The Men

I was driving along a country road, several years ago.  I happened on a possum, half run-over in the middle of the road.  The possum was struggling, trying to get up but it was clear that simply was never going to happen.  I pulled over, stepped out of the car and cried.  Sure that the little thing was eyeing me, begging me for help, I felt useless.  Along came a fellow who also pulled over to the side of the road.  He pulled a bat out of the back of his truck and slowly approached the dying possum.  He looked at me, cool  and expressionless and I knew he was going to put an end to it. Mechanically, and without hesitation he did just that.  And I was very grateful as I could not have. It was the right thing to do.

The men in my family are made of different stuff.  When I found a Facebook page years ago targeting a classmate of my sons' I told Griff about it. I told him that I saw posts from several of his friends, boys and girls, who wrote mean things about the boy.  Griffin cried. He has always been a defender and a protector...not uncommon when your brother has a chronic illness. And Cesare...he is a sweet and soft spoken young man.   

When my dad last visited from Florida I thought I'd impress my family by stopping by the seafood market and picking out the biggest lobster they had.  It was roughly the size of a Fiat.   When I brought it home , dad and my family appropriately oohed and ahhed over the yummy specimen until it became clear to us that we did not have a pot big enough to do the quick boiling dunk one does with a live lobster.  Truthfully, no one on earth could have had a pot big enough for this monster.  The fate of our shellfish was clear: someone was going to have to hack it in half, while it was still very much alive.  Now, my dad is a practicing Buddhist.  And while he's happy to eat a living thing once it has met it's demise, he is adamant that he does not want to be a killer.  But as we all sprinted out of the kitchen, me doing that hand over the ears, shrieking thing, he valiantly deposited half the lobster in one pot of boiling water, and half in another.  He looked ashen when he retired from the debauchery and joined us in the living room.  Dad said he would never do that again.  No one witnessed the scene, but I can tell you it required a shot or two of whiskey to put it in the past.

To see our loving golden retrievers pelt my husband with paws and stuffed animals of all sorts when he comes down to the kitchen each morning is a sweet thing.  He has his routine, making tea for me and for him, coffee for Griff and whatever will get Cesare out of bed.  But the dog routine is priceless.  They adore him.  They trust him.  He is steady and calm and loving.  Walden will bring as many stuffed animals as he can mouth to the Tom alter:

These are the sensitive and kind men I am privileged to spend my life with.  There is a place for the putting-a-possum-out-of-misery-kind-of-fellow, but I am glad there is a space in the world for men who might tremble at the thought of killing a possum, or a lobster.  

I'm thankful for a more diverse portrait of what a man is.  I'm grateful my boys are not completely restricted by a one dimensional idea of who they should be, how they should think and act.  

I know this is a silly representation and presented rather melodramatically, but nevertheless a touching example of the growing diversity allowed men in a culture where the stereotype of the tough, emotionless, heterosexual, predator still dominates.  CLICK