Some have died. Too many. A High School Friend, knocked back by alcohol, claimed by Covid, I hadn’t seen in decades. No funeral due to the pandemic. We knew each other in high school but I ran with a different crowd, I thought I was all that, you know, how at 17 you can think you’re all that without knowing what that is and what you may become. A few years later, we partied together, were roommates at the beat-up house at the end of the street on the way to Newnan’s Lake in Gainesville. He had a car, shuttled the lot of us to Daytona to be with family and other old friends. On one summer trip the afternoon skies opened up as it does in Florida. We rounded a corner, the sheets of rain easing up, and came upon a rollover. Pickup lost control on rain-slick country road. Little metal cylinders rolled around the soggy pavement and two guys too young to drink legally scrambled to pick them up. One guy motioned for us to come over and said “take as many beers as you want” and we realized that dozen of cans of PBR were on the tarmac. “Take them – cops are coming!” He shoved an armful at me. I stared, and then heard the sirens. “Hurry!!” My Housemate and I shuttled back and forth to his car and we had quite a stash by the time the Sheriff arrived. We were asked if we were witnesses and we said no sir no sir we just happened by afterwards and wanted to help but we’ll be on our way now sir. And we were. Partied all weekend at the beach. My Roomie more than most but thought that was just the way he was so the days and weeks and years went on and I realized that My Friend would never let go of those PBRs and Jack and shrooms and whatever other mind-altering substance came his way. I went West with the woman who became my wife and there was a 25-year reunion at a beach hotel and I was with wife and two kids and My Old Roomie was sober, with a woman friend he had met at AA. Later, he was homeless, or so I heard. I didn’t check to see if that was true. I had my own problems – that’s what I told myself. His sister texted me to say My Classmate had died of Covid, had been sick at home for too long and it was too late by the time he was carted off to the hospital and died. No funeral due to Covid and now it’s been several years and his face swims into view when we talk about school chums, where are they now and so on. My wife and I have now returned to that beach town where we met and memories swirl around like skeeters on a July night. I can tell you one thing that is true: There was a time during my brief span on Earth when this man and I were friends. On this lonely planet, for a brief time, we were friends. That will have to do.
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Monday, December 02, 2024
Friday, February 03, 2023
I discover Donald Westlake's novels and reminisce about John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee
I found Donald Westlake's Dortmunder books and they are fantastic. Always a caper going on. Always sharp dialogue and lots of humor. Westlake passed away in 2008 but I can see he's in the same school as Carl Hiaasen, Elmore Leonard, Janet Evanovich and Jerome Charyn. Maybe a dash of Don DeLillo too. So far I've read two of the volumes, "The Road to Ruin" and the first Dortmunder novel, "The Hot Rock." It was published in 1970. I didn't look that up until I finished but there were clues placed throughout. The cars they drive, the characters' language, ubiquitous phone booths, no personal computers. Its throwback quality didn't bother me. He had a skillful way of incorporating all of that into the narrative.
What other crime-adjacent novels of that era would show such wit? I thought of John D. MacDonald, for instance, and his Travis McGee character. McGee probably had too much machismo for these times. He could be funny and ironic. He called himself a "salvage consultant" and lived on his "Busted Flush" houseboat docked at the Bahia Mar Marina. McGee's erstwhile sidekick is Meyer, an economist always ready for a McGee caper. He dwells on a neighboring boat named for his hero, John Maynard Keynes.
I worked at a Florida bookstore in the '70s and I brought MacDonald's novels to my mother Anna Shay (R.I.P Mom) and she devoured them. Me too. Travis and his Busted Flush houseboat. I could always see McGee's houseboat through MacDonald's imagination. Back in the '80s, my brother Dan and I visited Bahia Mar and stopped at Slip F-18. We thought about the McGee we knew from the books. Slip F-18 was declared a literary landmark in 1987, a year after the author's death.
I did my usual Google search for Travis McGee and came up with an article by Kris Hundley on the Visit Florida site (couldn't find a pub date). The second paragraph about the Bahia Mar Marina set the tone for the story:
There's little room left for a boat bum like Travis McGee.
She described present-day Bahia Mar in gritty detail.
Bahia Mar touts its ability to accommodate yachts up to 300 feet, even squeezing in a 312-footer recently for a month-long stay. The marina's 3,000-foot dock along the Intracoastal sports one mega-yacht after another. flawlessly polished hulls gleaming, white communications domes looming 50-feet overhead, docked so closely together that the uber-rich could step from one vessel to another without ever touching the ground. Not an inch of precious real estate is wasted.
