Category: Lessons Learned

Because We’re Men

I don’t know what you call it. I’ve never heard a name for it. I think it’s exclusively a male thing, yet I can’t say I’ve ever asked a lady if she’s experienced it. With the advent of texting, however, this unnameable feeling previously limited to the physical realm has made its way to the digital world. And I don’t like it.

The fellas know what I’m talking about. There are moments in life. Maybe you’re standing in line together at the newest Expendables movie. Or maybe you’re both scanning the restaurant for hot-chicks-that-you-won’t-talk-to as you each reach for the salt. The setup isn’t really important. What’s important is the unexpected and new sensation on your hand. It’s heavy. It’s hairy. It’s rough. It’s another man’s hand. It’s your friend’s hand. Something about the moment causes the collision to continue until you make eye contact and only then do you both pull away. Of course the manly-man military/police/firefighter crowd, always looking to distinguish itself from its sissy-man peers, rejects this absolute refusal to touch and, usually, what starts as an inconsequential bumping of mitts becomes full-on hand-holding that is more often than not accompanied by a witty expression such as, “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

And I freely admit that this is a very funny moment, especially when it involves the uninitiated.

But as if texting isn’t difficult enough as is, we men are making it harder on ourselves these days. You know what I’m talking about. With women, we’re adding bogus punctuation and emoticons left and right to make sure we don’t come across as creepy or stalker or needy or rude or sexting or, well, you get the picture. 🙂 But this unnamable feeling that I get when I accidentally touch another man’s hand, well that’s the same feeling I get when I see a text from a buddy who has apparently forgotten that he’s texting a man. What is the deal with male-to-male exclamation points or smiley faces? It just feels wrong, doesn’t it? It’s weak. It’s creepy. It’s stalker-ish.

Take George and I for example. If I text something to George that is so sarcastic that he doesn’t think he gets the joke or my meaning, he simply responds like he should. He replies, “I don’t think I understand.” Because he’s a man. And then I re-attack with more consideration. Or I would maybe just reply “nm.” I might even just not reply. And yet we remain friends. I don’t think I ever have, but say I texted him something that sounded like I intended to sleep with him next time we met. Even then, he’d simply say, “Did you just ask if I would sleep with you?” Because he’s a man. Then in that situation, despite his dashing good looks and fit figure, which probably has epic stamina, I would reply, “No.” And that would be it. Because we’re men.

So fellas, please. Please pay attention from now on. When it’s me you’re texting, lose the gimmicks. Unlike the lady folk, our relationship is not dependent on proper text etiquette. Thank you.

That is all.

New Rocky Movie Announced. Rocky Fights Jesus?

(This one’s long and experimental. If you don’t do anything, scroll to the bottom to watch a video I promise you’ll enjoy.)

It feels like I should be embarrassed to admit that as a kid I watched my family’s recorded-from-television Rocky III VHS so often that I broke it. To this day I can still picture my mom’s handwriting on the label. One day after thinking it finished rewinding, I pressed eject and discovered the tape had snapped. Why that movie was ever in our house is beyond me. We never watched it as a family. Maybe it was my dads. I do remember going to see Rocky IV in the theater, though I was very young. Come to think of it, a few years later on a Bunco night at our house my dad took my brother and I to see Rocky V at the dollar theater. Yep, I’m sure of it now. It was my dad who had recorded Rocky III. Had to be.

Anyhow, back to Rocky IV, do you remember the scene were Paulie walks Rocky from the locker room to the ring? Both men know Rocky may die in the fight and this knowledge urges Paulie to say a little somethin’. He says, “I know sometimes I act stupid and I say stupid things, but you kept me around and other people would have said ‘drop that bum’. You give me respect. You know it’s kinda hard for me to say these kinda things, cuz it ain’t my way, but if I could just unzip myself and step out and be someone else, I’d wanna be you. You’re all heart, Rock.”

Fast forward to when I recited the officer’s oath to become a second lieutenant in the Air Force. My family made the trip to Alabama’s Maxwell AFB to witness the moment. I did it in a really embarrassing high voice because I was crying and hadn’t experienced public crying enough to make it at least bearable for the listener. I’ll never forget that my mom came up afterwards and while rubbing my back, said, “You’re all heart, Pete.” Now I’m thinking maybe it was my VHS-labeling mom who was the secret Rocky fan after all–she is left-handed.

