Manhood, Boyhood, Adulthood: a response to SamSeaborn

Strong language in this post below the fold, at least a smidgen.

In a long comment below this post, SamSeaborn writes and asks:

You can be a great MALE while being a virgin. But can you be a great MAN?

These are three distinct layers of identiy – PERSON – MALE – MAN

So what is it that makes a MALE PERSON a MAN? Of course, sexual success with women is just one arbitrary measure. But what other criterion could be used?

He gets some sharp responses from other commenters, and those responses are excellent.

In one sense, though not perhaps in the sense he intended, Sam is right. We live in a culture in which manhood has been made distinct from biological maleness. “Boys are born, men are made” is the sort of thing repeated over and over again by those who imagine themselves wise about such matters. And there’s no shortage of institutions in our culture which promise to “make boys into men”; the military has done nicely for quite some time by recruiting on that promise very explicitly. Plenty of boys try out for football, or learn to hunt, or join a fraternity, or allow themselves to be jumped into a gang, all because of some desperate hope that through membership in a select company of the be-penised (the team, the gang, the Marines) the boy will be magically transformed into someone recognizable to his peers and to himself as a Man.

Heterosexual initiation is, as Sam makes clear, the sine qua non of real American manhood. That it ought to be otherwise seems wise and reasonable, that American males are generally made to feel it to be essential to their acquisition of manhood is indisputable. There are some wonderful works out there, by the way, about how young Catholic males view their presumably celibate and virginal priests — priests are often granted a special dispensation into ‘manhood’ by virtue of what seems a heroic sacrifice. And after all, priests and monks make a conscious choice to remain virgins (though some, of course, have sexual experience before their vows). And for many men in our culture, having enough “game” to have been able to have sex if one wanted to, but choosing otherwise because of a higher commitment, is sufficient to establish at least a partial manhood. It’s the males who are homosexual and have no interest in intercourse with women, or the males who (for all their desire) lack the “pull”, the “game”, the magnetism to get women into bed who receive the full measure of scorn from their fellows. Continue reading

Thursday Short Poem: Jeffers’ “The Shears”

Easily one of my favorite poems by, in the end, my favorite male twentieth-century poet. Yeats and Auden were better, but I love Jeffers more. This will be one of two poems I want read at my funeral (many years from now, deo volente; the other is here). My mother has already asked for it at hers.

The Shears

A great dawn-color rose widening the
Petals around her gold eye
Peers day and night in the window.
She watches us
Breakfasting, lighting lamps, reading,
and the children playing, and the dogs by the fire,
She watches earnestly, uncomprehending,
As we stare into the world of trees and roses uncomprehending,
There is a great gulf fixed.

But even while I gaze, and the rose at me,
my little flower-greedy daughter-in-law
Walks with shears, very blonde and housewifely
Through the small garden, and suddenly the rose finds herself
rootless in-doors.

Now she is part of the life she watched.
So we: death comes and plucks us: we become part of the living earth
And wind and water whom we so loved.
We are they.

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Looking for “the inoculation against cruelty”: how to help boys through the trials of Guyland

This is the third installment of a three-part review of Michael Kimmel’s Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men. Part one is here, and part two is here.

In the first two parts, I looked at Kimmel’s concerns about young men in America, noting his insights into the “Guy Code”, homosociality, and the recurrent theme of escape in boys’ lives. Kimmel is as good as any in identifying the problem, and making a compelling case that there are some immensely troublesome aspects to the way in which our culture helps (or doesn’t) boys transition into adulthood. But it’s axiomatic that diagnosis is always easier to write than remedy; most of us see the wrong more clearly than we see the right. And in the end, the most valuable contribution that any of us in the gender studies field can make is to prescribe workable solutions to the problems we are usually so good at identifying.

