Bea V. Larsen . . . .Commentaries |
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Bea V. Larsen is a Senior Mediator at the Center for Resolution of Disputes in |
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Men Friends This entry was posted on 11/29/2008 6:40 AM and is filed under Personally Speaking. It is the week of Thanksgiving. Friendships are my mainstay, and living alone now, after a lifetime of intimacy with a partner, heightens my gratitude for close connections with others. Missing Len’s presence as holidays past are remembered, brings to mind his good fortune, especially his men friends, although there were times I secretly denigrated his friendships as somehow less significant than mine, with women. My close friends have always been confidantes. His were companions, with whom he joyously went fishing, flying, and exploring the wilderness. Upon his return, if I quizzed him about conversations they’d had or intimacies shared, his answers were brief, relating stories told of other adventures, but little I deemed of substance. Nothing of their marriages, troubled relationships with grown children, problems at work, the essence of my exchanges with women friends, offering support, seeking insights. Men just talk less to each other. Everyone accepts this reality. Most don’t share feelings with other men, beyond elation or frustration at a good or bad catch. Women smile knowingly, sometimes smugly, and express regret about valued experiences men are missing. Reasons abound. Raised and nurtured primarily by women, that is our model for intimacy. Men are more competitive, and from boyhood encouraged to be tough, strong. Genetic, hormonal, cultural, likely all three are causes. If there is something to be gained in a competitive environment, power or money, weaknesses are not revealed. No basis for trust if you won’t show me yours. I know I over-generalize, and some older and many younger men may not fit this paradigm today. At least I hope they do not (and I plan to query my sons about this when they visit). But are most men still missing out on the richness that self disclosure affords, something for which they rely on their attachments to women? It would seem so. Then why, despite male emotional reserve was Len so fortunate? For four years, he kept his Parkinson’s at bay, not allowing it to impact his life in very significant ways, but in his final year, he had to succumb to the use of a walker and eventually a wheel chair. This meant giving up his treasured pilot’s license, and then his driver’s license as well. Vulnerability previously hidden could no longer be denied. His passion for flying and fishing was defeated, beyond reach. But two of his friends did not let this happen. Alan Wolfson, the man who bought his small plane, called often and suggested Len meet him at the airport and come along on a flight. It was no mean task to hoist his non-responsive legs into the passenger seat where dual controls allowed him to actually co-pilot on their journey. Long-time devoted fishing friend, Jim Hoffmeister, remained a constant presence in Len’s life, coming often to pick him up, wheel him to his van and drive off for an adventure. Usually they returned by nightfall, but just months before Len died, Jim became his caretaker as well as companion on a trip north to a frozen lake where they fished through the ice for days on end. Using female standards to appraise male friendships may miss the mark. Do they become known to each other by their shared experiences, so build trust and caring? Len’s friends may have known little of sharing intimacies with words, but of love they knew everything. CommentsDisplay comments as (Linear | Threaded)
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