Some of my posts indicate that I have a favorable view of attending church and supporting the evidence as I see it that Jesus of Nazareth existed and was crucified and that this information might mean something more. I’m always nervous about writing about such things because I don’t want any potential book readers (buyers at least) to be turned off from this blog or my writing because they think I have some agenda to convert all you godless heathens. I overcome my nerves and as such keep sharing by confessing two realities. First, despite acquiring some 1800 followers, only about ten of you have purchased my books. (Don’t feel bad. I haven’t bought a blogger’s book either.) That means that there’s no actual money on the line. Second, I don’t give a fuck if you can’t get past someone disagreeing with you about Jesus. It is literally not my problem.

I will say this about the Jesus debate though. Almost by definition, following your heart goes against reason. And here’s what I will never do. I will never trade my heart for my reason. I won’t. And you shouldn’t either.

Some of you have been hurt real bad, not necessarily your exterior, but your heart. Like a broken bone is set in a cast, you hardened your heart to allow it to heal. The trouble is that with the cast on you have come to feel invincible. Instead of being a temporary aid to enable mending so you can get back to normal, this hardening has become armor. And this armor calls for reinforcements daily.

In all the talk about hardened hearts, no one ever taught me that they compensate for their lack of compassion by increasing intelligence and reason, but I see it in practice over and over again. However, no one had to teach me that an unintended consequence of this hardening is that it keeps out the heat until the heart becomes cold. That’s evidenced daily. Consequently, I will never stop preaching that a cold hard heart is in need of say-anything-do-anything emergency life support.

To those of you that adamantly and evangelically reject Jesus, what needs to happen to warm up and soften up a cold hard heart? Need the entire planet to deny Jesus ever existed? Or maybe you’re more realistic and need just the really smart people that you want to keep liking to form a consensus that he didn’t? I have no problem conceding that–on one condition. As part of the negotiation you have to give me a specific date when you’ll return to being the person you used to be. The person who knew that not everything in life, certainly not the most important things, are logical, scientific, and empirical. And if you don’t return by that date, then I get my superstition back.

The detached nature of this written argument will never substitute for holding hands or hugging, which are probably the only things hot enough and strong enough to transform hearts. I apologize for that. And if it wasn’t for the bizarre, yet intriguing, question that came to mind, I’ll admit that this post was probably a waste of time for anyone but me. But it is a fun question. The question being, “If Rocky ‘All Heart’ Balboa was ever to fight Jesus–whose very nature would have his corner throw in the towel–do both men win?”

Lastly, here’s a video on the subject that my new job (incidentally, not at a hospital) just showed me during a training session. It’s fairly incredible. Click Here to enjoy.

Congratulations, You’re Finally A Man. Now What?

Yes, ladies, I’m talking to you. You did it! And I couldn’t be prouder. Not that I ever doubted you.

But here’s my question: What would I have to do if I wanted to become a woman? Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I want to know.

I don’t mean that I want to go under the knife for this change. You didn’t have to for yours, so why should I? What would I have to do?

I’m no good at small talk, so let’s get to the point. I don’t actually want to be a woman. Not because I see anything wrong with it, but because I love being a man. Love it. I get to be stronger than you. I got to fight a war. (Well, if put under our days’ heavy scrutiny on claims of valor, it is more accurate to say I got to “participate in combat operations where our aircraft (rental) was fired upon (small arms) only a (singular) handful of times–if that (it was dark)”.) I get to be taller and heavier than you. What else? In 2015, what else do I get to love about being a man? Oh, here’s one. *Don’t shoot me* but manual labor-wise, I can out work you.

Humph. Now that I’m attempting to write this clever post, I’m struggling. Everything I love about being a man involves physicality, which seems to have been used in times past to protect, to guard, to keep safe. But what needs protecting, guarding, or keeping safe if you women are now men in every way save size and strength? All along, I thought women were what needed this protection. But now that you all are men, I’m confused. Maybe the mistake was mine. Maybe men never were protecting women. What were they protecting then? Seems like weakness is what some would answer, men were protecting the weaker members of society. Maybe some men were, but not me. I never wanted to protect weakness. I wanted to protect rightness. Keeping weakness alive and safe is counter-intuitive. What were men protecting?

