Tagged: men
A Letter to Friends Who Challenge Me – That I’ll Never Write
Dear Friends Who Challenge Me,
I’m writing to you on this fine September day because we need to talk. Please understand writing this letter was not easy for me. I can already hear some of your responses and I have only completed three sentences. I simply wanted to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
You see, you have all–unintentionally I hope–ruined my life. Up until I met you, I was happy-go-lucky and really thought I knew which way was up. I went about my days with little or no concern for…anything, really. The people I surrounded myself with would empathize with my every feeling. If I was sad, they would shower me with sympathy cards. If I was happy, they would throw me a party. If I was mad, they would come rushing to my defense. It was really quite wonderful.
Then you guys entered my life. I can’t even remember which of you I met first, or how we met. What I do remember is how I felt as you didn’t empathize. At first, I can’t deny that you had appeal simply because you were different–as if a lightening bolt. But over time, I learned to love you guys. You provided a balancing perspective that I nearly forgot existed. I treasured the perspective. I finally felt grown up.
Living with you in my life taught me to really evaluate the situation. Should I be sad? Should I be happy? Was anger really the appropriate response? And no matter where we disagreed, you always let me make up my own mind and go my own way. Your authenticity tore-down the shelter that my fear and laziness constructed.
Just the same, I think the time has come for us to part ways. I know. I know this is difficult and confusing for you to hear. Believe me when I tell you I haven’t come to this decision lightly. My problem is I just can’t relate to ‘normal’ people anymore. When they live and talk, I want to be authentic with them, as you have been authentic with me. It doesn’t work. These new friends go silent. They have no response. Some of them become visibly agitated. I have been called “mean.” Their shelter is too strong. More than that, they don’t even want to believe they have one.
You and I know that they’ll be happier without it, but I am still mad at you. I feel so lost in these new situations that I really do think the best thing is for me to rebuild my own shelter. I think it will be nice to take a break for a while. I hope you can understand this decision, though I know you never will. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.
Once Your Friend,
A Mugwump
How To Laugh
(If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom for numbered instructions.)
“You have a sister? What’s she like?”
“She’s cool. You’ll like her.”
“Do you guys look alike, notwithstanding she’s a girl?”
“Not really. She’s a lot lighter than me. It’s actually kinda funny. My sisters are all light brown, while I’m black–even though we have the same parents.”
“I knew someone who had the same problem.”
“What problem? What problem is that?”
Lucky for her, he asked this only moments before bursting into one of the most contagious laughs imaginable. Lucky for her, he had one of the best senses-of-humor available. His ability to laugh transformed a moment more serious souls might have let become negatively charged into one filled with the glorious sounds of laughter. Laughing uncontrollably, even she was unable to successfully join enough words together to mount whatever self-defense she had in mind.
Instructions for How To Laugh:
Step 1 – Resist all temptation to believe people actually think before they speak.
Step 2 – While smiling, immediately exhale the full amount of whatever air happens to be in your lungs.
Step 3 — Inhale as able.
Step 4 – Appropriate to the situation, repeat Steps 2 and 3 with ridiculously nonsensical rhythm.
Three Priceless Quarters
One wake up. That’s all that stood between him and the mountains. Having just arrived home from work, he decided to go ahead and bring the necessary gear stored in the garage into the house. Man, he hadn’t used his blue Kelty external frame pack for years. Lifting it off the bottom shelf of the tall grey wooden shop-cabinet in the garage, he was immediately awestruck by how familiar the metal felt within his hand. The memories came rushing back.
The outermost flap pocket was bulging with a several yellow trash bags which doubled as poor-man rain covers for the pack when necessary. His very own four season, dual door, dual vestibule Eureka K2 XT tent finally rendered those unnecessary. He put them aside.
Curiosity took over. He wondered if the pack still had the devotional and music books from scouting days. Yup.
What other treasures did the pack contain? Muskol–the best insect repellent available. Ah, deet. He chuckled to himself as he remembered that he used to derive great pleasure from reading other brand’s deet percentages knowing they had only puny, laughable amounts of deet. Yes, Muskol was the best ever, and it was his.
