What is a man?

Days have been hot--so hot that you could just look out onto a field of grass, as the sun shimmers on the wind; and see the glint of light against the wings of bugs. In the air, they rise and fall, moving in a tempo like ballerinas in The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies. They twirl and pirouette in the heat. They intermingle with the still air. They jump with every occasional breeze. On such days, the heat burrows into your head, eating at your temples. Such days teach you tolerance or impatience. Such days teach you endurance or weakness. This whole week, whole month perhaps, has been filled with such days, one such as today.

Morning strikes like a thief. She steals the night away. Sunday takes dad and I to church. His rusty old truck races with the sun, it makes the attempt to be the first to touch the horizon as it runs downhill on the Chalan Monsignor road. The church is filled with people. Dad and I stand in the back. A young girl rests her head against her fathers shoulder. Her eyes are closed. She sleeps. The sight of her shut eyes bring memories of silence amidst the steady volume of church music: singing and talk. She reminds me of my father and I, and of the quote "the only man a girl can trust in this world is her father". Dad stands in front of me, old and aged.

Fathers remind me of "men". They remind me of the question: what is a man? Is a father a man? How about a father's sons? What perception do men have on the question of what a man is?

My father is loving, and timid. I see this love and timidity in his muscles. He doesn't punch nor fight nor fuss. He uses his physical strength for his work, and none else. His skin, darkened by the sun, is the skin of a man. This is not a result of the physical labor that he has done; but of the internal sacrifice he endures each day for his family. He often discloses to me of the frustration he has of my brother.

My brother makes open declarations of his manhood in his demeanor and in his actions. He makes them loud. He makes them apparent. I see his perception of what a man is in what he says and does. My brother makes sport out of fighting and affinities out of emotional chaos. My brother is not a man yet, although he thinks he is. He fears my father, I see that in the silence between them. My brother is idolized by my nephew who pays no mind to generate his own definition of what a man is, at least not yet.

My nephew, merely 11, looks to the men of our family as models for how he should be. That's why I try to show him the necessity of compassion, of love, of vulnerability--for my father is of silence and my brother is of noise. I want my nephew to be of peace; to be balanced between the two extremities--just like the bugs who dance in the wind on hot days such as this.

A man is not one
who throws fits and fusses
over matters diminutive and
large.
He does not throw fusses
and fits over matters
of little importance,
nor
does he throw fits
and fusses
over matters of
great importance.
A man does not
throw
fits and fusses.
He watches.
He listens.
In silence,
he learns.
He decides
on the cause
and the necessity
for change.
For change,
he reasons.
If reason
does not work,
he acts.
Such is a man.
A man is one
who does not
work to prove
his value,
for he knows
his value.
A man is one
who can surrender
to vulnerability,
to intimacy,
to shame;
and still
have the strength to rise
and live another day,
after feeling so small.
He
is strengthened by these
three defeaters of men.
He unearths
the strength
in his weaknesses.
He does not
have to be
fearless,
for as
a human being,
he fears.
He acknowledges his
fears
in silence if not aloud
and works to
dispel of them.
Such is a man.
A man can falter
under all circumstances:
those
beyond his
control
and those
within it.
A man falters,
but a man rises again.
Before rising again,
a man will not
use
emotion
(anger,
frustration,
silence)
to hide his fear
of being
risen.
He
falls prey
to
being open.
He falls prey,
but the predator is
growth.
A man can
fall before
a woman.
He can love.
He can trust.
He can cry.
As a woman
lusts
for such
a man,
he does not
act
like he is grown.
A man is.
It is this
man
who does not
steal
the hearts
of women.
He does not
win
the hearts
of women.
He does not
catch, sift, play, take, borrow, use
the hearts of woman.
He does not
seek the hearts of women.
He finds
a woman;
the heart of whom
he loves.
Such is a man.
The is woman,
sought and found,
brings a man
manhood
in the connection
between
them.
A man turned
father,
is a man at
last stage.
Such is a man.
The father
who makes men.
A man is he does so.