Bahia Mar must have considered the literary landmark plaque dedicated to MacDonald as "wasted space." It now sits in the marina's office. Hundley wraps up the piece this way:
A boat bum might seem forgotten among such glitz. But inside the marina office, the woman behind the desk said that not a week goes by that someone doesn't wander in, looking for the slip once occupied by Travis McGee. She is not sure what the fuss is about: she's never read the books.
Made me want to bang my head against the desk. MacDonald and McGee would have had a few things to say about the wretched excess of 21st century Florida. As a self-described "salvage consultant," McGee usually was coming to the aid of a trusting soul who had been ripped by someone who would own a 312-foot mega-yacht. His price was always half of the recovered loot. When the client objected, his usual response was "half of something is better that nothing." MacDonald also wrote the best-selling "Condominium" which tore into the thoughtless development going on in coastal Florida which has not abated in the 46 years since the novel's original publication.
During his lifetime, MacDonald got great reviews from the likes of Hiaasen and Kurt Vonnegut. Here's what Vonnegut said about MacDonald's work:
“To diggers a thousand years from now, the works of John D. MacDonald would be a treasure on the order of the tomb of Tutankhamen."
I feel a need to reread Travis McGee, see how he holds up in these fast-moving and confusing times.
Mike Miller posted an updated article on Travis McGee on Jan. 28. It was on the Florida Back Roads Travel site. In it, he writes about how he first came upon MacDonald's character when his father visited him in Florida in 1964 and gave him a copy of "The Deep Blue Good-by." His father was reading the latest novel, "Nightmare in Pink." Miller read "Deep Blue" and was hooked. He's read the entire series, some of them twice, and is a devoted fan. Read Miller's essay to understand what makes McGee tick, and why his books are still in print.
My mother died too young in 1986, a McGee fan to the end. Mike Miller's father died in a St. Cloud, Fla., nursing home in 1986, the same year MacDonald died. Miller Senior's dying message to his son was "Nightmare in Pink."
Now that's a fan.
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Partners in protest -- male writers support Wyoming Women's March organizers
 |
| My wife, Chris Shay, shows off her Women's March T-shirt. |
Both columns are excellent and I encourage you to read them. Go here:
Cowgirl up: It's time for a broader perspective in politics, by Kerry Drake, Wyofile
Time to go to the streets, by Rodger McDaniel, Blowing in the Wyoming Wind blog
Both columnists invite their readers to attend the Wyoming Women's March in Cheyenne on Jan. 20. I did the same thing in blog posts here and here. We are the men behind the women who are organizing this event. Partners in protest.
A crew of women is organizing the Cheyenne march. I won't name them here because I might forget a crucial member. It takes a lot of work to stage a protest. Permits, security, speakers, equipment, food. The committee has been meeting weekly and this Sunday is our final tune-up before next weekend's march. If you're interested, the committee meets at 1 p.m. on Jan. 14, at 1 p.m., in the Laramie County Public Library's first-floor Willow Room.
Thus far, I can tell you these details. Marchers will assemble at 10 a.m. on the Depot Plaza downtown. Then we -- and our creative signs -- march to the deconstructed Capitol and march back again. Speakers will speak. We then convene for food inside the Depot. The event should wrap up by 1 p.m.
The theme for the march is Women's March Wyoming -- Hear Our Vote! It encourages women to register to vote, vote, and run for office. Why is this important? Trumpist Republican men from mostly rural areas of the state are making laws for all of us. Women are not in the legislature. Women are usually not heard in committee meetings. That leads to the absurdity of the Agriculture Committee holding hearings on two restrictive abortion laws. Drake writes about this in his Wyofile column. We all should be asking why. And then we should go out and vote for those who would better represent our needs for the 21st century.
See you at the Depot on Jan. 20.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Marine with PTSD who helped others commits suicide
This is the saddest thing I've seen in a long time (try to ignore the annoying lead-in ad). PTSD is real, people.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Role-switching and the ADHD family
I can’t help noticing that Frank S. and I are the only members of the male gender posting on the easy to love but hard to raise blog. That’s cool – and not entirely unexpected.