Many writers of similar books spend the first four-fifths of the text laying out the case that something needs to change, usually with copious anecdotes designed to illustrate just how bad things have gotten. The suggestions for change and transformation, if they have any, usually only appear in the conclusion. Too often in recent years, I’ve read books about “youth in crisis” in which practical solutions appear almost as a rushed afterthought. It’s as if the author never meant to include them at all, and only did so, grudgingly, at the firm insistence of an editor. I am happy to say that Michael Kimmel weaves his vision for an alternative “guyhood” into every chapter of his book. Though the bulk of his strategy for change appears towards the end of Guyland, the whole text is shot through with thoughtful and compelling suggestions for how things can be different.

First off, we need to acknowledge that there is much that is good in our young men. One of the classic slurs that anti-feminist men’s rights activists (MRAs) throw at the likes of Michael Kimmel (or Jackson Katz, Robert Jensen, Michael Flood, and — if I may be so bold –myself) is that we are filled with masculine self-loathing. We then apparently project our own self-hatred onto other men, longing (apparently) to change “real men” into women. This charge has as much credence as the suggestion that Barack Obama runs an al-Qaeda sleeper cell, but like those whispers, the spurious charge of misandry has proven surprisingly resilient. Kimmel does what all of us do, though we get too little attention for it: he honors the worth and dignity of the young men about whom he writes, and he honors them as men. Continue reading

Ronald Grace

It’s always a shock when one discovers a familiar name on the list of those killed in a notorious tragedy. My wife learned only this morning that among the 26 killed in last Friday’s terrible Metrolink train crash was Ron Grace, her junior-high counselor and P.E. teacher. His obituary is here.

Mr. Grace, as she knew him, was a key figure in my wife’s early adolescent years. It was Mr. Grace, she told me today, who encouraged her to compete in the eighth-grade spelling bee; she won that bee. She has often remarked that that victory (which stunned her, but not Mr. Grace), gave her a shot of intellectual confidence that made a huge difference in the years that followed. Ron Grace was at the very beginning of his career as a mentor when he coached my wife on the athletic field and pushed her into the spelling contest. He died on Friday afternoon, on his way home, just 55 years old.

If you’ve got mentors, father figures, mother figures, old school counselors or beloved teachers who made a difference, let this be your encouragement to drop them a line. Now. No one, after all, knows the time or the hour when we are to be summoned home.

Wriggling through the morning like a whippet on crack: in praise of early rising

The third installment of my three-part review of Michael Kimmel’s Guyland will appear tomorrow, the 17th. I keep getting distracted from writing it, alas, but it will be here by noon PDT on Wednesday.

This is a less thoughtful post.

I write this morning in praise of, well, morning. According to my parents, from the time that I was very small I was an early riser. “Sun’s up, Hugo’s up” was a near-certain formula in my infancy, and it’s still true today.

My “circadian rhythm” has clear demands. It responds very well to daylight, and not so well to darkness. Mind you, I don’t have seasonal affective disorder. I’m quite happy with cloud and overcast; growing up in the Bay Area, I was spoiled by foggy summers where the temperature never got over 85 degrees. I don’t crave the sun itself — just enough daylight in which to move around easily.

As my wife (as well as a legion of former spouses, girlfriends, and family members) will tell you, I’m not a night owl. Going out in the evening fills even this extrovert with a sense of despair; I’ve been known to nod off in nightclubs and in the stands at evening football matches. 10:00PM rolls around, and there are precious few things in the world worth staying awake for. I can think of one previous marriage in which my habit of falling asleep at the most inopportune times was a factor in the decision to get a divorce; I was married to a “night-oriented person” who thought that the Argentine fashion of dining at eleven in the evening was the height of sophistication. Given that she was also at her peak of amorousness around 12:30AM, our union was maimed from the start. I carry from the womb, she discovered, a light-loving heart…

And to stay in bed past dawn? Nearly impossible, unless I’m ill. It’s not that it seems lazily indulgent (though to my pseudo-Calvinist eyes, it sometimes does). It’s that from the time I was very small, I always felt that I was missing something wonderful and interesting by not being “up and at ‘em” as soon as daylight appeared. That was true when I was six, and it’s true at forty-one.

