In a calm and reasonable manner without haste or impulse decision

This is surreal. Harry Potter must have felt the same way Hagrid told him he was a wizard, but you wish you were in Harry's shoes. Who doesn't want to be a wizard? But you’re not a wizard, and this isn’t Hagrid. It’s your mom. And she’s informing you that you're some kind of loony religious figure.

Loony? No, loony isn’t the right word.

If Tomboyism is actually a religion, then all the women you’ve looked up to, all the girls you’ve ever been closest to, all the strongest, bravest, sexiest ladies you judge most desirable above others, all of them have something in common. All of them are that way, in part, because of a system of faith, because of their special way of looking at the world.

Tomboyism isn’t loony. Tomboyism is god’s greatest gift to man.

Mom watches you for signs of reaction. She's at once both hopeful and fearful of how you'll take the news.

“I’m the new Master Tomboy,” you state.

“Yes.”

You take a breath, let yourself decompress, and touch her hand. She loosens her grip and withdraws to her side of the table. You look up at her. “What does that mean?”

Mom shakes her head. “I could describe what I believe it means, but you’re the only one who can decide what it means for you. What I will say is some of the answers you’re looking for are in that book.” She points to the old leather tome on the edge of the table. “If I was in your shoes, that’s where I would start.”

With care, you pick up the Tome of Tomboy, impressed again by its significant weight and age. How old is this book? Shouldn’t it be in a climate-controlled storage facility or something? Besides the careworn quality of the pages and creased lines of age on the cover, there isn’t a scratch or stain on it.

Your mom chuckles at your nervousness. “That book survived your dad for twenty years,” she says. “It can survive anything.”

Delicately, you set the book in front of you, squared with the edge of the table. “Mom, exactly how important is this book, theologically speaking?”

Her eyes soften as she looks at the cover. “It’s the most valuable thing you’ll ever own, Marsh,” she says. “The Tome of Tomboy is sort of like your Excalibur. It’s how other tomboys will know who you are.”

You eye a passing waiter with suspicion. “Isn’t bringing it out here an unnecessary risk?”

Mom laughs. “Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what she’s talking about, but she’s the tomboy here, not you (well, not like that, anyway). If Mom’s cool trucking a holy artifact of her religion to a Fat Buddy’s BBQ, her feelings on the matter mean more than yours.

Still, you pull the book closer and move your water glass far away, just to stay on the safe side.

Mom gets the bill and you head out. On the way to the exit, you pass Sarah the server, whose eyes bug out when she notices what you’re carrying under your arm.

Okay then... you really need to read this book.

You sit at your desk with the open Tome of Tomboy in front of you, wondering at what it is you’re getting into.

Mom lingers at the door of your bedroom. “I know this is a lot to drop on a kid, but… you doing okay, Marsh?”

“I think so,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

She nods in understanding. “Yeah, I bet. Well. I’m here if you need me. I’ll be right down the hall.” With that, she leaves you to it.

You switch on your desk lamp and turn to the first page of the tome.

You don’t sleep. The book enthralls you.

The Tome of Tomboy contains a religious codex of laws and principles, called the Tomboy Code, which is addressed to members of the Cult of Tomboy. Followers are referred to as Adherents, or, equally, tomboys.

The Code promotes a well-rounded lifestyle that balances self-improvement, self-reliance, and a holistic approach to well-being - spiritual, physical, or otherwise - against a comprehensive rejection of societal feminine norms “enforced by society contrary to a tomboy’s natural state of being.”

Unlike any feminist manifesto you’ve read, however, rather than lay down non-patriarchal female norms as an alternative, the Tomboy Code recommends traditionally masculine traits take their place. Not necessarily to erase a tomboy’s femininity, but rather “to uplift and embolden her innermost desires.”

Playing sports, pursuing adventure outdoors, even looking up to a wise coach, or maintaining a close childhood friend confidant, the Tomboy Code encourages (or even requires) every stereotypical tomboy cliche you can think of.

… which is probably why they’re stereotypes in the first place. According to the Tomboy Code itself:

iv. A member of the Cult of Tomboy demonstrates the extent of her piety by how fully she embodies the Tenets of Tomboyhood. Thus, a tomboy’s obedience to the Tomboy Code varies directly with her adherence to the Tenets of Tomboyhood…

So a long-haired cheerleader who calls herself a tomboy after putting a purple streak in her hair is the equivalent of a self-professed Catholic who only steps into church once a year on Christmas Eve. Wild. And here you thought stuff like that was because girls want attention.

Well, realistically, that’s probably still a factor.

Still. Most of what you read doesn’t exactly surprise you. For example, The 8th Tenet of Tomboyhood declares that a devout tomboy ‘seeks camaraderie with men and tomboys’. Yeah, real shocker.