Were men protecting strength? Like a Batman “[You have to] Endure, Master Wayne,” kind of strength? Were men protecting forgiveness? Were they protecting decency? Were men protecting grace? How about love? Were men protecting love? Would love exist if there were no women? Seems like making love would be tougher without women. I wonder if they were protecting life itself, in protecting women. Is that possible? And don’t tell me that you women haven’t become like men in this regard, either. I see you. I hear you. You don’t want to make babies, just like men can’t make babies. Have you thought that one through, though? Really thought it through?

Look. Like most men, I’m no saint. Read my book and you’ll see. I messed up. But that doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I get it. You’re scared. But I’d suggest joining me in striving to be better, rather than overcoming your fear by changing into what you dread (second Dark Knight mention if you’re keeping track George). You did it. You proved you could become one of us. But now it’s time to put the costume up (third). It’s time to show me what it means to be a woman–only you can do that.

Ladies, don’t be a man. Be a better woman.

I Thought This Was eHarmony?

No thanks to your comments I decided to go ahead and bite the bullet. I hate it because I have quit two times before and I usually stick to my guns on things. But I’m back at it. Online dating, here we go again.

I have no idea what the uninitiated know about online dating, but I love to share how it goes down as if they know nothing. Today’s post is about a difference between the sites and also Christ.

Besides your suggestions, the reason I’m back is because I recently learned that eHarmony doesn’t let you browse profiles. Other sites (OkCupid, Plenty of Fish, Match, Christian Mingle) allow a user to view anyone’s profile (even same-sex profiles that are not searching for same-sex relationships–which I mention here because it makes me laugh every time I picture the straight dudes’ faces when they saw some other straight dude had visited their page. What can I say? I am not afraid to scope out the competition and adjust accordingly.) Anyhow, this free-browsing, for a person like me, means a lot–I mean a lot–of profile viewing. Probably not a bad thing in and of itself, but the amount of time it takes is ridiculous. Especially, if, like me, you aren’t getting any dates. That’s why I quit last time. Too much time spent not dating. But this–this no browsing thing–is quite nice. What isn’t nice, and moreover is awfully humorous, is that while I thought I was signing up for eHarmony, it appears I may be on Christian Mingle.

You see, however I answered the questions about myself, the only women the site is feeding me as potential matches are those with Christ at the center of their lives, those whose faith is their number one priority, those who are looking for a man to be the spiritual leader of their family, and those who want a man for whom God is as important to him as he is to them. Wow. I felt kind of dirty after reading the twentieth or so version of that. No pressure, right?

Don’t get me wrong ladies. Seek what you want. Want what you want. I just don’t even know what any of those sentences mean. More than that, I have to admit that the mental image I get after reading those sentences is one of ignorance, weakness, and fear. What does that say? Oh well. Different strokes for different folks.

Since seeing this trend, I have looked back through my modifiable settings and I can’t find anything that indicates I only want a woman like this, most notably, I don’t have a religion requirement. The only thing I can think is that it must have been my answers to the personality questions, which unfortunately I cannot change without first, creating a new profile and second, lying.

Come to think of it, I did answer “strongly agree” that a woman’s place is the kitchen and that the ideal woman is one who recognizes the futility of “thinking for herself”. Maybe that’s what did it?

Like I tried to express before, I’m pretty sure some personalities just don’t fit into the boxes that are online dating profiles. Only time will tell. I am actually excited to discover if these women are telling the truth. We’ll see.

And if I didn’t say it before, thank you. This is fun.

Some Conclusions For Today

Life is a journey, that’s for sure. It’s cliché to even repeat the assertion. Of late, though, it is proving itself more true than I ever would have believed.

A few months ago, December, I wrote about my search for a church home. For various reasons, the posts received decent traction. I began by reviewing the local mega church. And concluded by reviewing the church I felt was for me.

Along the way, I’ve had many conversations with individuals to include a couple pastors. A picture of the situation is beginning to appear. I think bullets will be most effective here now.

