The Death of Masculinity

I was standing on a beautiful street corner today watching the sun set. Dressed in my best suit and tie, and I was enjoying a cigar alone. I was having a small celebration for myself, for today was my first day at a job I've desired for long, long time. As far back as I can remember I've wanted this opportunity and I've finally got my foot in the door, so I felt I should treat myself. I chose a cigar not becuase I particularly enjoy them (not even sure they crack the top ten list on my vices), but for an entirely different reason.

As a boy I can remember that my idols were in this order, Gordon Gecko, Ronald Reagan, Rush Limbaugh, and Warren Buffet. Trust me, I've learned my lessons on these characters, but it wasn't the men I admired. It was their attitude. The belief in the Power that mankind possesses. The power to achieve. Not through force, not through power, not through coercion, but by RISK. By taking calculated chances, knowing that somehow you can do it, and in the process improve the lives of our fellow man. I've lived my whole life emulating these MEN, but more than the men; their IDEAS. And MEN they are, not whiners, not blamers, not takers, but winners! And when winners win, they smoke cigars! Red Auerbach, a great man who changed basketball forever, breaking down it's color barriers, revolutionizing the fast break, used to smoke one as soon as he THOUGHT he was going to win. Now that's manly.

So I'm standing there enjoying my cigar and my small personal victory when a prototypical American family walked past. Good looking middle age parents, out for a stroll with their 2.1 kids. Actually it was 1 boy(~4) holding his father's hand, and a 1 girl(~6) holding her mother's. I nodded a hello, as if to say you have a beautiful family and I am no threat to you. He acknowledged with a nod of his own. Having shown mutual respect to each other, without his family's awareness, they passed by in small conversation with each other.

His son was passing closest to me and as his father nodded I looked to smile at the boy. The boy was plugging his nose with his fingers in anticipation of catching a whiff of my cigar, even though he was not nearly close enough. However, it wasn't the offended sense of odor the boy was concerned with. It was something much deeper. The boy had a very intense look of scorn on his face. Scorn for MY behavior. How dare I smoke a cigar in public, was the expression staring back at me on the face of a 4 year old boy. Once the boy thought he was out of ear shot he asked his father, "What was that man smoking?". The father calmly began to explain to his son the difference between cigars and cigarettes without a hint of judgment in his voice. But the boy was unsatisfied and began to retort on the unjustified legality of MY behavior. I did not get to hear his argument as the voices drifted away, but as they walked past a knot sprang up in my chest destroying all the pride in myself I had been feeling. It was that feeling you get when someone you love is hurt and you can't do anything. That was it, but fainter.

This boy is on his way to becoming another Joe Arpaio if he isn't careful. Please do not misunderstand me. I hold no ill towards the boy. He is simply a product of his environment. And by my brief assessment of his father, he isn't getting it there. Perhaps mom, but most likely school brainwashing. Even if that boy grows out of his Fascism, he will never dream. He will never look at the world trying to imagine what he can accomplish in it. He will choose to be told or to do the telling. When I was a boy and saw a man smoking a cigar I wondered what trophy he had just placed on his mantelpiece!