Warding off Adam

Imagine a young man holding a toddler up on his muscular hip.  Okay, let's say this is, overall, a muscular, bulked up guy.  He's in his mid-twenties.  The baby is a girl.  You know this because she's wearing a pink bonnet.  They're cooing at each other and simply enjoying each others company.  There's a warmth there that's passing between the two of them.

And then he drops her.

His arm, which was supporting her tiny body, goes limp and instantly falls to his side.  Gravity takes over and the toddler hits the floor instantly.  The young man ignores the screams of terror and pain, never looking down, and turns to walk away.

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This is the image I'm faced with when I think about many women in my life.  Some of these individuals are neighbors or co-workers.  Some are friend's parents.  Ultimately, they're women who've been dumped.  Passed over.  Hung out to dry.

Perhaps they started out in a marriage, reproduced, and then ended up divorced.  Many of them were victims of infidelity or some form of abuse.  Like Eve (when she was tempted by the serpent), their man stood by them but only in the physical realm.  Emotionally / spiritually, he was completely checked out.

What happens to women like this?  How do they cope?  How do they survive financially?  Did their spouses stop to consider this prior to walking away? 

And I realize that it can happen in reverse.  I know that wives' cheat as much if not more than husbands.  I assume women do this assuming their new stud will ultimately take care of them moreso than their husband.  But for a husband to cheat, or simply walk away, is to abandon or to release his spousal support completely.  That has to occur on some emotional level prior to committing adultery.

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I had a friend ask me if Ang and I had an open marriage.  It's an interesting question.  To me, its one solution to avoiding the risk of abandonment by simply making the assumption that it will occur.  It would be like never getting married to begin with but rather living together until you're ready to move on.  This would proactively lessen the pain.  Proactively lesson the pain.  The pain of being left behind.

It's no wonder there are so many women who choose to embrace the lesbian lifestyle with open arms.  It's no wonder there are women who walk out of their marriages on a whim when they decide they've "had enough".  It's no wonder they'd want to opt out of the risk of abandonment by removing it completely.

But, what really happens to these women?  What happens when they get old and gray?  What happens when they're tired of watching the same television shows over and over again?  Where do they go when there aren't any men left in their lives?

Have you ever read the book of Ruth?  It's only 4 chapters long.  You should read it.  It is incredibly erotic and paints a picture of what true masculine / feminine relations are as defined by God.

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When we first mortgaged our house 11 years ago, one of our neighbors were elderly italian immigrants who'd moved to Mississippi from New York to be close to their daughter.  Their house had a dramatically sloped backyard.  The woman was feeble and on a few occasions, she'd wander slowly off of the backporch, slip on the steep turf, and subsequently roll down the hill to the street.  I watched on numerous occasions as her husband would stand on the porch and laugh at her predicament.  He was an able bodied man with a black heart.

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Early on in our marriage, Ang and I went through a study program at our church which taught us basic evangelism skills and then one night a week, sent us out to proselytize.  Usually, we'd visit guests who'd attended our church the previous Sunday.  Since we were attending a protestant mega-church here in town, these individuals were usually upper to upper-middle class white people.

On one particular visit, we met a recently abandoned woman who was in the process of divorcing her husband.  She was really attractive thirtysomething living in a posh home, in an upscale part of town.  I believe she had two or three boys under the age of 9.  The boys were there that night ransacking the house as she attended to us quietly in the living room.

I imagined her husband being a successful attorney or physician.  A good looking guy who had a nice ride and a lot of potential.

We asked her point blank, what she was going to do.  She explained to us that her husband would be forced to provide for her and her children per the court's ruling.  As she said this, she looked completely broken.  Completely broken.  I can still remember the sadness that hung in the air during that conversation.

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Blacks don't usually get married.  Black women get pregnant, have their children, and their sons and daughters are raised by these women exclusively, in most cases.  Black men aren't expected to do anything more than impregnate.  Here in Mississippi, there's little to no education relative to sex, therefore the process of reproduction is, more often than not, fallen into unexpectedly as a ramification of lust.  Lust that's fueled by boredom and societal pressures and intense feelings of inadequacy.

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And I think that's what it comes down to:  intense feelings of inadequacy on one hand and proactively lessening the pain on the other.  But, in all truthfulness, these two are the same.  

Perhaps it kept Adam from speaking up to Eve on that fateful day.  Perhaps it fuels the continued abandonment of women all around the globe.  Perhaps it fuels the settling that women so often choose to adhere to when choosing a man (or even a homosexual lifestyle) to either have sex with or marry.  Perhaps it fuels the laziness that so often occurs in marriages between both parties.  