  • The church I grew up in from 3rd grade to 12th grade combined with my personality did such a number on me that fifteen years later I still can’t tell which way is up.
  • Attending church nearly every Sunday and many Wednesdays as a child was by no means the normal experience of an American child.
  • Church membership/regular attendance in America is decreasing.
  • Mega churches make it seem like church membership is on the up and up, but their growth is simply the result of small church members leaving their small church in favor of the big ones.
  • According to one pastor, young folk (20-30s) surprisingly report that they desire more of the sacred, and not the many attempts to cater to them through contemporary worship.
  • Even white preachers confess that the black model may be the way of the future regarding preaching.
  • I like the black model of preaching.
  • Mormonism is batshit crazy.
  • Mormonism is batshit crazy.
  • The historical record seems to support that a group of humans called themselves Jews and believed and worshiped one God. According to their literature, their purpose as this singular God’s “chosen people” was to display God’s essence to the rest of the world. Out of this group came Jesus. He claimed, not unlike many other prophets of his day, that his people had dropped the ball regarding this charge, but no worries, he’s got it. He further claimed–albeit cryptically at times–that his ministry was God’s way of manifesting a new era on the planet where anyone could become a member of the chosen people of God and fulfill God’s purpose for his people, which is to demonstrate love. Love one another. (Which is, like, totally, like, weird, because, like, we’re all so good at that as is.)
  • The historical record does not support Mormonism, whose claims are not marred by things called thousands and thousands of years.
  • Every single adult, every one of us that ever has existed on planet Earth is making it up as we go. Don’t miss this point. This is a big one. Previously I was under the belief that there was some level of consensus on things of this nature. But no longer. I have, like many of you, had many one on one conversations with folks regarding this topic and not one person has been the same as another–even if they go to the same church. Notta’ one. Though, put a couple of them together and it’s a different story.
  • Telling people what to believe or how to behave is disrespectful, sharing your story is not.
  • Children need to learn love; it does not come naturally.
  • Organized religion does not seem to be the best way to teach children love, and may be downright incapable of doing it.

No big conclusion.

Follow Me On Twitter

Despite all my family bashing yesterday, I have finally decided to listen to my brother about Twitter. So I have an account now. Follow me @petedeakon if that’s your thing. 

(New post tomorrow…apologies for missing today, but I was busy crafting an award winning speech last night. 🙂 )

The Importance of Loss

Back to the good stuff, if I do say so myself.

I don’t take advice on life from my younger brother. Actually, I don’t take it from any immediate family members.

When we discuss life, we mostly just fight. All parties are to blame, of course, but when pitted against my younger brother I’m always ready to accept more blame because I’m older and should know better, the theory goes. Amidst our current unpleasantness I have been thinking about why I never listen to him. This naturally led to me contemplating how I decide to ever listen to anyone. In other words, which criteria do I use to seriously consider another person’s invariably well-meaning advice? As always, I’m curious to read how others would answer this question too.

For me, however, it boils down to loss. The more loss a person has experienced, the more I listen. If a person has experienced less loss than me, then I don’t listen. After all, what do they know?

So mom and dad, brother and sister, I hear you, but your life choices haven’t resulted in much loss according to my all-seeing eye. Sorry. If I’m missing something, please share. At this point, what do you have to lose?

Loss is important to me because it demonstrates risk. Taking risks demonstrates belief, which demonstrates passion, which, in turn, demonstrates that you are alive. At least this is how I see things. I’m not prescribing this to you. I just want you to know this is how I am. I don’t mean any disrespect. We’re just different. I live the inverse of: “You won’t fail if you don’t try.”

Actually, come to think of it, since I hold the “lost most” card, I do want to prescribe this way of life to the four of you. Live a little. All four of you play it too safe.

Now, I know at least mom is rolling her eyes and asking “Why should I listen to him again?” “What’s he lost?” I’ve lost half of H-‘s childhood. Half. How’d I lose it? By passionately rushing into a marriage that K- and I should’ve seen wasn’t ever going to work. And let me be clear: It is no good that neither K- nor I can ever get back the time lost because of our decision–no good at all. But the flip side to that coin is we each get half of H-‘s childhood. And we would’ve never got any of it if we would’ve played it safe. And without H-, well, we’d all be worse off. You know that’s a fact.

I just smiled after writing that. Because it’s true. I’m actually excited now. (I love writing.) So until you convince me that you’ve lost as much, I’m not taking your advice to play it safe. I’m not going to pad the walls by considering all the outcomes or what strangers or relatives will think. I’m just going to keep doing what I’m going to do–and do it better. Forever. So there.

Life Alone

Diary style again…apologies.

Eudaimonia. Two years ago a professor wrote the word on the chalkboard in both Jesus-fish style Greek and the more familiar alphabet version. It had been a long time since someone had impressed me. Suffice it to say he had my attention. It means to flourish. Two years later almost to the day, today, I can’t help but wonder if anyone knows what it means to flourish.

