-Posted by Isaac

Happy Valentines!

Here’s a valentine just for you!

But enough with the courting, let’s talk about sex.

Specifically, bee sex.

Here’s a racy little video to put you in the mood.

I had a fun time finding that. If you happen to be pining for more, type “drone mating with queen” into your search bar. “Bee sex video” takes you somewhere entirely different.

So did you learn anything? The elongated queen cell… the virgin queen emerging… her mating flights through a drone congregation area… the mid-air copulation… the drones dying afterward? Brutal isn’t it? Those poor drones… some would call it the love’s ultimate sacrifice. Maybe the apogee of romantic tragedies.

But if you’re reading this blog, I have to assume you know a little more about drones. The lucky bastards.

You know that they get off easy. Both literally and figuratively.

They’re freeloaders. Deadbeats. They hang out anywhere they want, welcomed into any hive. They’re fed all the nectar they want, and do no work in return— no foraging, no comb building or cell cleaning, no nursing the young or tending the queen.. no waggle dancing, no protecting the hive.

They’re basically flying packets of sperm. And that’s all. Not even deadbeat dads… as soon as they reach the very pinnacle of their lives…

…they’re dead. Mission accomplished.

Wow.

Is this the superior intelligence of a matriarchal society? Did they figure out that the males, aside from being good sperm donors, were pretty much useless?

Hmmm… maybe. Or maybe some guys just get all the breaks. The Great Spirit, in infinite wisdom and comedic justice, winked, smiled, and looked kindly on the Apis mellifera male. They hang out, they have sex, they die. No muss, no fuss. Not once will they ever hang a shelf or fix a leaky faucet. Makes me think of a Hackensaw Boys song— they have something less in mind than a picket fence.

Yesterday was the big Valentines party at Westfall Elementary.

It was all about boxes and decorations and candy.

I remember. We did the same thing. The swapping of valentines, the stuffing of boxes. At that stage of life, it was all pure awesome fun. I can’t remember caring, or giving a single thought as to which gender happened to put cards in my box.

But time went on.

Middle school happened.

Things got awkward.

Our 6th grade middle school drone is just about to step into an endlessly complex universe. The storm is coming, an emotional hurricane, and I feel for him. I can’t help but think about the simplicity of bee love… for the male side of things.

Mason had an assignment for his V.I.P. day. (The middle school substitute for a Valentines party) He had a ‘remembering middle school’ questionnaire for a parent… and I was honored to be picked.

Nothing about relationships, but one of the last questions was about looking back. What advice would I give to my middle school self? Would I do anything differently?

No, I guess not, I said. Well, yes… maybe I would… I would tell myself to relax. What’s going to happen, is going to happen. It’s a rough ride, but thinking back, there was no sense in being so uptight about everything. Just take it day by day, hang on tight and try to enjoy it.

I realized as soon as I said it, my old-man advice was falling on deaf ears. Mason is clueless. He’s my son.

But I also realize that I shouldn’t worry so much. He’s my son. A Barnes. I won’t bet against him. It may take him thirty years, but he’ll figure it out. Just like me, he’ll find himself walking the straight and narrow… and he’ll end up happy to walk it.

I’ve done my breeding and I’m not even dead yet. I guess I’m quietly happy to fall into the rhythm of being a human drone. Which brings to mind yet another tune. More Hackensaw Boys anyone?