I quit.  I give up.  Nothing's good enough for anybody else.  

Until, someone else comes along who pays you "the attention you deserve".

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Ang and I have three small children.  My hope for them is God's will.  Perhaps that will involve marriage.  I don't know.

I do know that I can encourage / teach them by how our marriage functions within our home AND by exposing them to other marriages that do the same.

I'm speaking of church. 

To go back to my reference to the mega-church Ang and I used to be involved within.  That church is where we both "grew up".  Notice my use of the word "grew".  It was intentional.  We were exposed to countless marriages that impressed us immensely.  I'm convinced that it's one of the main reasons I'm not involved in a gay lifestyle today.  I was encouraged by what I was exposed to, and therefore chose to pursue marriage as I believe God had ordained for me.  Not to mention, she and I both made first contact there at First Baptist Church in our youth group.  It's highly unlikely we'd ever encountered each other otherwise.

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I hope to God that my children will never allow feelings of inadequacy or lazy shortsightedness to convince them to give up the fight relative to their (supposed) marriages, or worse that they would be the victims of such lies / foolishness by their (supposed) spouses. 

I don't want them to be abandoned.  That's what it comes down to.

May God have mercy on them as they grow and become.  Let's hope their own Kinsman-Redeemer(s) are out there even now, growing and becoming as God wills.             

Hot fudge sundae

I wrote a post (or two) some time back that addressed the opposite of deliberate touch.  You can read it here.  I've also written about my wrestling over the issue of touch at certain points in the somewhat recent past.  You can read that here.

I rarely touch other guys.  And the reason for that is I only do so if I feel lead to.  I know that sounds vague.  And it is vague, but I don't always give a hug when I rendezvous with a close friend.  It may be a handshake, this time around, even if I haven't seen them in a while.

Being lead to do something is a byproduct of my environment, my own state of mind / heart, and my sense of my friend's state of mind / heart as well.  I suppose you could call it instinct or calling on instinct prior to stepping forward.  Now, I will insert this caveat:  there are times when my emotions usurp everything that I've just described.  When that occurs, it's like passing go and collecting $200 on the Monopoly board.  There's no question regarding my desire to embrace in order to reassure or reconnect on a very personal level.  This then results in more than a hug.  It's something entirely different.  The only way I know to describe it is giddy mystery magic.

Last night, I was encouraged in my attempt to utilitize thoughtful deliberateness relative to touch and that encouragement is still resonating within me.

To know that there are some individuals who benefit more from your motives than the actual action which are a result of the motives (or perhaps equal to them) is deliciously complicated to think about.

No wonder guys don't touch each other.  Most people don't want to be labeled a con artist.  So often, it has nothing to do with homophobia.

My mouth continues to water!

Lagniappe

Anger mismanagement

By the time I was around the age of 12, I was an avid comic book reader.  This interest was sparked via Richie Rich comic books that I acquired at the Tote-Sum adjacent to my mother's place of employment during my pre-adolescent years. 

I'm not sure what drove my interest in Richie.  There was a neighbor boy named Richie that had lived nearby.  He and I weren't close friends.  I don't know.  Maybe the blonde hair and cute shorts.  I don't know.  Plus, he was always in such a good mood.

Eventually, this pursuit evolved into purchasing comics from one of the Jackson area's first comic book stores.  My best friend introduced this avenue for burning threw funds, and boy, did he ever demonstrate how to burn threw money on comics / graphic novels, etc.  By this time, I was primarily reading the typical super hero genre, though I do remember by this point in time, it was all beginning to grow stale.

On one particular afternoon, I was purusing the inventory within the store alone.  I believe my mother had dropped me off and left me there to shop while she did some of her own burning around the corner.  The building was a wood frame structure that was very rickety, almost like an antiquated schoolhouse.  It had lots of natural light that flooded the interior thanks to the repetitively spaced single hung windows.  And due to the lack of upholstered / carpeted surfaces, it was a noisy space as well.

The proprietor of the shop answered the telephone at the counter while I was browsing.  It was a call he was expecting.  I could tell this by his tone.  There wasn't anyone else in the shop but he and I.

Keep in mind that this was probably 1986.

I could tell the man was faced with a dilemma.  He knew I could hear his end of the conversation despite the fact that I wasn't spatially close.  So, he tried to talk in a low voice.  But, you know, he was a typical man.  His voice was deep and therefore carried easily.

He was talking to a therapist.  It was a return call from first contact.  The therapist asked lots of questions.  The man gave heartfelt responses.  I discerned that a young son was involved and that the same abuse had been inflicted on this man when he was a boy.  Obviously, he wanted this to go no further.  He wanted to learn how to stop before he ever lost control again.

