The six of us are having breakfast on the beach and, perhaps fitting for a family with three boys, the conversation has turned to rites of passage.
“You know, in some cultures, it’s a specific event,” I explain. “Like in that tribe we watched on Nat Geo, where boys have to put their arms into wooden tubes covered with fire ants.”
“Oh yeah,” my brothers say.
Mom shakes her head. “That’s terrible.”
“Well, supposedly it turns you from boy to man.”
“More like, from living to dead,” corrects Joshua, my youngest brother.