What else… Oh, here’s something: a Ziploc bag filled with materials for a homemade first-aid kit. What’s this? Three quarters. “Wow,” he startled himself not realizing he exclaimed that out loud. It all came rushing back. His scout leaders always recommended carrying a few quarters in case a pay phone was needed. Those quarters had been in that bag, in that pack for over 15 years. Those three quarters exemplified the two most eloquent, powerful words he’d ever heard: Be prepared.
Happy Labor Day.
This Past Sunday Women Learned There Is A Fourth Species of Spider…Now Wondering, “Are there more?”
Black Widow, Brown Recluse, Daddy Long legs. Until Sunday, women knew of no other spiders. Until Sunday, women would see a spider, then say, “Is it a Black Widow?”
Or, “I think that’s a Brown Recluse…I read that leaving near-empty mayonnaise jars out will act like a trap, if you suspect you have them.”
Or, “Hey, look, a Daddy Long Legs. Did you know that Daddy Long Legs are the most deadly spider in the world? It’s true. They just don’t have big enough teeth to pierce our skin. Kill it anyway, will ya, hon?”
But this past Sunday, a spider had the nerve to bite a woman. The spider didn’t look anything like one of the three, so she did what any reasonable women would do and Google’d it. Using her phone to take a picture, she searched Google Images for the spider. Lo and behold, it was another species of spider altogether. All along she thought there were only three species of spiders.
Words cannot describe the joy she felt as she called her mom to share the news. Naturally, her mom didn’t believe her at first. But then her mom remembered that her father had always said there were more than three types of spiders when she told him what she thought she saw when she was growing up.
Alas, the elated feelings were fleeting as the mother daughter tandem soon realized they unknowingly opened the door to learning. “Are there more species we don’t know about?” they silently wondered to themselves.
What Was She Thinking?
Sitting across from her, he took took a breath as he finished talking. He could only wonder what she was thinking. Reminiscing, they discussed how they first met. He told her how nervous he was, how excited he was, and how all he wanted was to be able to know her thoughts. She smiled politely at this, and replied in kind.
Wrapping up the meal, they walked silently to the car. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.
He told her about his day, and she laughed at the funny parts. He told her how he learned a new joke, “How do you make an octopus laugh?…Give it ten tickles!” She laughed harder.
Arriving home, they began their separate nightly routines and he sat down to his computer. As he piddled around, he heard her turning pages, walking around, and turning on the tv. Her thoughts eluded him.
He’d had enough of the screen for one day, so he went to her. She was watching tv. Watching her, he lingered in the hall a little before entering the room. He asked himself, “I wonder what she’s thinking?”
The next morning as they ate breakfast they chatted about the headlines. He asked her how she expected her work to go, and she said, “Good.” She volleyed the question back, and he told her how he had a 10 o’clock meeting, followed by lunch with a friend. Continuing, he told her that his afternoon was booked with two more meetings, but he should be home at 5 o’clock because the last meeting won’t go long. She said, “That’s good. So will I. Chicken tonight?” He agreed. She had to get going, as hers was the longer commute. As she walked to the garage, he wondered what she was thinking.
Arriving at the office, he ran into Jeb, his co-worker. Scanning the room to be sure the wrong people weren’t around, Jeb whispered, “Hey man, you ever wonder what women are thinking?”
“Yup.”
Disappointment
When that Aprill with his shoures soote/The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,/And bathed every vyne in swich licour/Of which vertur engendred is the flour…*
“Okay, Chaucer, that’s enough Middle Earth or whatever for tonight,” he thought, exhaling.
Straining to lift the book, heavy reading seemingly adding to the already heavy weight, he placed it beside him on the couch. He closed his notebook, and placed it too beside him. In a move foreshadowing a time not yet, he pushed the couch with his hands to stand up and proceeded to the kitchen. Water cup in hand, he turned the faucet on, and confirmed a cool temperature with a rapid flick of his fingers. He nearly finished in one swig, but habit caused him to stop early and pour out the remainder. The slightest feeling of guilt pestered him as he wasted the water. “Whatever.”