I often wonder if he did.

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I have a brilliant friend who works as an electrician by trade.  I met him on a job site when I was in the private sector.  His team installed the bulk of the electrical system within a particular building that I happened to design the lighting system for.  His request for information (rfi's) were the most eloquently written affairs I'd ever encountered.  It was obvious that his cognitive abilities far exceeded his trade skills.

He's told me numerous stories regarding his father's outbursts of rage when he was a youth.  On one occasion, he remembers he and his sister going door to door, house to house, in an attempt to find help for their mother, who they believed was close to losing her life.  My friend's father was an avid collector of firearms.  Those mixed with his unstable temper, not to mention plenty of alcohol added to the mix, often resulted in some terrifying episodes.    

My friend would go on to say that rarely, if ever, did any neighbor listen to their pleas for help.  They simply didn't want to get involved.

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On Tuesday of last week, I got kicked in the teeth emotionally.  When this happens, I rarely if ever respond in kind.  My reaction is one of a cool cucumber.  It's as if I'm saying, "No problems here."  I did receive a partial apology accompanied by some very glib feedback from my friend.

And this was a close friend who did this.  It wasn't like it was a emotionally unstable neighbor or somesuch. 

When I get angry, it burns within me like a smoldering fire hidden under wool blankets.  I encapsulate it quickly and then try to ignore it, going about my everday life, though never really dealing with it right then and there. 

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I've lived with at least one woman for 16 years now.  Women are very different from men in their demeanor and their demands.  When Ang and I were still newlyweds, she went through a severe bout of anxiety / paranoia that frustrated me to no end.  For two years, I had to cope with this.  The hardest part was her clinginess.  I'd never witnessed such fragility in my life.  Where was the woman I had dated?  That was the question I asked myself repeatedly.  Not being willing to reach out to anyone for help with this also didn't help matters.  I refused to allow anyone to adjudicate my newly acquired nuptials as anything but perfect.

On one occasion, out of anger and frustration, I pushed my wife out of our bed and onto the carpeted floor in disgust during an argument over "snuggle time".  I remember that definitely got her attention.  She immediately jumped up, screaming demands that I NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.  In writing about this, I'm amazed at how ridiculously insensitive my response was. 

She was a woman, for God's sakes!

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Two of my father's brothers are / were divorced.  One of these men did so because his wife / my aunt / was cheating on him with a younger, much hotter man.  This particular brother / my uncle, by nature, was a bully with a massive temper.  Though this man was warned to not hit his wife in retaliation for what she'd chosen to do, (I'm fairly sure) he didn't heed the advice.  Those violent acts against her may have felt  good at the time, but in the end, the result was more pain and suffering for him.  She eventually divorced my uncle and married her new stud, taking the three children with her.

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The smoldering coals of my anger ignited instantly this past weekend.  Ironically, it happened on Sunday morning, whilst trying to get my children ready for church (sans wife).  The ignition was sparked by an unexpected phone call that my wife received, which in turn prompted her to quickly leave the house.  Soon thereafter, the target of my outburst was my middle child. 

As a parent, with multiple children, I find that you unintentionally keep score relative to their behavior.  This is especially true as a father whose given regular updates from Mom that unfortunately tend to schew negative.  I think this has to be the norm for most households with multiple small children.

The bright side to this event was twofold:

1.  The child on the receiving end of my calousness, is extremely emotionally resilient. 
2.  I immediately realized my mistake, brought everyone together, and apologized.  Attempting to explain myself was no small feat, but perhaps someday my children will read this post and it will make more sense.

I cannot describe to you how difficult it is to raise children, lead a family, work full time, engage regularly with friends, and attempt to stay physically fit.  Not to mention read your Bible on occasion, pray, etc.  It's no wonder so many men either throw in the towel via abandoning their families outright or cope with the stresses via physical / verbal abuse, drugs / alcohol, etc.  It's like you're constantly running a marathon with no end in sight.  It just goes on and on.

I wish I could offer some advice to better handle anger.  It is an extremely difficult emotion to manage systemically.  Especially when the brunt of the anger is brought on by someone you love.  Someone you've invested a great deal in.

I refuse to be a robot, but at the same time, I refuse to continue to run the risk of boiling over on the individuals I care for the most.

Being very emotionally "vibrant" doesn't help matters.

The lonely parade (poem)

This line is my own.
Though can I suppose that
Anyone really knows
The time I spend alone?

As the sun illuminates the sky
All the passers by
Appear before me.

They wave a hand
As I walk along.
They listen to the sound
Of our shuffling feet.