I’m the writer in our family. My wife Chris has ADHD and learning disabilities. Oddly enough, she’s had the jobs that require the most organizational skills. Banking, for one. Supervisor at the local YMCA for another. When I come into the YMCA to exercise or to pick her up for lunch, it seems as if all 8,000 members are there at once. Chris is flitting around the place, attending to member and staff needs. I stand there, amazed, wanting to flee the chaos to the quiet safety of my car. How does she do it? Her ADHD helps her multi-task, yet it also contributes to flittering. I’m standing still, sometimes because I’m depressed and other times because I’m thinking up clever blog posts like this one.
We complement one another.
We’re also a bit of an anomaly. As we’ve seen on this blog, it’s usually the adult male in the relationship who has ADHD. Most diagnoses of childhood ADHD are in boys. Hyper-boys grow up, meet lovely and competent women, sweep them off their feet and into marriage.
My friend L is married to H. H is a psychologist and L has all the traits of an ADHD boy grown into a hyper-adult. He’s a Brainiac but never quite reached his full potential. Wherever he goes, he leaves a trail of chaos in his wake. When all of us lived in Maryland, L said he was coming over the make me a gourmet birthday dinner. He’s a good cook and it gave all of us a chance to hang out.
Later that evening, Chris and I surveyed the kitchen. Every pot and pan in the kitchen was dirty. Red sauce stains were on the walls on the floor. Empty spice containers littered the counter like empty beer cans after a frat party. The stove was still on and cabinet doors remained flung open.
“The meal was good,” I replied, surveying the damage.
“Never again,” said Chris.
After that, we ate out with L and H.
We also were in an Adult ADHD Support Group. The men and one woman (Chris) was in the support group while the women (and one guy – me) shared our horror stories. He never graduated from college. He forgets to pick up the kids from school. Can’t keep a job. He leaves a terrible mess when he cooks dinner. And so on.
This was 1995. The Maryland suburbs that ring D.C. are made up of some of the best-educated people in the U.S. Liberals, mainly, just like me, an out-of-place Westerner. The women were strong and had careers in business or medicine or government.
But even in the closing decade of the 20th century, three decades into the women’s movement, the men were still considered primary breadwinners. So when they have ADHD, they not only struggle with inattention and hyperactivity, they also are underachievers in an overachieving world. And it’s not just their spouses who notice. One of the first questions asked in D.C. is about your work. My buddy L worked at home as a freelancer. Later, he was also a stay-at-home dad. I saw the strange looks that other men gave him. I guessed their thoughts: you’re not even a lobbyist? Remember that this is a place where you can get into policy wonk discussions at any time and any place.
One fine spring day during a clean-up hike of the Potomac with the Cub Scouts, one of the other dads found out that I worked at the National Endowment for the Arts. He was a conservative think-tank lobbyist and proceeded to tell me all the reasons the arts shouldn’t be government funded. Another adult leader chimed in that the arts were crucial and deserved even more federal funding. We were engaged in a lively debate when one of the Scouts came up and told us to get back to work. We looked at each other sheepishly and then returned to the task of picking up Snickers wrappers from the historic trails along the Potomac.
When I first met Chris 33 years ago, I was drawn like a hummingbird to her beauty and her vivacious nature. She was the lively one; I was the laid-back one. Later, she uncovered her learning disabilities and ADHD. I uncovered deep wells of depression. We discovered them, I should say. Some of it came about after the birth and toddlerhood of our son Kevin revealed his ADHD. It took us decades to unwrap all of these secrets. We didn’t do it alone – and it’s an ongoing process.
Cross-posted to easy to love but hard to raise.
I’m the writer in our family. My wife Chris has ADHD and learning disabilities. Oddly enough, she’s had the jobs that require the most organizational skills. Banking, for one. Supervisor at the local YMCA for another. When I come into the YMCA to exercise or to pick her up for lunch, it seems as if all 8,000 members are there at once. Chris is flitting around the place, attending to member and staff needs. I stand there, amazed, wanting to flee the chaos to the quiet safety of my car. How does she do it? Her ADHD helps her multi-task, yet it also contributes to flittering. I’m standing still, sometimes because I’m depressed and other times because I’m thinking up clever blog posts like this one.
We complement one another.
We’re also a bit of an anomaly. As we’ve seen on this blog, it’s usually the adult male in the relationship who has ADHD. Most diagnoses of childhood ADHD are in boys. Hyper-boys grow up, meet lovely and competent women, sweep them off their feet and into marriage.