As he walked back towards the couch, he eyed an open bag of tortilla chips. “Pretty sure I’m doing chips and salsa tonight,” he announced.
At first, head movement; pupils adjusting to reality next. Finally, his friend smiled.
“We finished off the salsa the other night. It’s all gone,” the friend disclosed.
“That’s fine, we still have the Pace in the fridge,” he said, knowing his friend would never stoop so low to eat, let alone serve others, bottom-shelf salsa.
Like Aesop’s cloak-removing sun, his friend’s smile only grew.
“You finished the Pace?” he asked in disbelief.
“Well, there was only so much good stuff left, so I just mixed it all together. I didn’t want to run out with people over,” informed the friend.
“Oh.”
*****
*Chaucer. The Canterbury Tales
How To Be Angry
(If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom for numbered instructions.)
“I’m not going to the dinner tonight!” he foamed.
“But you always go,” she responded.
“Right, but this one is about (insert hot button issue), and I’m not going to sit there and listen to those morons act like they know what they’re talking about!” he retorted furiously.
He knew he was right. He knew what he believed. And he knew they were wrong.
He could destroy their ideas with logic. He could destroy their ideas with evidence. He could destroy their ideas with history. Listen to them? Associate with them? How could he? He didn’t even understand how they could exist. How could he possibly be expected to keep his cool when they were so blatantly wrong? No, he’d made up his mind, he wasn’t going.
Waking up, he saw he had a few more morning emails than normal. Several of his friends wrote that they missed his presence at the dinner. One said they were all looking forward to a dissenting opinion, and without him it was a rather bland evening. Immediately, he felt a pang of regret. He didn’t expect anyone to even notice he wasn’t there, let alone miss him. Kicking himself for forgetting that people are not arguments, people are not ideas, and people are not principles, he stood up and laboriously began his morning. At 55, he thought he’d have learned his lesson by now. Oh well, lucky for him the memories of his friends always welcoming him back with open arms burst through the floodgates.
Instructions for How To Be Angry
Step 1 – Make a decision without all the information.
Step 2 – Cease contact with anyone who disagrees with you.
Lock ‘Em Up – The Other Option Is Too Frightening
Windowless, the classroom was in a little known corner of the university library. But that classroom was the place he first heard of the movement to abolish prisons. Yep, that’s a movement among some circles in this world. Just in passing, think how you felt as you read those words: abolish prison.
As if a starter’s gun, this concept set his mind racing. He began to develop perfect reasoning explaining why it would be a big mistake. First, it didn’t make sense logistically. Where would all the prisoners go? What would we do with the bad people? Then, the abstract problems began to attract his attention. He wondered what the point of prison actually was? Why were there prisons? To protect the un-imprisoned? To punish? To rehabilitate? All three? Were there other reasons? Were prisons an illusion of safety, or did they actually facilitate a more safe and civilized world?
Passing the start-finish line which signaled the end of lap one, his mind continued on. What was he to do with all that data that says American prisons are filled mostly with drug offenders? This mention of “drugs” acted like a shot of adrenaline. He couldn’t help but think about all the people he knew who had broken drug laws, yet never been caught.
As his mind rounded the turn marking the race’s midpoint, he lost focus and was unable to tell if it faltered or sped up. You see, he wouldn’t ever turn in a family member for a drug offense. He also wouldn’t enable a family member, that is to say he would cut off all contact with, and support of, any family member who he determined actually had a drug abuse problem. Acknowledging this act of cutting off led him to ask myself why? Why did he think that was the best solution? Was it simply out-of-sight-out-of-mind? And if so, is that what prison was? Was prison simply the macro-level version of what he would do on a personal level? Were all the relatives of the prison population happy they didn’t have to deal with their family member’s bullshit drama any more while simultaneously hoping they’ll get a clue and mature before they were released? In his mind, he would use ‘tough love’ on a relative, because he believed the individual must recognize he has a problem before any progress could be made. Integral to his theory working, of course, is that he’d help the minute he was asked. Having never been tested, he had his doubts as to his ability to actually follow through, though.
