Being a guy being a guy, is a tough gig these days. If we're not being accused of insensitivity and we're not being accused of being sexist, then we're considered boorish and rude. Its almost as though the men of the world are being driven out of the mainstream, cleansing our society of its aggressive, competitive, patriarchal core. It's all enough to make you want to own up to your innermost thoughts and cares, to get in touch with the real you, and to open up and share all with five or six of your closest confidantes.
We don't do that, do we? Or, at least real men don't. We're not going to let some tender, caring, attractive intellect get inside our shell. We're men, dammit. Strong, independent, and proud.
OK, so if our manly traits and domineering characters are so distasteful and unattractive, why are we this way? Could it be that there is a purpose to all of our worst tendencies? Even the belching, farting, and general loutish aromas?
I've been thinking a bunch about how hard it is to escape who we really are. As I age (as I mature?), I find myself becoming more and more like my parents. And I am finding more and more of my mannerisms are just like what my mother and father would do. I am limited to a greater extent by my physical abilities, or increasing lack thereof. And I am regressing back to the simpler range of pleasures than I ever used to.
The constant search and reinvention of identity inevitably leads one back. To family, heritage, and 'your people'. Partly, it's nostalgia and a naive romantic hankering for an earlier, easier time. And, partly its surrounding yourself with people who understand you, recognize your cultural tics, and expect you to behave just like one of the tribe. But, it can all end up reinforcing your worst tendencies. You're forgiven much in the name of 'that's just how we are'.
I always thought I got my bluntness from my mother. She's a strong, independent, and private person, who's not afraid to offer her opinions. It is said she sees the world in black and white, a world in which she is most always right. Cutting to the bone, she offers insightful advice and down-to-earth perspectives that eschew niceties, hype, and pretense. She simply tells it how it is, whether you are ready to hear it or not. Pretty manly stuff, really. Virtuous character that I aspire to.
Then, at my Dad's memorial service, a long train of colleagues, friends, and foes all spoke of his directness, his tenacity, and his intellectual prowess. I guess, therefore, I'm screwed. Bluntness on both sides, a heritage of un-PC, independent gruffness. Pretty hard to live with, but I'm proud to be the man I was raised to be. Traditionalist or sensitive new-age guy, I dunno.
So, my question to my compadres is, what does it mean to be a man?
p.s. I really didn't mean this to be the topic of my first post. But, I know the Order of Murtaugh. And I've been reading the slightly cloying come-uppance of Mr. Master of the Universe in How Starbucks Saved My Life (Michael Gates Gill). I'll probably get slammed for the post, but I'm man enough to take it.
4 comments:
As Norman Maclean said in Young Men and Fire, "The problem of identity is always a problem, not just a problem of youth. The nearest anyone can come to finding himself at any given age is to find a story that somehow tells him about himself."
I would argue that the myths and stories that most of us know best are those of our own family. And for sons, are the greatest of those myths and stories not the ones of our own father? (Older brothers may figure in here too, but since I'm the oldest sibling, I have no firsthand experience.)
It's like the son says in the film adaptation of Big Fish. "A man tells so many stories, that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal."
Over the last Christmas holiday, my own father and I were having an intense discussion where I was really leaning into him pretty hard on some family communication dynamics, and as I'm talking to him, I keep thinking "These words I'm saying to him right now - I've heard these all before, but where? Where?"
A couple minutes later it finally hits me, "These are the same damn words my ex always said to me when we used to fuss about the same damn thing."
This was of course immediately follwed by a second realization: "Oh my God! Some of this crap really is hereditary!"
So I'm standing there, trying to wrap up this conversation with my father (a conversation that, though difficult, ended up going quite well in the end) but that heredity revelation is still stuck in my head, I'm smirking my ass off as a result, and it's taking everything I have to not bust out laughing at the karmic irony of it all.
What does it mean to be a man? I suspect the answer to that question is as long as it is elusive. But I do think that part of it involves honoring your father and, to some small degree, even becoming your father.
Keep the bluntness, Zed. It's a form of honor. Honor to the memories and the myths alike. And hell, even if it isn't and I'm completely wrong about all of this, the bluntness still makes you more fun to drink with!
What does it mean to be a man? It doesn't mean a thing. Folks who try to identify themselves in terms of gender inevitably get distracted away from more interesting aspects of your soulfulness. What does it mean to be you, Zed? That's a much more provocative question.
Those books, like Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus really disturb me. Excuse me. All men and all women ARE FROM EARTH!!
Bronco, you're more likely to encounter my father in me than my mother. Again, gender doesn't seem to be the determining factor.
Obviously this topic strikes deep for me.
Should also have said (and I should have said it first):
COOL BLOG!!
Reya, I'm guessing that real men don't let other people tell them what it means to be a man.
But, I'm not completely sure this here cowpoke is a real man. Nor, does he really know whether gender tastes good or not!
Thanks for the kind words!!
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