My friend L is married to H. H is a psychologist and L has all the traits of an ADHD boy grown into a hyper-adult. He’s a Brainiac but never quite reached his full potential. Wherever he goes, he leaves a trail of chaos in his wake. When all of us lived in Maryland, L said he was coming over the make me a gourmet birthday dinner. He’s a good cook and it gave all of us a chance to hang out.
Later that evening, Chris and I surveyed the kitchen. Every pot and pan in the kitchen was dirty. Red sauce stains were on the walls on the floor. Empty spice containers littered the counter like empty beer cans after a frat party. The stove was still on and cabinet doors remained flung open.
“The meal was good,” I replied, surveying the damage.
“Never again,” said Chris.
After that, we ate out with L and H.
We also were in an Adult ADHD Support Group. The men and one woman (Chris) was in the support group while the women (and one guy – me) shared our horror stories. He never graduated from college. He forgets to pick up the kids from school. Can’t keep a job. He leaves a terrible mess when he cooks dinner. And so on.
This was 1995. The Maryland suburbs that ring D.C. are made up of some of the best-educated people in the U.S. Liberals, mainly, just like me, an out-of-place Westerner. The women were strong and had careers in business or medicine or government.
But even in the closing decade of the 20th century, three decades into the women’s movement, the men were still considered primary breadwinners. So when they have ADHD, they not only struggle with inattention and hyperactivity, they also are underachievers in an overachieving world. And it’s not just their spouses who notice. One of the first questions asked in D.C. is about your work. My buddy L worked at home as a freelancer. Later, he was also a stay-at-home dad. I saw the strange looks that other men gave him. I guessed their thoughts: you’re not even a lobbyist? Remember that this is a place where you can get into policy wonk discussions at any time and any place.
One fine spring day during a clean-up hike of the Potomac with the Cub Scouts, one of the other dads found out that I worked at the National Endowment for the Arts. He was a conservative think-tank lobbyist and proceeded to tell me all the reasons the arts shouldn’t be government funded. Another adult leader chimed in that the arts were crucial and deserved even more federal funding. We were engaged in a lively debate when one of the Scouts came up and told us to get back to work. We looked at each other sheepishly and then returned to the task of picking up Snickers wrappers from the historic trails along the Potomac.
When I first met Chris 33 years ago, I was drawn like a hummingbird to her beauty and her vivacious nature. She was the lively one; I was the laid-back one. Later, she uncovered her learning disabilities and ADHD. I uncovered deep wells of depression. We discovered them, I should say. Some of it came about after the birth and toddlerhood of our son Kevin revealed his ADHD. It took us decades to unwrap all of these secrets. We didn’t do it alone – and it’s an ongoing process.
Cross-posted to easy to love but hard to raise.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
In memoriam: My younger brother, Pat
Obituary for my younger brother, Patrick Kevin Shay...
Patrick Kevin Shay passed away Dec. 8 at Palm Bay (Fla.) Hospital. He was 54.
Pat was born in Denver, Colo., on Nov. 18, 1956. After his family moved to Daytona Beach in 1964, he attended our Lady of Lourdes Elementary School and graduated in 1974 from Seabreeze High School.
He served in the U.S. Air Force from 1977-81, stationed overseas for two years in the Republic of South Korea. He was an avionics senior system specialist.
He married the former Jean Weikel on May 1, 1982, in Daytona Beach. They moved to Palm Bay and he joined the Harris Corp. as an engineering specialist, and worked there for more than 25 years.
Pat was a dedicated husband, father and softball coach. He coached for 15 years in the Palm Bay Little League, winning county championships and traveling to tournaments all over Florida. He never missed a single game or school function.
He is survived by his wife, Jean, his three daughters -- Katie, Palm Bay (Jeremy), Maggie, Davenport, and Erin, Palm Bay; one granddaughter -- Riley Ames of Palm Bay. He is also survived by eight siblings -- Michael Shay, Cheyenne, Wyo. (Chris); Dan Shay, Ormond Beach, (Nancy); Molly Shakar, Tallahassee (Jaime); Eileen Casey, Winter Park (Brian); Tommy Shay, Palm Bay; Tim Shay, Daytona Beach (Jen); Maureen Martinez, Tallahassee (Ralph); and Mary Powell, Tallahassee (Neill); and numerous nieces and nephews. He leaves behind a multitude of friends.
He was preceded in death by his parents, Tom and Anna Shay, Daytona Beach.