Finding his mind alone on the home stretch, he was unsure whether this was because it was in last place or first place. Himself selfish and vain beyond belief, he’d be the first to confess that he rarely admitted that he made mistakes. He wondered what it would take for him to admit he needed help. Certainly, he didn’t want any strangers to think he had flaws.
The race drawing to a close, he found his mind standing where the starting blocks were. The big question of the day was still unanswered. What would the world look like if we didn’t push our problems out of sight? Or as he was first asked in that industrial windowless classroom, what do you think the world would look like if we abolished prison?
Virtue’s Secret Hiding Place
Like the sun dimmed by an Iraqi dust storm, virtue was never difficult to see. He knew it existed even though he couldn’t always see it. Like that sun, for him, virtue drew his attention before he even knew why. And he desperately wanted to be counted among the virtuous men.
The trouble was that life kept taking up his time. When he was young, he knew he wanted to give 10% to the church. But if he gave 10%, he wouldn’t have enough money to live on. Later, he recognized he told little-white-lies too much, and vowed to stop. The next moment, he had to decide whether to tell his mom that he was watching a rated-R movie at his friend’s house. He decided to lie.
Later in life his struggle continued. Once he knew he was neglecting his friends and family by working so much, but he just had to put in a few more weeks of over-time to help finish the big office project. He knew he was a kind person at heart, but he never took the time to display that kindness to others. When he learned that love was an action word, he really believed he would start really showing the people he loved how much he loved them by his actions. He was going to spend more time with them; he was going to give them small gifts; he was going to listen better; he was going to pay them more compliments; he was going to give them more hugs. But then a new project started at work. And the church–that he still wasn’t tithing to–softball team had a big tournament this weekend, so he had to put loving off.
Forever frustrated, daily he noticed more and more men living more virtuously than he. Moreover, they seemed to do it effortlessly. He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny what he witnessed. These other men seemed to actually thrive on their actions. When they spoke honestly and from the heart, people listened and reciprocated. When they were with their friends and family, he could see a real joy existed in the interaction. When they spent a little extra time being kind to everyone they met throughout the day, the earnest thanks they received became the envy of his eye. Taking time to learn and speak the love languages of their loved ones, he noticed these men were no less productive at work; furthermore, rumors of their deeds preceded their presence everywhere.
Looking everyday until he died, he never did figure out where they found the time.
Memory’s Blessed Burden
Some pilots in Top Gun wore polo shirts under their flight suits. “Majesty” was number 33 in his 3rd grade Sunday school chorus book. MC Hammer appeared on Saturday Night Live on the opening weekend of The Addams Family movie. His dad put up a giant cardboard “Guess Who’s 30?” sign in the front yard on July 16, 1986. When playing catch with Jerry, it was easier to catch a raquet ball in the ol’ timey baseball mitt than a baseball. His 3rd grade friend slept during class in the Janet Jackson concert t-shirt he obtained at the concert the night before. Two loser sophomores attempted to intimidate him on the first day of highschool. His name was on the scoreboard at the Toledo Mud Hens game on his birthday. The vomit formed the shape of a baseball diamond in the corner of the stairwell at that same game. (Icks-nay on blue kool-aid.) Pastor Craig teared up at the end of some sermons. Jerry buried fool’s gold so that he could find treasure.
He could remember all these random things and more. Remembering so much was not without a burden. That burden was knowing where the gaps were. The burden was that he knew precisely what he could not remember.
Listening to the sermon, he was uncomfortable. Unable to ward off comparison and criticism, he longed for the memory of just a single sermon Pastor Craig gave. Was it the delivery? The rhythm? The message? He needed something to help him make sense of why today’s sermon sounded so backwards. Hmmmm…errrrrr. Nothing. Ugh!
Then a new thought occurred. Surrounding the gaps in his memory were Pastor Craig’s actions, which by definition were memorable. He remembered them to be authentic and full of integrity. He remembered feeling that the pastor loved him. What exactly did the pastor do to make him feel loved? The pastor aimed an intense focus on him. The kind of focus that is only made possible by living in the moment. Pastor Craig exemplified living in the moment.
At least, that’s how he remembered it.
Captain’s Log 