Forward.  Forward I go.

But I do not see
The joyous throngs.
Their warmth, their praise
I refuse to prolong.
They're only here to demarcate, to pass
As I willingly display my boyish ass.
One half beat behind is where I play,
Finding it easy to meditate
on that which I care - helps me, helps me - maintain a stare
within the textured blackness of that bituminous slate
being pulled like taffy 'neath my gait.

What will it take to remove my smile?
When will I acknowledge these fettered miles?

Look up, young champion as you pass along!

Real love is the key.
Though finding it has been a chore.
Now that it's here, I habitually choose to ignore,
It's warmth, its steed is too regal to abhor.
Though not nearly as fanciful as I work to demand
Too much, too soon.  Give me a break.
Let's both sit down and pontificate. 
I need no one except my rhyme,
To find me, keep me, just a few steps behind. 

So I continue to bake in the hurtful glare
As I work to shun this masters' where.

Finally its descent ends the call
And my time is over
Before the fall.

Within the pitch, I'm without my line
Alone in the street.
No matter. 

Forward.  Forward I go.
As I gaze at...

No longer able to see the gumdrops below, I stop.
Everyone is gone, but he's still there?

I feel the weight of an impish stare.
I look up into darkness and reach out high above.

His mare is gone, it is only he.  His face, I find, steadies and shields. 
Until a swift bite of my flesh forces me to repeal.

I punch at the air in front of this pimp, too complacent to fall or even to limp.

The orb slowly rises.  Now I'm clinging to the curb.  All hope is lost. 

I kiss the concrete and smile at my find. 
I'm back to that place!  Just one step behind. 

Look up, young champion!  Your ass is mine!

The bit, it hurts as it chatters my teeth.
The straps and belts cinch tight under my seat.

I am yanked UP to walk
only to march forward down the street.
Though no one watches us enact this stylish feat.

My limbs are his limbs along with my head.
There's little I can do as I consider the dead.
The dead who walk next to me along this path
To hell and back as we face our Maker's wrath.
Their countenances are bleak, such squeam of the crop,
like burnt gingerbread soldiers anxious to stop.

No more delays.  No more reprise.  We now do his bidding.
His work.  His lies. 

The love is gone.  It could not survive without being ushered in
Whilst defeating the lives.  The lives that trip up and slow and
chafe the true passage of time as seen by a waif. 
A waif who embellishes and stretches along each passing moment
Before it is gone.  

Countdown to middle age

$11,060.06 remaining as of today.

Staying out of playland

I had a meeting with my Tim yesterday evening.  I'd given him a copy of something I'd written months ago, as a Christmas gift, that attempted to capture my thoughts relative to an evening we'd spent together watching Brokeback Mountain, and we spent a good portion of our time together last night discussing this piece and his reaction thereof. 

When I shared this work, I didn't know how he'd react.  This, I came to find out was the point all along.  The point (in my mind) of giving this short piece to him, that is, though God had other plans... 

The document was an email thread that I'd sent to another friend describing our time together that evening.  What made it unique was the salaciousness of the text.  Not just in terms of my diction but in terms of my tone.  It wasn't pages and pages long.  It was simply a few paragraphs, but...

Tim was offended.  And he had every right to be.  He told me that he read the piece soon after receiving it and then quickly banished it to the glove compartment of his car for weeks before picking it up again. 

In the past, I have found myself willingly knifing people with my words in order to protect my own vulnerability.  When someone got too emotionally close, I'd instinctively lash out indirectly with the "perpetrator" having little to no clue as to what was really going on.  This was different than that in the sense that I wasn't being overtly critical of my victim but covertly critical.

Tim expertly revealed my heart i.e. how my heart's eyes saw / sees him at certain points in time.  Essentially, for him to know that he'd being reduced to a piece of meat didn't sit well.  And not that the overriding feelings relative to my gayness aren't relevant or worth recognizing, it was the act of DOCUMENTING those feelings in black and white, in a very methodical manner that creeped him out.

And who wouldn't be creeped out by this kind of thing?

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My childrens' imaginations are vivid and demanding.  Since our kids don't watch TV, they're mostly playing pretend and sometimes reading books.  Playing pretend, whether it be somewhere in the house or out in the yard, is their most popular pastime.  Often, in order to get their attention, I have to announce that "YOU'RE NO LONGER TO BE IN PLAYLAND".  Otherwise, they'll hear my requests (orders), but not comprehend them fully, and this results in problems relative to carrying them out.

I also have an imagination and a critical eye, as does every human being.  They're some of the most powerful tools that God has given man.  But...

just because they're there and active doesn't mean that they have to be acknowledged at certain points in time.  Bringing those thoughts to the forefront of my mind willingly in order to document, or worse, imply that they manifest themselves via a wishful acting out, was a mistake.

