macho, macho men

10.4.20

When I was a little girl living on Lincoln Street in Lewiston Maine, I came upon a scene in my neighborhood that was imprinted on my mind. In an empty lot next to Marcotte Furniture World, I saw a group of bare chested men working out with barbells, big ones. I was about 5 or 6 at the time and I didn't know why it affected me so. It was like walking in on your parents fornicating, a primal scene. It didn't frighten me; rather I was mesmerized. I had stumbled upon a pack of wild animals performing rituals of power and virility, and they were big, muscular and beautiful, their sweating bodies glistening in the sun.

 There was nothing like that going on in my home. My stepmother's father a perverted old fool, sat by the window in his rocking chair all day drinking his Ballantine Beer and listening to the radio. My father preferred the hard stuff and the parties. Both of them were children, which my brothers and I scorned. Dissipation was more to their taste than strength or virility, especially my father. Life had already passed the old man by. He hardly ever left his rocking chair.

 Then I went to the convent where nuns schooled me in endurance, not virility. One had to learn how to take the blows in life, to succumb and submit. Endurance of course is another form of strength for those surrounded by the big guys, just like kids and nuns are surrounded by those in charge. The singer Johnny Hallyday says in his song, Debout, I always took it standing as a kid in schoolyard fights, never on my knees.

 Me too. But nobody ever messed with me, except the nuns who began to see that they would not be able to mold me into an obedient follower. After I ran away at 14, my father in a way admired my spunk, but would have preferred a docile girl more in line with his perception of what was expected of females. That he shunned any responsibility for my brothers and I made me stronger. I remember realizing at the time that I was essentially on my own in life and that I would have to take care of myself. That is not the best way to come to one's own power, but it does accomplish what's needed.

 I was often cast in the role of obstructionist and rebel, which I was. I spent quite a bit of time opposing what was expected of me, rather than proudly asserting who I was and what I stood for. I believe that one's life is of a whole. There are no accidents, rather one's journey is purposeful, all the pieces of the puzzle fit together.

 I took what I needed from the primal scene I had stumbled upon, men basking in their manliness, and stored it for a time when it would be needed.

 The favorite essay this month has been, ANDRÉ GIDE