There is a great deal of talk these days as to what makes a real man. Being a female I cannot totally understand this hypothetical question because I am hormonally and physically different from my brothers. I can only assert my point of view as it relates to the interactions between men and women. There are many different ideas as to what constitutes a real man with most of them being influenced by cultures and religious beliefs. In truth there is no one definitive way of defining a so called real man.
The first man that I really knew was my father but my thoughts about him are those of an eight year old child. When he died my vision of him was frozen forever in a time before I had the maturity to consider both his foibles and strengths. What I do know is that he loved me and my brothers and my mother as evidenced in big and small actions. The night that he spent hours and many gallons of gasoline attempting to find an open store with a Big Chief tablet that I needed for school the following day is as good a reason for me to view him as a thoughtful and understanding person as any other. He saw how disturbed I was at the thought of showing up at school without the supplies that I was supposed to have and so he moved mountains to make sure that my needs were addressed in a long ago time when stores closed in the afternoon. When I awoke to find a Big Chief tablet on my dresser my admiration for him was cemented. For me he was the man!
I grew up with many male cousins and I had seven uncles who were different in so many ways. Some of them went hunting and fishing and carried themselves with the kind of confidence that is associated with cowboys and athletes. Others were quiet and pensive with hearts made of gold.
I especially liked my Uncle Jack who was a tall lanky man who delivered mail for a job and enjoyed watching westerns for fun. He laughed and joked and called everyone “honey.” He was a good man who guided my mother in the weeks after my father’s death. He seemed to me to be the kind of man that everyone needs from time to time, someone to trust and to feel comfortable around.
My Uncle Willie was like having Santa Claus in the family. He was quiet and sweet but always wise. He was the man who noticed things and understood when someone needed help. He gave of his time and his love without fanfare, so silently that most people may not have even noticed that he was around. He was like Superman or Batman seeming to be quite ordinary until trouble came when he always showed up to be a hero who shunned any kind of notice. He demonstrated the importance of being a man who cares for his family and his community without personal expectations. He did what he did because it was right.
Of course their was my Grandpa Little, a man straddling the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and adjusting to changes just as he knew needed to be done. He was a handsome man with enormous hands that tapered just enough to make them artistic in the way he built things. He had lost all but a ring of his hair by the time I knew him so he protected his head from the burning rays of the sun with a fedora in winter and straw hat in the summer. He smoked a pipe and the sweet aroma of tobacco followed him everywhere. He read voraciously and in turn spread the word about what he had learned. His life had been difficult and yet he was never bitter, instead he celebrated progress for all of humankind. He was a teacher of how to survive in a world that can sometimes be cruel and still find hope and joy in each day.
My husband is the epitome of sweetness. He almost innocently seems to love anyone that he meets without even a hint of judgmental bias. He is generous with his time and his treasures, wanting very little for himself including power and great wealth. He finds fulfillment in being a steadying force much like my Uncle Willie always was. He is brilliant like my father and an avid reader and conveyor of information like my grandfather. He laughs and jokes and takes care of situations like my Uncle Jack. To me he is the personification of a real man, someone who is never boastful, never rude, never prone to judging with prejudice.
I believe that just as we women differ from one to another there is no definitive definition of what a real man is. I only seems to have an idea of what isn’t a real man. A real man values people and respects women. He is not undone by a woman who achieves greatness. He encourage everyones to be the best of whomever they choose to be. He does not find joy in boasting or insulting
So many men attempt to characterize the kind of man that they believe to be the epitome of that genre and miss the mark. Muscles are nice for the health of a man but they do not make a man. A real man is not superficial, nor does he grow stronger by putting others down. A truly good man does not lie or cheat or bully. The measure of a man cannot be determined by wealth or power, or sexual preference. A real man loves generously, encourages those around him and walks in a sacred kind of partnership with the earth and all of its people. Every man is imperfect just as each of of us are but he strives to quietly overcome his flaws with wisdom and grace.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 