I have great nephews. Ages four and six, these two brothers have an exceptional affinity for and knowledge of all things Star Wars, operate technology with the aptitude of a seasoned geek, and wear some of the coolest boots (check them out here and here…not affiliate links, you just deserve to see them) I’ve ever seen.

They also love to wrestle.

Any family get-together is guaranteed to make these two blonde-headed rascals ask every other male in attendance to grapple. And they’re serious about it–as serious as anyone who still laughs at farts can be. They jump on, squeeze, tug, push, bump, and generally harass their opponents, usually an uncle or their dad. They take as well as give, too, though I try to be as gentle as possible with my suplexes and body slams while being sure to give them an authentic resistance.

They are tireless, too, taking breaks only to ask spectators to join in or request that their opponent gang up with one of them to take on the other. As you parents will attest, four-year old and seven-year old boys seem to have endless reserves of energy, so the matches never end unless a.) blood is drawn b.) dad/uncle gets tired c.) one of the boys has to poop.

While watching these little warriors take on their dad this past Father’s Day (I sat out this particular match with a bad case of the “I’m-too-bloated-from-feasting-to-do-more-than-waddle-to-the-couch”), I asked myself why they wanted to wrestle so much. What drives a prepubescent boy to engage in hand-to-hand combat?

I came up with several possibilities:

• Dudes are born with an innate desire to test our limits. I’m not talking about breaking rules (which we do plenty of as well…but that discussion is for another day), but the actual limits of our capabilities. We have to know how strong we are, how much stamina we have, how quick we can move. This might explain why we feel compelled to test our bench press every time we walk into a weight room, why we jump to touch ceilings (I have seen grown men do this), or why we eat 57 pieces of Cici’s pizza when our buddy eats 56.
• Closely related to this notion of testing our limits is the desire to compete. Measuring our limits absolutely has some value, but we also seem as though we have to know where we stand relative to others. Of course, this desire has some negative consequences if we don’t harness it.
• This behavior is probably a manifestation of skills we used as hunter/gatherers and tribal members. When you stalk a bear without using scent cover and a scope that lets you see your target from 1,000 yards, your combat skills need to be pretty refined. Likewise, when you are battling your neighbor for the right to marry the prettiest girl in the clan, you need to have that choke-hold down pretty cold.
• Similarly, wrestling as a kid is probably intuitive practice for proving manhood in myriad physical ways, a proving that our society has largely eliminated. (Michael has talked and will continue to talk about–and invite guest posters to talk about–the effects on our society of eliminating the rite of passage.) Still, by body slamming my nephews, I am preparing them for manhood. Ergo proper hoc, more body slamming = more manhood. Flawless logic there.
• It’s just the way males interact. I typically try to avoid gender generalizations, but one will be helpful here. Females interact by conversation. (One of my nephews likes to chat while we wrestle, but he generally likes to chat while he does everything.) Men are born with the tendency to jump on, squeeze, tug, push, bump, and generally harass each other rather than talk.

These last two conclusions are particularly borne out by much of my experience and observation. As boys and teens, my brother and I wrestled all the time until we realized that wrestling eventually turned to fist-fighting and throwing sharp objects. I remember Michael describing similar exchanges between him and his brother.

My experience in the high school classroom shows me daily that guys cannot not “mess with each other”. You might think that 15-year olds would be socialized to avoid punching and pushing their friends in a public place–you’d be wrong. I probably say “You are not even allowed to touch each other” a minimum of 183 times a week.

Even as a 20-year old college junior, I seemed drawn to physical psuedo-combat with my buddies. One of my particular humiliations is being forced to tap out after Josh Mahaffey put me in a vicious rear-naked choke that belonged in a UFC tutorial video. But after my defeat, we laughed, shook hands, stayed friends.

Now, as an adult, I still see signs of the male compulsion toward physical interaction. My good friends at work and I–degreed professionals, mind you–regularly engage in moderate head-butts for encouragement. Michael and I have no less than three separate handshakes/fist bumps in our greeting rotation. My brother recently arm-wrestled another grown man at a tractor auction in front of a large and enthusiastic crowd. (My bro won, of course. He is a BEAST.)

From age four to age 64, from child to grandpa, we dudes seem like we must wrestle, grapple, push, pull, punch, prod, slap, bump, flick, jab, pat. Whatever the reason, this interaction builds camaraderie, shows that we care about each other, and notifies the world that we’re men.

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I’m interested to hear from you. Why do you think boys/guys/men do this? What compels us to wrestle and shove and dogpile?

Also, tell how you, your brothers, sons, dad, uncle, cousin rough-housed. Share that memory.