One of my exes jokingly called me the “youngest old man in the world.” I like my dinner at half past five in the late afternoon, and dislike eating after 8:00PM. Breakfast is excellent at 6:00AM, and even better when it comes on a stomach made hungry by a pre-dawn run. I’d do well in most retirement communities! Heck, even in my drinking and using days, my wildest partying tended to take place in daylight hours. In college, the only Greek parties to which I always worked hard to wangle an invite were the annual “tequila sunrise” events put on by one notorious fraternity . (Drinking started at 6:00AM, and folks were often passed out by 10:00. I always had a wonderful time.) A few times in the late nineties, I went to some very late after-parties — the sort that start around 3:30AM; I simply went to bed at 9:00 in the evening, got up at 3:00, and enjoyed myself immensely. It was the parties that got started just before midnight that did me in.

And today, it’s 8:00AM, I’ve been up for well over three hours. I’ve had my morning seven-miler, my peanut butter and toast, and my indispensable two cups of coffee. I’ll go through my day like a whippet on crack until, oh, about 8:30 this evening, when I will begin a two-hour unwinding that will culminate in a complete collapse before 11.

Most of my dissertation pages were written between 9:00AM and noon. These days, most of my best blog posts are written between dawn and 10:00AM. My lectures in my morning classes are, in my estimation, always better delivered than the ones in my dreaded night courses.

So, folks, when during the day are you most productive? How do you handle intimate relationships with folks whose body clocks are very different?

“Backwoods Barbie” and white rural feminism: of Dolly Parton, 9 to 5, and Sarah Palin

Last night, my wife and I took some friends of ours to see the new musical 9 to 5, written by Dolly Parton and based on the iconic 1980 film of the same name. Just last Tuesday, the show had its world premiere not on Broadway but here in Los Angeles; it will be moving to New York in early 2009.

We went for a variety of reasons, but mostly because all six of us, as different as we are, are devoted Dolly Parton fans. The part that Dolly made famous in the film is played by the wonderful actress Megan Hilty (who did a splendid “Glinda” in many productions of “Wicked”); Allison Janney (of “Juno”, “West Wing”, and “Primary Colors” fame) took over the Lily Tomlin part and acquitted herself very well. The music and lyrics, all by Parton, were accessible, memorable, and fun. The house was packed, and I feel quite certain the show will have a long and successful run here and elsewhere.

But I’ve written before about my deep fondness for Dolly Parton. Last night, watching the show — with its gently feminist theme of exploited working women rising up against a tyrannical and sexist boss — I thought of, you guessed it, Sarah Palin.

Virtually everyone agrees that Sarah Palin has, at least so far, helped the Republican ticket. Mind you, she’s got seven weeks to turn from an asset into a liability for John McCain, and I suspect that by the time we’ve made it close to Halloween, some of the initial enthusiasm for her will have subsided. That may be wishful thinking, of course — it’s also possible that her selection will prove the decisive factor in the election, and a galvanized conservative base will provide the GOP with the winning margin in November as a result. I certainly hope not, but I take that possibility seriously.

I don’t know who Dolly Parton is endorsing in this election. Dolly has always soft-pedaled her politics (though there is a very funny and vicious crack thrown at George W. Bush in the finale of “9 to 5″). Unlike her comrade-in-arms Emmylou Harris (whose advocacy for many social justice causes, especially veganism and animal rights, has made some of her right-wing fans squirm), Parton has carefully eschewed open involvement in the political arena. Dolly has legions of gay fans, whom she always warmly acknowledges — but she also has a strong fan base in southern and rural America. Including, one suspects, a great many voters to whom the selection of Sarah Palin was carefully calculated to appeal. Continue reading

Friday Random Ten: music to inspire ageing trail runners

Lots of old favorites here, and (with #7 and #8) a pair of newer tracks I’ve grown fond of. A note about #2: when I was first doing a little bit of internet dating, back in early 1999 on match.com, I remember listing that track as the one that best described my life. It was not a wise strategy, I came to understand.

Two songs with devil themes, too. What could that mean?

