I love that men like to look at women, that they love sports

Hear the words of Krista Allen, who with warmth and mirth proclaimed: “I love that men like to look at women, that they love sports, that they need to know the inner workings of mechanical objects. I love the whole makeup of men—that they never mature and are always just boys.” At first, her words may seem playful, even lighthearted, yet hidden within them is a song of acceptance, a hymn to the nature of humanity as it is, not as one would demand it to be. She speaks of men not as flawless beings of wisdom and restraint, but as creatures of passion, curiosity, and eternal boyhood—and she calls this not flaw, but charm.

The meaning of this saying is not to belittle, but to celebrate. For in the childlike spirit of men—their love of games, their fascination with machines, their eager eyes turned toward beauty—there is a spark of vitality that endures when the burdens of age would otherwise weigh them down. Where others might condemn such traits as immaturity, Allen reframes them as part of a divine design: the refusal of the heart to grow cold, the insistence of the soul to remain youthful. To be “always just boys” is not a weakness, but a reminder that joy, wonder, and play are eternal gifts.

The origin of this truth lies in the stories of ages past. For were not the heroes of old often men who bore the fire of boyhood into their manhood? Alexander the Great, though commanding armies that conquered the world, was ever filled with restless energy, ever chasing dreams as if still the youth tutored by Aristotle. Leonardo da Vinci, whose hands gave form to art and invention, never ceased to tinker with devices, to peer into the workings of nature with the curiosity of a child. These figures remind us that the boy within the man is not his undoing, but his fountain of genius.

Consider, too, the tale of Thomas Edison, whose ceaseless tinkering with wires, lamps, and machines was nothing more than the continuation of the boy who once filled his home with experiments. Had he “matured” in the dry and weary sense that society sometimes demands, the spark of invention would have been smothered. Instead, he embraced the restless boy within, and in doing so, gave the world the gift of light. Thus we see that Allen’s words are not jest alone, but a recognition that immaturity, reframed as eternal youthfulness, is a wellspring of life.

The lesson is this: do not despise the playful nature of men—or of humanity as a whole. For the world will always try to demand solemnity, weight, and endless seriousness. Yet seriousness without joy leads only to bitterness, and discipline without play leads to despair. To remain partly a child even as you grow is to keep alive the flame of curiosity, the ability to delight in simple things, and the courage to dream beyond the bounds of age.

Practical actions must follow. If you are a man, embrace the boy within you. Let your love of sports, of discovery, of beauty, and of play not be sources of shame, but of strength. If you are a woman, learn to see not only the flaws in such boyhood, but the gifts it brings—the laughter, the inventiveness, the passion that keeps the spirit alive. For in cherishing these qualities, relationships grow not in resentment, but in joy. And for all people: do not let the march of years steal from you the treasures of youth.

And so, child of tomorrow, take this teaching to heart: never fully mature in the sense of losing wonder. Grow in wisdom, yes; grow in discipline, yes; but let not the boy or girl within you perish. For in that childlike spirit lies resilience, creativity, and joy—the very forces that make life bright. Love others not only for their polish and achievements, but for their imperfections, their curiosities, and their eternal youthfulness. For this, as Krista Allen reminds us, is the true makeup of men—and of humankind itself.