Man-to-Man
I was compelled to stay up last night, engrossed with talking to Sean. I’ve always heard of these “man-to-man” talks fathers should have with sons — my dad tried it so many times I can’t even count them — but now at age 52 with three boys, I think maybe I get it. A “man-to-man” with dad always meant a lecture, which isn’t a terribly earth-shaking event since parents can dish out lectures at a-dime-a-dozen. Still, it’s the curse of parents, I suppose, to dish it out, knowing it probably won’t get heard.
But now I understand the “man-to-man” quite differently. I don’t believe it’s a lecture. It can’t possibly be. Men can’t really lecture men, in my experience. The male ego and machismo is the original “Clash of Titans” in which nobody really wins, but perhaps one gets more “beaten-down” in the end.
What proved so illuminating was to understand “Man-to-Man” means something more like, “Well hello there, son! You made it after all!” And there’s something sobering but still wonderful to see when your son is suddenly standing there fully grown and standing eye-to-eye, adult-to-adult, “Man-to-Man.”
It’s a breathtaking experience. It’s not at all like the sad-but-beautiful face we parents try put on the truly-tragic realization that “they’re all grown up now, dear.” That one comes as a rude shock, I think, because it means the kids aren’t so wonderful and sweet any more, and their delightful laughter and high-pitched voices have cracked and croaked and dipped into teenage bass tones. What a heartbreaking transition that is! Yuck!
But the “Man-to-man” is quite different altogether. You only realize it when it’s already in-motion. A real “Man-to-Man” talk can’t be contrived.
