Guy Talk
Knowing how to be a guy took time for me. I'm not sure when I felt the first weight of being male. I think maybe when I was in 5th grade, and I took Shelley Jarrett out to the carnival with her little brother in tow. My mom told me I should be nice, and make sure I paid attention to what Shelley wanted to do. I tried to show her a good time, and help her look after the squirt as well, and I think things went passable. I never asked her out again, but follow thru was iffy when I was 11. She was popular later, and I doubt the experience was memorable to her.
But I remember feeling responsible. I had a duty, in a sense, to focus on another person, probably more intensely than I ever had before. Well, not counting times when I had my mom or grandmother giving me hell for something. Dating showed me a bit of the role of being a guy, the good and the bad. My dates, my friend's dates, gossip about girls and other dates they had with guys outside my circle. I wasn't as dismissive of dates as some of the guys. I didn't have many, and I always felt that responsibility for the fun, for paying attention.
I got another glimpse at responsibility when my sisters went to college and I was the last kid at home. We went from five people to three, and I had more chores, more duty. I was not the best at it. But in a pinch, I was there. Always. That was one of the things I decided a guy was - the person who would and could drop everything to be where he was needed, whenever. A family fireman kinda.
In college, the sheer physicality of being around 50 guys day and night was a shock. I withdrew for a couple months, then settled in. I ran. I played frisbee like a fiend. Tackle football sans pads. Ferocious snowball fghits with frat boys who had better arms but worse strategy. Even my summer jobs became physical. Oil fields. Machine shops. I discovered I had a body. And in the summer between my sophomore and junior years I discovered a young woman, and eventually her body as well. I learned a yet another part of being male, being committed, and being in love.
Duty was an issue again when I signed up for the draft, perhaps the biggest idea of duty I had ever had. Reagan was in the White House, calling the Russians the Evil Empire, and pushing confrontation across the globe. I read books about the Russian armed forces, about global politics. I was sure I would be drafted and might even fight. Many in college were not fond of Reagan. Nor was I. But I knew I would go if called. Thank you Socrates. I couldn't take, without giving back. Another level of duty, another layer of understanding what it might mean to be a man.
I was not however, a good student. I fumbled after college, wondering what college was for. But I did not give up, and I read and pulled myself back into graduate school. I found my mind there, and made my future. I had finally found the will to make my own way, a will that had not been there before. I felt some of the boy fall away, and more of a man emerge.
My first professional job was not easy. It was demanding, and varied, and impacted others. I learned that keeping my word counted more than I had thought, and that others relied on me in many ways I had not known. A new web of responsibility, of honor perhaps, was presented to me. I gained a wider understanding of how what I did affected those around me, and the importance of taking care.
But I also found I was not a quiet man. I bitched. I thought with my mouth open, more concerned with finding answers than silent contemplation. I was not afraid to be wrong, but I had to try. I could be a great colleague and a pain in the neck at the same time. I didn't suffer meekly. Luckily I had tolerant bosses. I saw other guys working hard, but not changing, not risking. I and a few friends decided in late and frequent conversations that no, to live, to be interesting, to be better guys, we must change, and learn things and risk. The bitching part we never resolved.
Today, I'm just now starting to put together all the parts above. I realize I learned them without reflection, that I made them a part of me and went on to build on them. I don't hold to small things in my definition of being a guy. I don't care if I hold a purse. I'll wear a dress if i can get a good laugh or win a bet. I love my friends, and they know it. But I also feel I cannot let another pull my weight. If I can pull others, I will gladly do so. But my weight is mine to pull. It is hard to ask for comfort, even when I know I need it, and more easy to give it. I must try and handle a problem on my own first, before I feel comfortable asking for any assistance. If I have created a problem, I must solve it, and do whatever penance I must to set it right. I sometimes wish I felt differently, but I know these things are a part of how I exist. Change in these areas is hard.
Being a guy, a man perhaps, for me then is the ability to stand alone in tough situations, to immediately help others I care about if ever they need it in any way, to cut my own path, to remain uncontested with myself, to test, to speak and to pay attention. To trust myself alone enough to know and commit to the right things. It also means some stubbornness, inevitable errors, and even some chosen loneliness. Not all good things. But I want to live as best I can through the Great Unrest that eskimos say men are born with. I want to be good at being a man.
2 February 2003