And This? This Is More

I am told that all men are animals.
I was told this more than once.
All men are animals.
Each and every one of us.
And maybe this is true.
I was told “from 8 to 80, blind, crippled or crazy.
All men are animals”

I suppose there is enough data to support an argument like this. Or perhaps one could argue that there is enough data to say that calling all men animals might be an insult to animals.
This could be true too.
And yes, I have met the so-called two-legged animals before. I have met men who would otherwise be known as monsters. I have seen evil, up close and personal.
So, I suppose I had no argument when I was told about this comparison.

I was told in no unspoken terms that all men are animals.
But some men?
Well, some men just make better pets.

I can see that.

Then again, my Mother always told me that men are from Mars and  women are from Venus.
At the same time, I have never met anyone from Mars or Venus, and in the same regard; I do believe that regardless of gender, we all have our own special brand of “crazy.”

And here’s another thing.
I have been told that men are unemotional.
And maybe this seems true. But no.
I disagree.
It has been said to me that male ego is a dangerous thing, to which I agree.
Ego is a dangerous thing.
Mine has almost killed me, more than once.
My ego has caused more problems than anyone else in this world.
pride . . . it’s areal mother fucker.
I’m sure

It has been said to me that men are less emotional or too afraid to share or feel their feelings.
We are the so-called “hunter/gatherers” and supposedly the stronger of the species.

At the same time, I have met women in this world who are braver, tougher, and durably stronger than any man I have ever met in my life.

I know all about the fragile bullshit that comes with the male ego.
I know that my ego is riddled with fear.
I know that my ego is like a porcelain doll, trying too hard to hide its faults and cracks and trying to embellish its truth to hide my imperfections. My ego does this so that I will not seem weak, or worse, my ego is afraid that I will be seen as undesirable.

I have seen what happens when men go silent or deny themselves the right to open up or vent.
I have seen good men die young and bad men live on forever.
I have watched men lose their life to misperceptions or to their own hand, and this was all because they felt too much. And so, they died by their own self-fulfilled prophecies.

I am on the search for my own manhood.
And this is more than man’s sexual prowess.

I swore that a real man was tough and strong.
A real man has all the answers.
And if a man does not have the answers, he finds them out.
He adapts and improvises.

Real men are supposed to endure pain and they should be able to eat this like candy.
Real men are not supposed to flinch or succumb to fear.
In fact, there is no fear, and should the need come to fight back or to fight to the death, then a man should be able to do whatever it takes to survive and overtake his enemy by any means necessary.

I believed this for a very long time.
Do not flinch at the sight of blood.
Be comfortable with discomfort.
Endure.
Be relentless and be ruthless.
be whatever you have to be to make this world spin in your favor; and should the world spin in the opposite direction – to hell with everything.
Take the pain.
And shake it off!

Real men drink beer.
This was one of my first thoughts when I was very young
Real men eat food. They eat everything on their plate.
Real men never complain and they never explain.
They work hard.

And lo and behold; above all thing, real men don’t cry.
Right?

Wrong . . .

I have heard men as they wept and pleaded and begged for their “other half” to love them back.
I have wept at the sight of both sweet, good, bad, and horrible things.
Yet, there was a time in my life that I would never dare share anything like this.
I would never weep or be seen as weak (or vulnerable.)

I have watched men hold the body of their loved ones at the hour of their death.
I have seen grown men reduced to tears after losing everything.
And, too, I have seen men in the worst of places and somewhat resigned to the fact that this is their life, and yet, they wept.
They did not weep because of their outcomes or the aftermath.
No, they wept because they knew this was coming, all along.
They knew this was “on them”
And all they could do is take the fall and realize that “this is it”
What else is there to do, except fall and take the pain?

I have been asked the question, “has anyone ever died from a broken heart?”
And do you know who asks this question?
Men asked, that’s who..
Yes, men. Unemotional, guarded men.
Whether this was because they lost their lover, or their child, or if they lost the life they had and in the sadness of their life’s destruction, I have been asked, out loud, “has anyone ever died from a broken heart?