1. “If I Had a Hammer”, Sam Cooke
2. “The Silver-Tongued Devil and I”, Kris Kristofferson
3. “Up to the Mountain (MLK song)”, Patty Griffin
4. “Get Thee Behind Me Satan”, Billy Joe Shaver
5. “The Truth About You”, Rosanne Cash
6. “Your Letter”, Joan Armatrading
7. “The Shape You’re In”, Catherine Feeny
8. “Echo Park”, Joseph Arthur
9. “Alone Again”, Dokken
10. “Versatile Heart”, Linda Thompson

Bonus Track: “If I Had a Rocket Launcher”, Bruce Cockburn

Escape, entitlement, and empowerment: young men and the “four Ps”

This is the second lengthy post in a three-part series of responses to Michael Kimmel’s new Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men. Part One is here.

Sometimes, it seems to me that an entire generation of young men are lost to what might be called the siren song of the “Three Ps”: Pot, Pornography, and Playstation (video games). For an increasing number of young men, a fourth “P” is enjoying a renaissance: Poker, this time often played on-line. Ask any parent of a “guy” in the age range Michael Kimmel is focused on (16-26), ask any exasperated sister or would-be girlfriend, and you’ll hear many an anecdote about the hours lost and the commitments broken by young men indulging themselves in one or more of the aforementioned behaviors. Much of the recent writing about the “boy crisis” has focused on the influence of pornography and video games in particular on young men. By no means has all that focus been negative, though most thoughtful observers of contemporary society are deeply troubled by the tremendous amount of time that so many young men spend absorbed in the dubious “pleasures of the Ps.”

Michael Kimmel is not an anti-pornography activist. (From the perspective of the pro-feminist men’s movement, Robert Jensen’s Getting Off will remain the indispensable text on the subject for years to come.) Nor is Kimmel reflexively hostile to the “gaming” culture. Indeed, his writing on video games reveals a sophisticated knowledge of their appeal: his descriptions of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and World of Warcraft (perhaps the two most popular time-sucking games available) taught me a great deal about both these games and their stunning appeal.

Kimmel points out something every adult knows: young men tend to become hostile and defensive when queried about the amount of time they devote to online gaming.

Why are these guys so angry and defensive? In part because they feel a little guilty that they are spending so much time doing something they know is purposeless…

But it goes deeper than that. Guys’ defensiveness also has to do with the rage that’s both covert and overt in much of what passes for entertainment in Guyland. Because, as it turns out, the fantasy world of media is both an escape from reality and an escape to reality — the reality that many of these guys would secretly like to inhabit. Video games, in particular, provide a way for guys to feel empowered. In their daily lives guys often feel that they don’t measure up to the standards of the Guy Code — always be in control, never show weakness, neediness, vulnerability — and so they create ideal versions of themselves in fantasy. The thinking is simple: if somebody messes with your avatar, you blow him away. It’s a fantasy world of Manichean good and evil, a world in which violence is restorative and actions have no consequences whatsoever.

Kimmel rejects a simplistic connection between video games and “real-life” violence. Most psychologists and sociologists are justifiably suspicious of what he calls a “monkey-see, monkey-do” analysis of the influence of violent media. (And for what it’s worth, can we just leave the pigs and the monkeys and the dogs out of the discussion?) At the same time, he recognizes that gaming has tremendous significance in the lives of many “guys”. Explaining what these lads get out of their compulsive media consumption, he writes:

They’re getting a parallel education to the formal curriculum — complete with its own Three Rs: Relaxation from the weight of adult demands and of the rules of social decorum (also now known as political correctness); Revenge, against those who have usurped what you thought was yours; and, Restoration to your rightful entitled position in the world.

That’s not just alliterative, that’s right on the mark. In Manhood in America, his great primer, Kimmel focuses on the recurrent theme of “running away” from feminizing, civilizing culture. Huck Finn and Rip Van Winkle, two of the most memorable fictional characters of the 19th century, both go to great lengths to “relax”, to escape, and to create alternative worlds in which only “guys” can be found. (Think of Rip’s flagon of spirits as the modern-day bong, and the “bowling ghosts” he encounters as symbolic of men who live without the confining, restricting, civilizing impact of women). Young men today can’t escape as easily to the mountains or down the Mississippi, but they can escape into cyber-worlds that are largely male, rule-bound, and positively welcoming of violence. Continue reading

Reprint: September 11, marriage and divorce

This post originally appeared on September 12, 2006.