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Tim asked:  "What if your wife were to read this?"

I shrugged my shoulders, whilst secretly hoping that she wouldn't come unhinged if she did.  I do know Angie well enough to know that she's definitely one to give an overwhelmingly long piece of rope from which I can hang myself with, but that doesn't discount her expectations relative to staying informed as to any gay feelings that might impede or inflict damage upon our marriage.  That's always been an unwritten vow of ours.

What hit me the hardest was this very laid back, very trusting friend's obvious pain and disgust.

Wow.  I mean WOW.

Never can I remember experiencing that with any other friend.  At least in the flesh.  To have him sitting right there in front of me at that point in time was very tough.

I wasn't embarrassed by what I'd written or how I'd written it or who'd I'd written it to.  It wasn't that at all.  But for him to react this way was very heavy indeed.

Hopefully, those moments will linger in my memory and eventually lodge themself within my heart.  Hopefully, by capturing this here, I'll be inclined to return and re-read when I do begin to forget.  Hopefully, I'll work towards remembering others' feelings relative to my own no matter the distance between us relationally.  I must work to decide now to look at my Tim as Christ does, flesh and spirit combined.  And to remember that my primary focus within our friendship should be spirit, without aggrandizing the ebb and flow of my very unique mind.

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On a side note, Tim and I both saw the latest Mission Impossible film over the holidays and concurrently acknowledged two things about the film:

1.  It was too long (Brad Bird should have edited out the sandstorm car chase scene)
2.  Despite Cruise being a really fast runner, he's aging.  Gravity is taking its toll on his face and his pecs.
2a.  Tim didn't like the neat and tidy ending.

Lagniappe 

That's not my problem

As an architect, I subscribe to promote the welfare of the public, striving to do no harm within the context of the work that I do. 

If only this were a universal theme for educated professionals.

If only this were a universal theme for myself within every aspect of my life.

Angie and I subscribe to cable television.  We have the most inexpensive package which provides us with around 15 channels.  I can remember when I was a child how exciting it was to gain access to a television that carried premium channels like HBO, Showtime, Cinemax, etc.  Just knowing that there was the possibility of seeing something "adult" was very enticing.

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I work in state government.  The paradigm within my occupation is much different than it was within the private sector, though like the private sector, there's a plethora of personality types that make up the workforce.  One distinct difference between the private and public sector is knowing exactly what your responsibilities are within your specific job description.

This is good on one hand from the standpoint of logic but difficult on another from the standpoint of compassion (or lack thereof).

I've had colleagues look at me and say that they literally didn't care one iota about me or my situation.  I can appreciate that for transparency's sake, but it certainly hurts to hear it.

It took at least 8 years of working alongside the same colleague to stumble upon that kind of honesty within the private realm.

My colleagues and I care for the Mississippians that we serve.  For me, it's part of my personality due to the fact that I'm a giver.  To a degree, I care for those I work alongside as well, despite the fact that we're all somewhat autonomous.

Know this:  I'm the guy who wonders how to help a homeless man (who doesn't look dangerous) as I'm driving by the sidewalk that he's traveling upon.

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Adult films are popular this time of year.  There are a few in theaters currently.  These are dark affairs with heaps of foul language, nudity, sexual themes (often with horrifically violent overtones), and so on.  Eventually, these films move onto the premium channels / DVD racks at Wal-Mart for anyone to see who has access to the remote or a few bucks.

When I was a child, adult films were tame by today's standards.  From the themes to the specific visual imagery / language, they are now cut from an entirely different cloth.

There's no sense of restraint or hold harmless within the current crop of adult films.  They're meant to do much more than entertain or inspire on any level.  I'm not saying they're no good, I'm just saying they're extreme.  And systemically inching closer and closer to the edge as each year passes.

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Those who produce, direct, and act within these films may have, at some point in time, worked within government.  That sense of autonomy between ones' peers that I described above is perhaps translated across the masses creating a definitive emotional disconnect between filmakers and audience. 

Let's all think (and feel) different, for God's sake, no matter our calling.  And no matter our circumstances.  Everything we do and say with what little time we're given on this Earth affects so many other individuals, both young and old.

And for those of you who subscribe to today's version of this celluloid genre on a regular basis, I urge you to cease and desist.  Don't support the films, etc. themselves and work towards avoiding the outlets by which they're impishly distributed.  And, yes I realize that might lead to some inconvenience, but taking a stand for others' well being is worth it in the long run.

Lagniappe
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