Robert William Case, friend and author of Icarus and the Wingbuilder, does. But he’s already married. Actually, I could go on and on naming folks I know, 60+ years old, who demonstrate an understanding of eudaimonia daily.

But I want to find someone who understands it, is under thirty and, here’s the kicker, female. Does she exist? Because, unlike say Batman, God, or Rainbow Dash, this is a person that I don’t even think I’ve heard of existing.

By way of example, as I’ve mentioned before, I play the piano. Both the instrument and the piano. Yep, I don’t pass by opportunities to confess that I have the greatest one. Anyhow, once, after playing for an older lady friend, she flattered, “Oh Pete, you’d be wasted on a younger woman.” Oh boy. It’s a good thing I was sitting. But was she right? Most of the time I think so. And then when I discover not many young people can even play an instrument (one small attractive quality), let alone enjoy playing one (eudaimonia alert!), I reach a consensus.

One of the many reasons I left my last job was because I hadn’t been on a date since beginning it. The schedule was just too crazy. It’s been months now of not having any crazy schedule, of establishing some social patterns, of trying to meet new people, and still no change. When do I get to give up? Because this notion that there is hope is getting very old.

Mr. Williams

By Request

I took a course in college called “Mass Media and Communications”. I can’t remember the reason. But what I will never forget is one of the lessons. This was back in the early 2000s, so HDTV (1080p etc) wasn’t prevalent yet. The professor taught us how a television worked. I had no idea before then. He explained that a device inside the box quickly draws a very thin line–two hundred forty evenly spaced lines actually–across the screen. Then on its return trip, this device fills in the blanks just left with another set of lines. That’s where 480i (NTSC) comes from. Old televisions in America had 480 “interlaced” lines. Now we all watch in some level of progressively scanning lines, meaning the picture is fully refreshed each trip across the screen and the image is high definition. Now you know.

What all this techno-mumbo-jumbo means to us mortals is that the images on the television screen are an illusion. They’re not really there. Different than a painting, sculpture, or the words and images in a tangible book/magazine/newspaper, which we can really see and feel and touch, the images on the television screen are an optical illusion. Our brain is able to put together all these rapidly moving lines and we think we see a man or woman or if you’re four and a half years old, it seems that all you see is an Octonaut.

But the truth is there is nothing there. There is only an illusion. Mr. Williams is not in our living room. Only a powerful illusion that our brain wants to believe is a trustworthy man named Brian Williams is there. But even that is not true. This illusion isn’t on or in the television, the illusion is in our minds.

The question then becomes, “Can an illusion lie?” I say no. I say there is no non-fiction television to begin with. How could there be?

If there is anything to be learned from current events, it is that we’ve allowed ourselves, yet again, to be fooled. The new question, the only question I see remaining at the end of this is, “How many more times will we let it happen before we turn off the TV?”

Bachelors

Have I told you much about Greeny? The following paints as accurate a picture of this war hero as any, I suppose.

Taking off his skis Saturday afternoon, he stops and says, “I just learned something about myself. See that woman over there? I watched her come down the mountain on tele’s and thought, ‘You know. I could marry her.'”

“Wow, man. Pretty deep,” my brother and I’s wide-eyed response.

“No, you don’t understand. You know what my girlfriend said to me the other day? She said, ‘It’s cold out here.’ I couldn’t believe it. It was like 60 degrees. I told her, ‘You can say, ‘I’m cold.’ But you can’t say ‘It’s cold.’ You can’t say it because it is not true.”

He always has been a stickler for the truth.

What I really want to share though is what happened at the club Saturday night. The seven of us in the bachelor party play pool for a few hours until most are losing interest and ready to head back to the condo. I convince Greeny to hang out a bit longer, because, well, we’re good friends and you never know when some new war will break out etc, etc. It was about midnight, and we had had enough to drink that I finally suggest we tempt fate on the dance floor where there are probably eight ladies and only one dude. (Focus on the decent odds, not the lame club.)

The entire floor cleared when we walked onto it.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt my body move more from laughter fits than any attempt to bust a move. Greeny was more still. He gets this look. The wheels are clearly turning behind his thousand yard stare, but from experience I assure you not necessarily very fast. He scans the room one last time and then reports, “Pete. If you and I are in any other country in the world and walk onto a dance floor, the women would leave their seats to join us. Here, they return to them.”

Now, ladies, I know what you’re thinking.

Wait. No, no I don’t. Never have. Same for Greeny.

Um…help?