We don't have a lot of experience shopping for young boys. We raised girls. In our estrogen-dominated house it was my wife, three daughters, two female labs, and a neutered cat vs. me.

As their primary example of a Y chromosome bearer, my women came to view typical male behavior as a form of mental illness particular to me rather than the gender as a whole.

For example, if I used a hammer to get rid of a hornet's nest, my wife would tell our girls, "Your father is not well." Then they would lock me out of the house.

It wasn't until our first son-in-law came along that they understood most men are pointlessly adventurous, overly competitive and filthy of body and mind.

Gift shopping for our daughters was easy. My wife was a girl, so she picked out dolls, play kitchens and little ponies. My suggestions of BB guns and snakes were dismissed with feminine sneers.

Things have changed now that we have a boy. Gage is teaching the girls that falling off the china hutch and landing on your head is not only something to be proud of, but to be re-attempted at length.

I used to be a boy. I still am if you ask the right therapist. The point is that I should know what boys want for gifts. It sure as hell isn't something with the word "educational" on it.

We looked at Thomas the Tank Engine gear, Legos, Tonka trucks and Diego from Dora the Explorer crap until I couldn't take it anymore.

ME: "These are toys for wieners. Lets go to a military surplus store and get Gage a bayonet and some bear traps."

HER: "He's four. We'll get him something here."

ME (to myself): "#&*@!"

My wife said we should agree to disagree, which in our house is just another way of saying that I have to shut up. We went our separate ways and shopped.

My wife bought 50 bucks worth of gender-neutral gifts. I picked out a $10 Nerf gun that shoots suction cup darts hard enough to give a cat a concussion. I showed it to her at the checkout line.

At the birthday party later that night, I was eating cake when a suction cup dart struck me in the eye. A second one knocked a picture off the wall.

Everyone blamed me for putting Gage on a destructive path. But when his mother went to disarm him, Gage was playing quietly with his new toy truck. His sister was behind the china hutch, reloading.

rkirby@sltrib.com