Bring it on

My sense of ironic detachment has been tried in recent times. I find that I'm beginning to lose that manner of stoic disapproval I worked hard for years to create. The 'know nothing, do nothing' shell I've crafted all these years is coming apart at the seams. What's a poor boy to do?
Suddenly I'm full of feeling and empathy. Gone is the condescension and superiority. Now its all about compassion and caring. What the hell is wrong with me?

I hate the fact that I find myself reacting to ads on T.V. in ways the advertising company wanted me to. Those commercials for fido, which incidentally our man Randall did the voice work for, leave me wanting to train dogs to vacuum because it's so cute. I find myself getting choked up when that girl, the one waiting at the airport gate finally sees her man and breaks down into tears. I wonder if that dish washing detergent really can out do the brand I've been buying for years, simply because it was the first one I ever grabbed off the shelf.

I remember being incredibly uneasy a few years ago at a birthday party for someone's grampa when the old guy came into the room, realized his family had organized a party for him and burst into tears. I attributed this unmanly display of emotion to the fact that his own mortality had just been uncovered and he was worried about that nurse he met while stationed in France. But that wasn't it. It wasn't the fear of being chastised by God first hand within the next year or two, it was something which some men seem to have no control over at all. The barriers that hold back the emotional load accumulated over the years just aren't built high enough or strong enough for some of us. I had hopes for myself, as I come from a long line of barrier builders, the ones that never cracked or even showed a hairline fracture all their days on earth. Now I stop and have to suppress a tear when that mom and dad send their kid off to college and give her a cell phone to stay in touch.

Robert Bly once coined a phrase which I have remembered for years. He was talking about those men who have let down their guard and become friends with women. Those guys who actually see the feminine point of view and who feel empathy and work to understand what it's like to be a woman. They walk away from a man's God given right to be emotionally void of anything resembling compassion. He called them 'soft boys'. I have held that phrase high as a warning for years.

Maybe I'm over reacting. Maybe I just have the flu and, like my weakened immune system, I just need a few days to recover. Then I can get back to my crusty old self. I'm never going to reach my goal of being just like my grandfather, the crustiest of old farts who ever lived, if I don't get a grip. I like to imagine myself sitting somewhere on a porch, hopefully abusing my kid's hospitality, complaining about the cold when it's 32 degrees out or yelling at kids who pass by just to see them jump. I will drop plates of food on the floor just because the colour yellow pisses me off and I will refuse to be nice to the grandkids, because dammit, in my day that's what grandfathers did. All I need is a few more years to work through this compassionate phase and I'll be set. Yeah, I'm gonna be the meanest old..........Oh look! Puppies!