(Artwork Explained Below)It occurs to me now and then that not many men like women as much as I do. This isn't a thought that comes easily into my brain. I resist it for lots of reasons. First, there's nothing particularly special about me; I'm a normal, red-blooded American male (I think.)
I like sports, math, computers (sort of), cars (sort of)...okay, now I'm running out of ammunition in support of my argument. Maybe I should start over.
I am a man who likes sports a lot, math a little bit, and doesn't really care much about gadgets like cars, cameras, cell phones, iPods, computers or purchased possessions of any sort, to get right down to it.
I care a lot more about my collections -- seaglass, bottle caps, shells, foreign money, old US money, stamps, model cars, baseball cards, hockey cards, etc. The only other possessions that matter to me are certain books, letters, photographs, and artwork, mostly by my children.
There is a massive amount of my own writing (unpublished) that I don't know what to do with. I have an entire box full of journals, which would no doubt best be not viewed until after I am gone. There are numbers of boxes of my published articles from the pre-digital period (1966-1995) that are gradually turning yellow, brown, and flaking into dust.
There are also my books, in various languages, most of which I cannot read. My house is filled to the rafters with this stuff.
Where was I?
Oh yes, my masculine credentials. Seems like it is men, mostly, who collect junk like this, no?
What's in my mind, however, is the list of other things I enjoy: Gardening, cooking, taking care of people. I think the last one is what in the Valley we call the differentiator.
I have been accused of being generous -- with my time, my resources, and my spirit. But I think differently about this. What motivates me is empathy. When it is so easy for me to identify with another's feelings, why would I not try to do or say something to ease their discomfort?
Quite honestly, I am not at all impressed with my intelligence, my looks, my athleticism, my math ability, musical ability, creativity, writing and editing ability, leadership skills, or sense of humor. (Least of all, the last one, because we all know where that comes from.) But these are the things I've been rewarded for and complimented for all my life. To be straight, I can very easily name ten people I know who are much more impressive than I in all of these categories -- smarter, stronger, prettier, sexier, faster, much more creative and certainly funnier.
But the one strange quality I seem to have in excess is empathy. Maybe this is why the vast preponderance of my friends are, and always have been, women. This truly is my feminine side, and one that only gets stronger with age.
In Michigan, I could always tell that the real men eschewed me. There were family gatherings, for example, where the men went golfing and the women stayed at the lake. I stayed at the lake. This has been a common occurrence all my life. Ever since I was sent home as a failure at the age of 8 or 9 for failing to run down fly balls in the outfield! (If only they had known I was suffering from an undiagnosed case of Romantic Fever, they would never have bothered trying to make a baseball player out of me in the first place.)
When my ex-girlfriend broke up with me, and I tried to explain how difficult this would be for me, I pointed out that I have had and continue to have many, many more female friends than the extremely small number who have been my lovers. I tried to convince her that I am extremely picky in this regard. "You're not so picky with women," she replied, "that you haven't been able to find ones to spend most of your life with thus far. So cut yourself some slack, and see what happens."
I guess I'm still waiting to see what happens.
(The art at the top of this piece is based on a photo someone took of me with a girlfriend.)
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