To The Real Men

We LOVE you. Seriously. Young or Old.

Happy Father’s Day to all the legit guys out there. It takes a real man to be a real dad. I happen to have a special place in my heart for one guy. I knew he was The One when we were on a date and the random thought came through my head that “this man would make a great father”. And…even though we were not serious at the time, my womb had other ideas. For the last 35 years I have watched this man become an amazing father and now, grandfather. It is my privilege to be married to a great man. This one is for you, hon. You are IT and I am blessed to have you.

The Grandpa Edit.

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Hey guys! Hey Real MEN! We love you. Yes, we do. Us, the real women, strong, capable, sexy, kick-ass women, love you. Lucky, lucky you.

Yep.

I love being a woman. I enjoy NOT doing manly things, like fixing broken stuff, fighting off bears and demonstrating my prowess with a bow staff. I am not built to do those things. It’s not that I cannot perform these man-tasks. I have spent enough time alone, while Hubs is away at work, that I have learned to assess a problem and usually fix it myself.

But it is not inherently in the nature God gave me. There is a primal joy I derive from watching my man do manly things. It stirs my inner cave woman at a deep, deep level.

It makes me want to cook food over fire and make babies. It is totally hot. Even at my age, I still feel my blood stir by overt acts of real men. This could include physical displays of chopping down trees to a larger variety of manly jobs. It will never, ever include make-up or catching him in my closet trying on my underwear or Jimmy Choos.

For myself, it can be anything from making that little blinky light go away in my car, to building a home with me, literally and figuratively. When a male MANS up, it’s the best thing ever. Even your old sexy butts, barely trying, is way better than those young, manicured, pathetic metros working it like rodeo clowns.

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DO NOT FALL INTO THE AGE TRAP OF BEING AN ‘OLD’ MAN.

JUST BE A MAN AND CARRY ON. DEAL? OUR APPRECIATION WILL CONTINUE, UNABATED. WE PROMISE.

There is no reason it has to stop as we age.

There are so many drugs people take in their latter years, just to eke out one more day of an existence that barely counts as living.

As soon as the AARP gets word that we have reached the golden number, we seem to deserve their ridiculous junk mailers. It is like their universe declared “Game Over”. Yeah, NO.

We are bombarded in our advancing years with drug ads from big pHarma about our imperfect and quickly deteriorating body parts. But, wait! They can help!! They can make barely existing go on longer than ever! Who wouldn’t want that??

We have been brainwashed to believe that with aging comes mental and physical decline. Immediately. We can’t turn 2 channels without ads for bathtub conversions; because we can’t lift our legs high enough to step into a shower. We are made to feel as if we are not good enough, and it will only get worse from here on out. All these things we are told we can’t do, and all the remedies for things that are wrong normal (because the doctor said) is blatant brainwashing and untrue.

Maybe the cure is worse than the ailment? Maybe all those pills prescribed by your big pharma pimp are what’s making you sick? Or maybe it is a diet full of things you can’t pronounce?

Run away. Do not let these wonderful years be defined by the world’s expectation of who you should be. I cannot say it any better than John Steinbeck, in his book written in 1960 titled “Travels with Charley in Search of America.” He was 58 when he wrote this. His observation about the aging male says it with such eloquence that I will end with his words.

“During the previous winter I had become rather seriously ill with one of those carefully named difficulties which are the whispers of approaching age. When I came out of it I received the usual lecture about slowing up, losing weight, limiting the cholesterol intake. It happens to many men and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It had happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends “Slow down, You’re not as young as you once were.” And I had seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions and gradually retire from their manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-invalidism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives and it’s such a sweet trap.

Who doesn’t like to be the center for concern? A kind of second childhood falls on to so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child. And I have searched myself for the possibility with a kind of horror. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard and too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I’ve lifted, pulled, and chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers as consequence, not as punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason why she should inherit a baby. I knew that ten or twelve thousand miles driving a truck, alone and unattended, over every kind of road, would be hard work, but to me it represented the antidote for the poison of the professional sick man. And in my own life I am not willing to trade quality for quantity. If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway. I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly slow reluctance to leave the stage. It’s bad theater as well as bad living. I am very fortunate to have a wife who likes being a woman, which means that she likes men, not elderly babies.”

John Steinbeck

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