And Why I Love Men

[Another piece I wrote last year, but this one was written right after my dad's death. I wrote and posted it on April 12, 2002.]

Anyway, here's why I love men. They are brave. They are constantly called upon to be brave. It doesn't seem fair. They are expected to do things like kill bugs on the wall of summer cottages. They are expected to have flares in the trunks of their cars. They are expected to be strong and hold other people when they cry. They are expected to do such hard things. They are expected to get jobs and make money. Women want them to be more emotional, or SO WE SAY, but hate it when they are overly emotional. They are damned if they do and damned if they don't. Especially these days.

Been thinking a lot about all the kind things my dad did for me -- moving me in and out of dorms, apartments, jobs. Helping me buy cars. So many things and he was just a man, that's all.

I love the way they get up in the morning and shave -- how unpleasant that must be. I love the way they sweat and how it smells. I love the way they look in a tie, a nice leash you can grab and bring them up close fast when you get the urge to kiss them. I like the way you'll see a guy on the street and his tie catches the wind and flaps in his face with a little slap. I like their big hands and big feet, makes you feel safe.

I like their crazy projects -- they do a lot of projects these men. I like the way they read the paper. I love the ones who still carry cloth hankerchiefs. I like sitting next to one in a meeting, peeking at the hair on the back of his hand, then on his wrist, then on his forearm, his sleeve rolled up and then trying to imagine how hairy he is under all those clothes. I love the bald ones too, especially them, they are fearless. I love the way men get up in front of a room and make some super boring Powerpoint slides actually slightly interesting. I like the way their hair sticks straight up sometimes. I like the way they get all moony and sloppy over watching Little League on a summer evening. I like the way they drive off with the family early on a holiday weekend in a stationwagon for some silly historic trip to Sturbridge Village. I like the way they let their kids hang all over them like they are a climbing structure in the playground. I like the way they worry about their families. I like the way cherish their old ratty tee-shirts. I love men.