In yesterday’s New York Post (a paper I’ve never actually held in my hands, despite many visits to Manhattan), conservative commentator John Podhoretz wrote a personal commentary on 9/11: The antidote to horror is love.

Podhoretz tells the story of his rapid engagement to his wife, Ayala, in the aftermath of 9/11:

Within two months of 9/11 I was engaged to be married, within 13 months I was married, had a baby 19 months after that and another one due to be born in a months’ time.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be for me. I had only met Ayala in June, and I was determined not to think about marriage for at least a year in any relationship. I had nearly ruined my life getting married precipitously after a 10-day romance in 1997, and I simply could not trust myself.

But I couldn’t be bothered with learning to trust myself. Getting married was an urgent, all-consuming need.

I took Ayala aback with the ferocity of my determination. At every turn I brought up what it would mean to be married. I was so determined that I proposed to her at 9 in the morning sitting in the living room of my Brooklyn Heights apartment, through whose window we had seen the black gash of the sky above Ground Zero every night since 9/11. She accepted – and then informed me we had to come up with a more romantic engagement story to tell her family and friends.

I’m telling the story now for the first time because I think it is romantic. I fell in love more deeply with Ayala and had to marry her because I had witnessed the worst and needed the best. Something deep and elemental within me needed to supersede the evil of 9/11 with the purest affirmation of existence – unconditional hope for the future and new life in the form of children whose presence on this earth would be the most crushing blow a middle-aged man like me could deliver to the cult of death that sought to tear out America’s heart.

I’m inclined to be charitable towards Podhoretz, even if his final sentence seems a bit over-wrought and self-congratulatory.  Too often, the "traditional family" crowd, in their desperation to affirm what they see as an institution under attack, paint the exceedingly common acts of marrying and reproducing as heroically counter-cultural deeds.  It certainly flatters the sensibilities of those who do choose to marry, stay married, and make wee ones.  But it reminds me of those who suggested, five years ago, that the best response to 9/11 was to go shopping.  I mean, I get the principle of the heroism of everyday life, but it still makes me wince to read about how a middle-aged man’s decision to reproduce was a "crushing blow" to Al Qaeda.  ("Honey, let’s make a baby!  That’ll show Osama!")

Continue reading

Thursday Short Poem: Dennis’ “Writing at Night”

I’m trying to do more writing, and sometimes I find myself writing at odd hours. Not so much at night, but before dawn when much of the rest of the world is still fast asleep. And there’s something that happens in those moments of reflection, in the dark, which is unlike anything else. Carl Dennis captures that beautifully here.

Writing at Night

This empty feeling that makes me fearful
I’ll disappear the minute I stop thinking
May only mean that beyond the kitchen window, in the dark,
The minions of the past are gathering,
Waiting for the dishes to be cleared away
So they can hustle supper into oblivion.

This feeling may only mean that supper’s done
And night has the house surrounded
And the past is declaring itself the victor.
It doesn’t deny that tomorrow I’ll wake to find
That the usual bales of light have been unloaded
And distributed equally in every precinct,
That the tree at the corner will be awash in it
And the flaming yellow coats of the crossing guards.

This empty feeling could be a gift
I haven’t yet grown used to, a lightness
That means I’ve shaken off the weight of resentment,
Envy, remorse, and pride that drags the soul down.
A thinness that lets me slip through a needle’s eye
Into the here and now of the kitchen
Without losing a button.

An emptiness that betokens a talent for self-forgetting
That lets me welcome the stories of others,
Which even now may be on their way,
Hoping I’ll take them in however rumpled they look
And gray-faced as they drag themselves from the car

With their bulky night bags and water jugs.
It’s late. Have I gone to bed? they wonder.
And then they see the light in the kitchen
And a figure who could be me at the table
Still up writing.

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