Due to your myriad experiences and, ahem, extensive research into tomboys throughout your life, the Code is pretty intuitive. If it’s associated with tomboys, dollars to donuts, it’s part of the Code.

Even coming into the book with a broad base of knowledge, however, you discover that your familiarity with tomboy beliefs is, to put it bluntly, laughably superficial.

It all has to do with the concept of the Master Tomboy.

The concept of the Master Tomboy is the central pillar of the Cult’s system of belief. In the text, the One True Childhood Friend is fawningly credited for every triumph, teaching, point, and principle of the Tomboy Code.

According to the tome, the Childhood Friend showed the first tomboys what it meant to be a tomboy. He inspired them, empowered them, and taught them to recognize and discard the limitations imposed upon them by an unjust society. He freed tomboys from oppression and led them out from darkness. Then and forever, the Master Tomboy’s example set the standard to which every tomboy should aspire.

Hundreds of pages of anecdotal accounts from the life of Hector Tomboy comprise the thickest section of the tome.

Broken only by frantic intermissions of wildly obsequious, gushing adoration, the reader would be forgiven for assuming the self-aggrandizing narratives were written by Hector Tomboy himself. Each account is so saccharine, so sycophantic, so jam-packed with cliche, that it’d make a Hallmark movie blush.

Only when you study the text closer do you uncover the truth: that the overly emotional, egregiously uncritical, and feverishly girlish arguments of the Tomboy Code could only have been written by Hector Tomboy’s friends.

Sarah, your Fat Buddy’s server, wasn’t kidding. The Master Tomboy is to Tomboys what Buddha is to Buddhists. He’s practically deity. But if it wasn’t obvious enough, a small section of commandments at the end of the Tomboy Code confirms it:

VII. The Master Tomboy is the Master Trainer. As a tomboy's body glorifies herself, it also glorifies the Master Trainer who inspired it…

VIII. The Master Tomboy is the Childhood Friend. A tomboy patterns her relations with others after the exemplar relationship between herself and her first and truest Childhood Friend…

IX. The Master Tomboy is the Head Coach. Where a tomboy has need of wisdom, she needs only turn to the Head Coach for direction…

Examining the commandments closer, you scarcely believe your eyes as they pass over the looping, handwritten lines. Beneath each commandment are clauses elaborating on the duties and privileges which tomboys… er… enjoy in relation to the Master Tomboy.

VIIa. A member of the Cult of Tomboy shall provide the Master Trainer unhindered access to her body, so they may share in her glory together. The Master Trainer is free to touch, manipulate, and examine a tomboy's physique or musculature in whatever way deemed fit.

VIIa. Any truth - however secret, personal, or sensitive - may be shared with the Childhood Friend, without restraint, without filter, and without guile. The Childhood Friend will never betray a tomboy's trust…

IXa. When faced with tough life decisions, the greatest weapon in a tomboy's arsenal is giving the Head Coach the final say. The Head Coach will always choose the path best for the Adherent, and cannot lead her astray…

You read and reread, but each additional point of clarification feels almost calculated to be more outrageous than the last.

It’s insane! There must be something you’re missing. Because if you took what you’re reading at face value, you - the alleged Master Tomboy - could just walk up to any tomboy in the world, ask her to pull up her shirt, and slather your tongue all over her abs. And according to the Tomboy Code, you’d be doing her a favor.

Light streams through your closed blinds. It’s morning.

The book closes with a heavy thud and you lean back in your chair, exhaustedly rubbing your eyes. Your overloaded brain feebly tries to process the mountain of information you spent the night shoveling into it.

During your manic study session, you skipped most sections and pages of the Tome, pausing only for the parts that looked most important. Yet even then, you stumbled across the ludicrous claim that untold millions of boyish, brash, athletic women around the world would bend over backward for a chance to spill their deepest secrets to a stranger - you.

Warily, you eye the old book in front of you. God, what else is in there? You’ve barely scratched the surface.

You don’t doubt that your mom believes in the Cult of Tomboy. You can tell when she’s being genuine, and when she’s spinning a yarn. Last night Mom expressed her true thoughts and feelings - and there was no denying it when the server corroborated her claims.

Even so, this whole Master Tomboy business feels like utter tripe. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, and no matter how old your dad's Tome of Tomboy is, a book is just a book.

So Tomboys are all in league through some kind of shared, secret cult? Sure, hell, why not. But are you legitimately supposed to believe that you’re the "One True Master Tomboy," the latest of a long line of tomboy-exclusive spiritual gurus? But it's a matter of faith. It's not like you can simply disprove it and move on, is it?