1 post tagged “afraid of bugs”

“If there is one emotion that impacts upon men more than any other it is fear. Fear of being seen as feminine or womanly, fear of intimacy, fear of being vulnerable, fear of not being powerful enough, fear of not being in control, fear of losing, fear of rejection, fear of not being a real man. And often most powerful of all, fear of being seen as afraid. Male identity is bound up with fear.” ---- from Achilles Heel, magazine for men

Part I

of Three Parts on

Boys and Men

Our sons. When they’re born, we hold them in our arms, stroke them, soothe them and take them to our breasts. It’s the only time in their entire lives that they are permitted to be openly content in their helplessness, universally approved of in their total reliance on another human being and a female, at that.

By the time they’re two, they’ve heard it at least once, even if it’s not their parents who say it:

 “Boys don’t cry.”

 

 

 

If they haven’t absorbed that message by the time they’re seven, even the most nurturing, liberated parent begins to worry: “Other boys his age seem so much ‘tougher.’ What if there’s something ‘wrong’ with my son?”

 

By the age of nine, for sure, he’s got it down - the adults say fighting is not good, but they can handle that so much better than if they see him cry, any day.  He’s also learned that in order to be a boy, he can’t just be.  No, there are things at which he should excel, and other things he must deny, in order to prove he is what he is: a male. Throwing a ball hard is good, being afraid of bugs is bad. He can always hide the fact that he’s afraid of bugs, but the boy who can throw the ball fastest, will always be the better boy…every time.

 

By the time he‘s thirteen, society’s expectations have completely rent his psyche in two. He’s understood for years he’s not allowed to cry, but now he also knows, not only from his parents and teachers, but from his friends and even the girls who have become a big part of his life, that he’s not allowed to show when he’s sad, worried, or scared. By any means possible, he must never show he’s scared. Far better to be alone in fear and heartbreak, than be taunted for displaying these same.

 

 

He longs for affection, but that’s another outlet of sentiment he’s denied. His mother doesn’t  holds him anymore, hasn’t since he was a young child. Not because he doesn’t want her to, but because he mustn’t let anyone see that he still needs her touch. And now, just the smell of  the young woman sitting next to him in school, stirs longings. Of buried memories, long-ago contentment and new desires he’s only just beginning to recognize run deep inside him.  But he has to suppress those, too.

 

By the time he’s seventeen, what it is to “be a man” is so set in him, he no longer thinks about it. He has completely accepted his only two choices: to be  impenetrable, or just pretend, with all his might, to be.  He also thinks about war. What it means, and whether or not he should, or will be forced to, fight in one.

 

And by the time he’s thirty, when the woman by his side, his love, asks him, “What do you feel for me?”  He so much wants to tell her, but he can’t, because he’s never learned how.

Or maybe he no longer knows.

 

 

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* The title, “In Danger From The Outer World” is taken from the poem of the same name by Robert Bly.