A celebration of life will be held at 2 p.m. on Monday, Dec. 13, at Fred Lee Park in Palm Bay. Family invites you to a reception at the Shay home immediately following the ceremony. You are encouraged to wear orange and blue, the colors of Pat's favorite sports team, the Florida Gators.
I lieu of flowers, plant a tree in Pat's honor or contribute to the Arbor Day Foundation.
This is the obit I wrote for official announcements. The personal remembrance will come later.
Patrick Kevin Shay passed away Dec. 8 at Palm Bay (Fla.) Hospital. He was 54.
Pat was born in Denver, Colo., on Nov. 18, 1956. After his family moved to Daytona Beach in 1964, he attended our Lady of Lourdes Elementary School and graduated in 1974 from Seabreeze High School.
He served in the U.S. Air Force from 1977-81, stationed overseas for two years in the Republic of South Korea. He was an avionics senior system specialist.
He married the former Jean Weikel on May 1, 1982, in Daytona Beach. They moved to Palm Bay and he joined the Harris Corp. as an engineering specialist, and worked there for more than 25 years.
Pat was a dedicated husband, father and softball coach. He coached for 15 years in the Palm Bay Little League, winning county championships and traveling to tournaments all over Florida. He never missed a single game or school function.
He is survived by his wife, Jean, his three daughters -- Katie, Palm Bay (Jeremy), Maggie, Davenport, and Erin, Palm Bay; one granddaughter -- Riley Ames of Palm Bay. He is also survived by eight siblings -- Michael Shay, Cheyenne, Wyo. (Chris); Dan Shay, Ormond Beach, (Nancy); Molly Shakar, Tallahassee (Jaime); Eileen Casey, Winter Park (Brian); Tommy Shay, Palm Bay; Tim Shay, Daytona Beach (Jen); Maureen Martinez, Tallahassee (Ralph); and Mary Powell, Tallahassee (Neill); and numerous nieces and nephews. He leaves behind a multitude of friends.
He was preceded in death by his parents, Tom and Anna Shay, Daytona Beach.
A celebration of life will be held at 2 p.m. on Monday, Dec. 13, at Fred Lee Park in Palm Bay. Family invites you to a reception at the Shay home immediately following the ceremony. You are encouraged to wear orange and blue, the colors of Pat's favorite sports team, the Florida Gators.
I lieu of flowers, plant a tree in Pat's honor or contribute to the Arbor Day Foundation.
This is the obit I wrote for official announcements. The personal remembrance will come later.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Herschel Walker speaks out for mental health
I came across this info while perusing the web. It encourages me that a "football legend" such as Herschel Walker would come out of the closet, mental health-wise. Brave man.
Here's the info:
FMI: http://www.ubhdenton.com/HerschelWalker.html
Here's the info:
It takes courage to seek help.
Former Dallas Cowboy and NFL football legend Herschel Walker had a stunning football career. However, unbeknown to many he battled with dissociative identity disorder and suffered a severe mental health crisis.
Herschel’s struggle with mental illness is quite common. According to the National Institute of Mental Health one in four adults, some 57.7 million Americans, experience a mental health disorder in a given year.
In partnership with Walker, UBH has instituted a special initiative to raise awareness of mental health disorders and to erase the stigmas attached to them that keep people from seeking help. As part of the effort, UBH offers a specialized Breaking Free treatment program for adults who face multiple mental health disorders.
If you or someone you know and love needs help, call the UBH Care Center at 888-320-8101 today. It takes courage to seek help.
FMI: http://www.ubhdenton.com/HerschelWalker.html
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Cheyenne Zonta Club announces "16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence"
Mona Pearl at the Zonta Club of Cheyenne sent out this announcement today:
Nobody would be surprised to hear that violence against women is a problem in Wyoming. In a Sept. 23 article in the Wyoming Tribune-Eagle,
In the article, the Violence Policy Center in D.C. ranked Wyoming third in the number of domestic violence murders. Wyoming usually places in the top ten in this category.
Not a pretty picture.
But it's not only murder. Most cases of violence against women end up in broken broken bones and broken homes. A woman and her children fleeing to a battered women's shelter. Traumatized kids, and the possibility that they may repeat the behavior as adults -- as either batterer or victim.
Take some time to go see the "Silent Witness" display when it opens Nov. 30 at the library.
