undeaddad

explorations of mindful fatherhood


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Fifty Shades of Mortification

Screenshot_2014-10-19-08-29-48 (2)So my wife asked me to read Fifty Shades of Grey. I hesitated, but finally agreed to listen to the audiobook, because (like many) couldn’t bring myself to tote around the tell-tale grey-tied book cover. Went to audible and downloaded it to my cell phone so I could discretely listen to the story.

I was at the YMCA early one morning when it’s typically filled with senior citizens and middle aged folk, and I started some stretches. I popped in my earbuds and opened my audible app. Pressing play, nothing happened.

Figuring the volume was turned down, I jacked it up. Even though the volume was turned to the max, I could only faintly register the voice of the reader.

I spent about a minute investigating my audible app and searching my phone’s settings page, all the while hearing a faint voice recounting the story of a red room of pain equipped with whips, riding crops, and nipple clamps.

I attempted adjusting the cord, and that’s when my heart shot to my throat, as if I were suspended upside down by Mr. Grey himself. My earbuds weren’t plugged in, and my phone was broadcasting its dirty tome to the Y’s grey-haired visitors. I plugged in my earbuds and ran, red-faced, to a treadmill.

I don’t think the seniors at the Y will look at me the same way again. Damn you, Mr. Grey.

 

Post-script: While writing this post and attempting to pull this image from my phone, the story popped back on, reading aloud to everyone in the coffee shop. Oh my.

Post-post-script: What’s up with Anastasia Steele’s inner George Takei?

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$h#t Talking Friends

theleagueMy wife and I started watching The League, a long-running show about fantasy football friends who basically love/hate (mostly hate) one another and are driven by their all-consuming goal of screwing each other out of the yearly league trophy. While the show’s a bit intense on the burns, cuts, digs, and jabs the friends throw at one another, there’s something refreshing about it. Although the guys’ exchanges verge on cruel (with the exception of digs on Andre, which are always cruel), their friendships are long-standing and committed.

I used to have friends like that. Okay, not quite that mean and not that obsessed with football (we were way too nerdy to be sports fans), but friends who were comfortable enough to dig on each other. I was only recently reminded of how much this aspect of friendship has been absent from my life when an old college friend wrote to a group of us about attempting a reunion. In the process of inviting me, he informed me that he’d been keeping an eye on the bestiality laws in California, and would let me know when it was legal for me to return to the state. He also told another friend that 1997 wanted its hotmail address back. What a d-bag, but a completely lovable one.

Since leaving college, I’ve moved around so much that I’m left with very few friends. As I get older, I’ve realized how hard it is to find new friends at my age (see my previous post). To make matters worse, I find myself living in a fairly boring suburban monoculture, which doesn’t provide the wealth of friendship possibilities I’d like. Let’s just say that open house night at the public elementary school is overly crowded with wealthy, grey-haired 50-something fathers and their very young wives. Not exactly my typical friendship pool.

I once made friends with one of these older gentleman, a local professor who had about 15 years on his wife (she was more my contemporary than he was). After getting to know him for a while, I had this back-log of old man jokes in my head; a wealth of walker-walking, Viagra-chomping, prostate-enlarging jokes that had nowhere to go. These didn’t pop into my head because I hated the guy, but because I wanted to test the relationship and see if it could evolve. It’s not because I’m a sick bastard, but because many of my best relationships have been marked with a level of comfort and humor in which guys could rag on each other, and which was the hallmark of a strong, mutual friendship. But there was something about this guy that told me he couldn’t handle it. Ultimately, the relationship died out. Our backgrounds, daily lives, and approaches were just too different.

Some might read this post and interpret these kinds of friendships as immature men holding misdirected hostility that seeps out in the form of competition and verbal aggression. In the context of comparing my experience with The League, I can understand this interpretation. In the show, there is very little love expressed between these fictional friends, and the threats they perceive in one another override any care they hold for one another. But that’s not what I’ve experienced in these friendships. These friendships, for me, have been some of the most caring I’ve experienced. In the case of my recent email exchange, after a few more quippy emails shared between the group, I reflected on my experience. I wrote a personal message to the friend who had suggested the reunion and expressed to him how much I missed having such a close friend in my life. He responded thoughtfully and kindly, and we exchanged flattery and well-wishes, planning on re-connecting soon. In spite of not seeing each other for 7 years, there’s a strong bond between us.

As a 40-year-old man, I think it’s incredibly hard forming new friendships, let alone those that can evolve to embody the comfort and care I’m talking about. Many friendships at this age are relegated to specific contexts (i.e., work-friends, soccer-sideline-acquaintances), but these contexts dictate specific sets of scripted interactions and limits. Plus, many men my age are (rightfully) consumed by their family and work lives, which don’t allow time to invest in friendships and cultivate strong bonds. I’m left with a sadness that some of my friendships may never be able to evolve to the point where we can insult each other’s size, intellect, and fashion-sense, and yet say goodbye being certain we have each other’s back.