The answer is yes, by the way.
Absolutely, yes.
Countless people.
Countless times.
I could say that having a broken heart is a silent killer.
I know this because I have been dying alive for the last few years.

I could say that a broken heart can be the indirect assassin which kills us at our core; and so, we die alive and rot from the inside out, until we die for the last and final time

By the way, there is clinical proof that people have died from a broken heart.
I know this because I looked this up.

Therefore, as for being unemotional or too afraid to show emotion, no.
I disagree.
Real men do this.
All the time.

And as for the opinion that real men do not cry.
I disagree again.

I cry.
I cry all the time.
I have cried while living with pain. I have cried out of loneliness.
I have cried in defeat and yet; I have wept harder after some of my greatest victories.
I think these are my most interesting tears.
I have cried because the love of my life looked at me with the sweetest expression and yes, I know that perhaps I do not deserve her.
But for now, I do not have her –
So, maybe I got what I deserve.
Maybe I need to restructure myself and regain my composure.
Maybe I need to reprove myself again and see and show that I can be the man it takes to love correctly.

And here is something that I have to put on record –
I have met good men. Wait, no.
I have met great men.

I have met who go above and beyond the usual scope of manhood.

Yet these men will somehow go unnoticed or unmentioned.
And maybe men like this are not newsworthy to the rest of the world.
But they are certainly newsworthy to me.

I don’t know why this is.
I don’t know why real heroes go unrecognized.
But I am here to recognize a new hero of mine.

Like say, take this, for example:
I have seen people fall to their own life. I have watched good people lose to a belief that they are somehow unable or incapable of a better life.
I have seen the greatest people on Earth and all the while, they were unaware of their greatness.

I am not as good as these men.
I might not make the best pet either.
I know who I am.
I know me personally.
And that’s why I call me, “me!”

I think about the friend I know who takes care of his girlfriend.
I think about how he helps her without complaints.
I think about his social kindness and his quiet manner.
I think about my complaints and how trivial and small they are in comparison to someone else’s.
Perhaps I should be grateful.
Perhaps I should shut my mouth for a while.
Perhaps . . .

Then again, this is why I am alone. This is the direction life takes when we forget to see the world around us. Selfish, self-centeredness is a cancer among all flaws.
I know this.
we often fail to take note that hey, maybe we are not the only ones in pain.
I see how my friend is with the love of his life.
He never complains
He never explains.
He just goes and does.
No excuses.
Only, my friend Leo is not an animal.
No, Leo is a man.
And one of the best men at that.

Leo is a good man.
Leo is far better than I am.
I know this. Although, he makes a face when I tell him things like this.
I am aware of me.
I am aware of my faults and flaws and my sins, which have compiled to a dangerous level.

Perhaps this is why I have chosen to put an arm around Leo.
I want to see my friend Leo surpass himself.
I know I want him to surpass me.
I want to help Leo in any way that I can—and the reason being is that although younger, Leo is more grown, stronger, and more of a man than most people I know.
Yet, Leo has no idea how brilliant or incredible he is.
So I remind him because I refuse to allow him to waste his talents and beauty (like I did!)

Son, just so you know this –
I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son.
I promise you this
and this is why I tell you every day
“I adopted you” and come hell or high water, I will make sure you that you have the life you deserve.

I often think about Mark Twain’s quote.
Man is the only animal that blushes.
Or needs to.

I blush.
I need to.
I know about shame.
I know about waste.
I know about lies and the lack of personal responsibility.

I know about the brat-attacks that come and no, this is far from my definition of what it takes to be a man . . .
But a real man knows when he is wrong.
And I was wrong.
A real man admits when he is wrong.
A real man cries
Real men express emotion.
Real men have broken hearts.

And my friend, Leo. . .
He knows this too.

I suppose I write this as a statement of admiration for my young friend and unofficially adopted son.
Maybe this is why I put my arm around him, to tell him that I think he’s doing good things, and to say that he’s okay, and that although I might have different experiences, I want him to know that I admire him.

Well done, Leo.
And thanks for letting this old man see a better life through your eyes.

You are appreciated and loved and above any other emotion –

I am proud of you
my son!