Last month as Father’s Day approached, a story I heard on the radio came back to mind. The question had been posed: “What does it mean to be manly today?” A listener in California called the station to address it.
The caller was a Mexican American who had come to this country at the age of seven, and was now in his thirties. He told of a family gathering with several generations in attendance. After a few hours, his wife rose and called to him across the room, “Honey, it’s time to leave.”
He joined her, and they said their goodbyes.
The next day his father disdainfully confronted him for allowing his wife to tell him when to leave. It was the man’s place to make decisions, he reminded him, not to take orders from a woman.
In advance of the next family gathering, the caller asked his wife to silently signal him when she wished to go home. So on that occasion, as the evening waned, she glanced at him and arched her brows, and he announced that they must depart. His father smiled.
I love this story. The intimate complicity between husband and wife was just as it should be, preventing the inter-generational triangle from lessening the strength of their connection. For, even though the son was not willing to accept what was for him an outdated standard, he did not disparage his father’s allegiance to his own code of conduct. Secure in his own manliness, the younger man had no need to return to adolescent push-back.
Over time the concept of manliness in my family shifted. My father and my husband, though of different generations were similarly self-assured in their masculinity, gentle and respectful. They exercised no machismo, although both, when first married, assumed the traditional roles of their time.
At the time of my parents’ marriage in 1922, my father pridefully insisted that his wife would never go to work (meaning: for money). My mother, who laughed as she told this story, said she ignored this edict, already having been the sole support of her widowed mother for a number of years. And once the Depression hit, the point was moot, and my father ignored it as well.
Len and I, married even before our college graduation in 1951, were members of the post-war “silent generation.” He began graduate school, while I zealously embarked on my first career: motherhood. Our division of responsibility was unexamined and unremarkable, as he prepared to become the breadwinner and I the family caretaker. Then the tide turned, and in the 1960s I attended law school three nights a week for four years. On those evenings, Len would return from work at day’s end to feed and bathe our three young children and put them to bed.
Was he exhibiting his feminine side? Actually, that’s not how we thought of it. He was just helping out. We didn’t characterize these tasks as unmanly. Nor do most men today, and the constraints of sexual stereotypes continue to loosen.
In later life, Len was grateful for having been cast into the richness of the caretaker role, often commenting to friends, “The women’s movement was the best thing that ever happened to men.”
5 thoughts on “To Be A Man”
These days it seems one cannot leave the party until the wife finishes chatting. I’m with the guy in the commercial who says “can we go home now”.
I’m not quite sure you got the point, dear brother.
Love this post, my friend! We need to get together again soon-will track down Diane and get some lunch/dinner dates.
We do indeed.
Bea: This came to mind when I read your post:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Pretty high bar!
Best wishes, John