If you still need to be pursuaded that gender violence is a problem, go to the Wyoming Coalition Against Domestic Violence web site at http://www.wyomingdvsa.org/domestic/facts.htm
And if you're curious about how this subject fits into the current health care debate, go to my Sept. 15 post at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2009/09/sen-enzi-please-explain-why-getting.html
The Zonta Club of Cheyenne is again participating in 16 Days of Activism Against Gender Violence. The campaign formally kicks off on Nov. 25. Proclamation signings by Governor Dave Freudenthal and Cheyenne Mayor Rick Kaysen will take place on Nov. 20 and Nov. 18, respectively. The Wyoming Division of Victim Services' “Silent Witness” display in the Laramie County Public Library will open on Nov. 30.
The Cheyenne Zonta Club has invited other organizations to join the campaign, including Safehouse, Cheyenne Community Clinic, United Way of Laramie County Women’s Leadership Council and Prevent Child Abuse-Wyoming.
Since 1991, the 16 Days Campaign has helped to raise awareness about gender violence and has highlighted its effects on women globally. Each year, thousands of activists from all over the world utilize the campaign to further their work to end violence against women. The campaign has celebrated victories gained by women’s rights movements, it has challenged policies and practices that allow women to be targeted for acts of violence, it has called for the protection of people who defend women’s human rights and it has demanded accountability from states, including a commitment to recognize and act upon all forms of violence against women as human rights abuses.
Contact Mona Pearl at 307-772-9001; 307-421-3788; pearl@wslc.com
Nobody would be surprised to hear that violence against women is a problem in Wyoming. In a Sept. 23 article in the Wyoming Tribune-Eagle,
Cary Heck, a professor of criminal justice at the University of Wyoming, believes domestic violence is a problem in the state. “I think that is linked a little to socio-economic status, and we sort of have a frontier mentality,” he said. “Wyoming is a drinking state -- and I think those things are linked.”
The professor said domestic violence is hard to prevent from a public policy perspective and that past domestic violence can be linked with future domestic violence. “Generally it’s an explosion that occurs,” he said. “It’s hard to make public policy that will keep those explosions from happening because they’re really not rational events.”
Eileen Gavagan, victim/witness coordinator for the Laramie County District Attorney’s Office, said the state needs tougher domestic violence laws, more counseling for offenders and education for family members.
In the article, the Violence Policy Center in D.C. ranked Wyoming third in the number of domestic violence murders. Wyoming usually places in the top ten in this category.
Not a pretty picture.
But it's not only murder. Most cases of violence against women end up in broken broken bones and broken homes. A woman and her children fleeing to a battered women's shelter. Traumatized kids, and the possibility that they may repeat the behavior as adults -- as either batterer or victim.
Take some time to go see the "Silent Witness" display when it opens Nov. 30 at the library.
If you still need to be pursuaded that gender violence is a problem, go to the Wyoming Coalition Against Domestic Violence web site at http://www.wyomingdvsa.org/domestic/facts.htm
And if you're curious about how this subject fits into the current health care debate, go to my Sept. 15 post at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2009/09/sen-enzi-please-explain-why-getting.html
Saturday, June 14, 2008
On Father's Day, be a mensch
"What separates the men from the boys....is the size of their toys."
You’ve seen that phrase on the bumpers of king-cab pickups, or maybe on fancy boats plying the waters at the reservoir. Maybe you heard it on a Father’s Day commercial urging you to buy something big for that big boy in your life. A mega gas grill or riding mower or tool set.
But maybe we should work on a new slogan. "What separates the men from the boys...is the size of their consciences."
Doesn’t rhyme, I know, but I couldn’t think of a good one to get my point across. Which is: a man is supposed to have a mature conscience, while boys can be forgiven for immature thoughts and actions. A teenager, for instance, might wield his sexuality in a reckless way. It may lead to unwanted consequences, such as the pregnancy of his partner. A man, on the other hand, has the ability to use discretion when it comes to sex. Don’t laugh – the opposite is just as possible. But a man can think through the rush of testosterone to its inevitability. Gee, maybe I should ask her if she’s on the pill or has had any STDs or maybe I should check out the condom aisle at Walgreen’s before doing this. Consequences!
But if we’re all just overgrown boys, then what’s the point? We’re only fit for playing with toys, whether young or old or in-between. That’s all we see on TV commercials. Poor saps can’t be counted on to take care of the kids or figure out the new cellphone or shop for groceries.
