No matter what form you are asked to fill out these days be it at the DMV or online to get your free sample of soap, there is always a box to check under “title.”

When I was a kid back in the Pleistocene era it was a simple thing to choose Mr. or Mrs. or just plain Miss as that was the only boxes available. With the advent of the women's lib movement Ms. became available for those married women who did not want to admit it.

Just the other day I saw Mx listed as a choice which indicates someone who is gender neutral and cares to share that with the world.

Ol’ Dutch hardly ever takes the time to check any boxes under that heading as I find it to be somewhat silly and leaning back on our past with the British and their royalty and uppity system of awarding titles to ugly Earls and Countesses.

However, when the first settlers came across the Big Pond, sitting around in powdered wigs and smelly old clothes interbreeding with like kind, it was no longer enough to impress the masses.

In the new Americas colonies, a man had to clear timber, catch food and be about the business of forging a new nation out of raw land. There was not time for uppity fox hunts, chasing Robin Hood through Sherwood Forest or tea with snooty others once they landed at Jamestown.

It's not like they didn't try and maintain that system as Earls, Dukes, Counts, Viceroys, Kings, Princes and Viscounts all came over periodically to see the sights and impress the locals.

Getting eaten by an alligator in Florida or a bear in the Alleghenies seemed to slow that migration of “important” people down somewhat and after a while the men and women who were whacking out a nation from a wilderness could see that one man is about as good as another with or without a title.

This caused what is best known as a “rhubarb” between the clammy castle living Brits and the people living here in the colonies. A disagreement over taxes ensued and the Royals sent over young innocent red coated boys to force us to respect their self-appointed importance.

Just last week Ol’ Dutch found out he had relatives who fought in this revolution and hence can join the Sons of the Revolution whereby getting a “title” for something I never even knew about. I never was much of a joiner, though, especially when someone was collecting money for the “privilege” of me joining up.

Of course that's how it has always been. The abundance of money or the lack thereof often determines your status in society. Today you can buy an honorary P.H.D. if you give money to a college, become an Esquire if you pay to become an attorney, a Colonel by starting an auctioneering business or president or congressman if you have enough money to beat the next monkey running for said office.

Having taken a stance on titles, now, though, I found myself in a particularly dicey situation because I have acquired a third boat. That means that I have moved up from a mere Captain to an Admiral of a fleet.

Getting some practice in so I can understand the power struggles and hardships of admiral responsibilities, I’ve been barking orders like “amidship, slow to one-third, weigh anchor and full steam ahead” to people fishing with me.

Trixie was fairly tolerant of all of my new found power and importance until I barked out a loud “swab the deck” to her at which time I faced a full blown mutiny on my hands.
Unable to cast her adrift, I did the most sensible thing a man could do and gave two of the boats to my son whose crew is a lot younger and easier to control. Now, I’m just back to being Captain Dutch. And, Ms. Trixie is speaking to me again.

Kevin Kirkpatrick and his Yorkie, Cooper, fish, hunt, ATV or hike daily. His email is [email protected]. Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com or on Twitter at TroutRepublic.