Adulthood did not come with high school or college graduation; it did not come with your 21st birthday or at 26 when you’re bumped off your parents’ insurance. You become an adult when you submit your desires in order to serve another person.

You become an adult when you learn to love well.

So in all this talk of “real” men, let’s remember that a “real” man is not defined by his physical prowess or a set of cultural expectations. A “real” man is a man who sacrifices to serve those around him. Whether that means as a husband or father or uncle or brother. Whether that happens in the kitchen, the classroom, or on the factory floor. Real men are not defined by their contexts but by their character.

And given this–and despite the danger of erecting yet another stereotype–I think I can safely say that “real” men do not flirt with married women in Aisle 16.

Hannah Anderson is a wife of a pastor and a mother of three children.  This article first appeared on her blog Sometimes a Light and is used with permission.

[Editor’s note: One or more original URLs (links) referenced in this article are no longer valid; those links have been removed.]