But I propose that the measure of a man is not in his pants or in the garage. It’s in his heart and mind. We’re part of the animal kingdom, that’s true, but we also possess higher brain functions that determine behavior. We can judge the ethical and moral implications of a situation and can act accordingly.
This also makes us political animals, too. We should be able to tell when another human being is lying to us. We should be able to tell when condescension raises its ugly head. We should be able to determine when a politician is up to no good with his/her policies, foreign and domestic.
So, you’re immature if you say "I can’t believe George W. Bush lied to us about Iraq." You’re a boy if you back Bush on his Iraq policies because he's our elder statesman and it's wrong to question your elders in time of war. The facts are out there. By ignoring the facts about life in the adult world of politics, you’re not a man but a boy. You're unable to look beyond the wants of the present to the possibilities of the future. You're a boy.
American conservatives seem to be stuck in an eternal boyhood. Gimme our tax breaks now! Gimme our guns now! Gimme answers now! Gimme our SUVs now! Gimme cheap gas now! Why do they (the terrorists) hate us? Why can't those Liberals quit whining and let us get on with mindless consumption?
Liberals (especially Baby Boomers) are not blameless. They too have been caught in a twilight world of adolescence. We love to bitch and moan and say we're going to change the world. But if it doesn't work out our way immediately, we take roll up our protest banners and go home -- or to law school. The inability to see things through is also a sign of immaturity. Another reason we are in this current mess.
Men, be a mensch, as they say in Yiddish. Or work to become one. Here's how columnist Paul Krugman put it in the New York Times:
You’ve seen that phrase on the bumpers of king-cab pickups, or maybe on fancy boats plying the waters at the reservoir. Maybe you heard it on a Father’s Day commercial urging you to buy something big for that big boy in your life. A mega gas grill or riding mower or tool set.
But maybe we should work on a new slogan. "What separates the men from the boys...is the size of their consciences."
Doesn’t rhyme, I know, but I couldn’t think of a good one to get my point across. Which is: a man is supposed to have a mature conscience, while boys can be forgiven for immature thoughts and actions. A teenager, for instance, might wield his sexuality in a reckless way. It may lead to unwanted consequences, such as the pregnancy of his partner. A man, on the other hand, has the ability to use discretion when it comes to sex. Don’t laugh – the opposite is just as possible. But a man can think through the rush of testosterone to its inevitability. Gee, maybe I should ask her if she’s on the pill or has had any STDs or maybe I should check out the condom aisle at Walgreen’s before doing this. Consequences!
But if we’re all just overgrown boys, then what’s the point? We’re only fit for playing with toys, whether young or old or in-between. That’s all we see on TV commercials. Poor saps can’t be counted on to take care of the kids or figure out the new cellphone or shop for groceries.
But I propose that the measure of a man is not in his pants or in the garage. It’s in his heart and mind. We’re part of the animal kingdom, that’s true, but we also possess higher brain functions that determine behavior. We can judge the ethical and moral implications of a situation and can act accordingly.
This also makes us political animals, too. We should be able to tell when another human being is lying to us. We should be able to tell when condescension raises its ugly head. We should be able to determine when a politician is up to no good with his/her policies, foreign and domestic.
So, you’re immature if you say "I can’t believe George W. Bush lied to us about Iraq." You’re a boy if you back Bush on his Iraq policies because he's our elder statesman and it's wrong to question your elders in time of war. The facts are out there. By ignoring the facts about life in the adult world of politics, you’re not a man but a boy. You're unable to look beyond the wants of the present to the possibilities of the future. You're a boy.
American conservatives seem to be stuck in an eternal boyhood. Gimme our tax breaks now! Gimme our guns now! Gimme answers now! Gimme our SUVs now! Gimme cheap gas now! Why do they (the terrorists) hate us? Why can't those Liberals quit whining and let us get on with mindless consumption?
Liberals (especially Baby Boomers) are not blameless. They too have been caught in a twilight world of adolescence. We love to bitch and moan and say we're going to change the world. But if it doesn't work out our way immediately, we take roll up our protest banners and go home -- or to law school. The inability to see things through is also a sign of immaturity. Another reason we are in this current mess.
Men, be a mensch, as they say in Yiddish. Or work to become one. Here's how columnist Paul Krugman put it in the New York Times:
'Be a mensch,' my parents told me. Literally, a mensch is a person. But by implication, a mensch is an upstanding person who takes responsibility for his actions.
The people now running America aren't mensches.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)