Man Among Boys

This post has 457 words. It will take approximately 4 minutes, 34 secondes for reading it.

If you’ve been reading the news lately, particularly the sports page, you know there is a police report that accuses Rams running back Stephen Jackson of using his powerful stiff arm for more than warding off defenders and assaulted his ex-girlfriend.  According to an ESPN article, his struck his ex-girlfriend to the floor and shoved her into a door…while she was nine months pregnant.  If even a hint of this is true, I have to put this into a new category of “Just Not Manly.”  I might call it “Punk Assed B*tches.”

Now I don’t advocate violence against women, but when a woman is pregnant and carrying your child, that’s a whole new low.

For anyone who’s ever played a physical sport, especially one like football, you know that your aggression and physicality are what make you a success as much as your knowledge of the game.  It doesn’t do any good to know the X’s and O’s if you can’t execute.  I was taught that to be successful you must have the “3 iles”: You must be agile, you must be mobile, and above all…you must be hostile.

I was also taught that once the game is over, you turn it off.  That’s where the man in you has to take over.  You can’t take that same aggression home to the woman in your life, especially if she’s carrying your child.

If a woman just mouths off to you, that’s isn’t just cause to hook off on her off.  If she strikes you, (in most cases) that even that isn’t cause to reply in kind.  Restrain her if you have to so she’ll stop hitting you, but punching her in the mouth doesn’t make you any more a man.

(Note:  I say “in most cases”, because like all things, there are exceptions.  If I’m in the shower and you try to Al Green me by throwing pipin’ hot grits on me, you have just tried to mame and/or kill me.  You might have an unfortunate accident after that.  I might write a blog about it one day.  Let me know what you think.)

If the woman is PREGNANT, that’s something you just have to let go.  Walk out of the house.  Go to a friend’s house and talk.  Go to a sports bar and watch the game.  Do something, but hitting a pregnant woman is out of the question.

Steven Jackson, I’m hoping that what we’re reading is dead wrong, but if it isn’t…you need to more than man up.  You need your punk ass whipped.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 526 words. It will take approximately 5 minutes, 15 secondes for reading it.

A man needs to know when to maintain his calm.  It is important not to jump to conclusion too quickly and keep cool in testy situations…

And there’s a time to act a fool.  Yes I said it.

Some people don’t understand rational behavior and logic.  There are some people you just can’t talk to, and they’re usually at the extreme ends of the spectrum:

• Incredibly stupid – They can’t process what you’re saying and it gets frustrating to talk to them
• Incredibly educated – They think they know everything everything and don’t have to listen (basically, they’re classing you as the former)

In these cases, if walking away isn’t an option, you may have to set social protocol aside and show your ass to make a point.

In a previous post, I told you that my son was in the hospital.  They were able to temporarly help with his pain, but aren’t able to find the source. We’ve been told several things from several different specialists, doctors, and nurses.  Instructions from the daytime covering physician are different from the night time physician.   And in the middle is my son, still in pain.

The doctors came into the room to discuss what type of testing we should do. One doctor would put one plan in motion while another would do some thing entirely different on the next shift.  What one nurse told my ex-wife differed from what they told me.

We tried to talk to the nurses and doctors rationally, asking all the appropriate questions and wanting explainations. What we received was the usual generic phrases followed by an air of “we’re the professionals, keep your simple asses out of the let us handle it.”  And for a while, we did.  I mean, they’re the experts, right?  They are supposed to help us.

Doctors would come in the room in huddles to poke and prod while they guessed at what the cause could be.  It seemed that no one had a clue as to what they were doing.  Finally…I had enough…

“THIS SOME BULLSH*T!  YOU MUTHAF*CKAZ BETTER GET IT RIGHT!  IT’S GONNA BE SOME PROBLEMS IF SH*T DON’T GET STRAIGHT!”

For those who know me, usually I’m a soft-spoken fellow who will try to reason with you.  I really do.  I’m an educated man.  A learned man.  But they didn’t respect that. I tried to be polite and no one wanted to listen.

Now there’s a 2000 pound gorilla in the room wishing a muthaf*cka would come out their mouth sideways.

I followed that with other things that I’d rather not say in polite company but my tirade got things moving.  The chief hospital administrator got involved and started to put things in motion.   It was explained how f*cked up our experience was and that he needed to get his people in gear. After that, he got things moving.

So I had to get “ish” and act like I had no home training.  But sh*t is getting done.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 840 words. It will take approximately 8 minutes, 24 secondes for reading it.

When we’re going through a bad situation or seeking help, we often look for someone to analyze our problems.  This leaves vulnerable, and we’ll listen to just about anyone that lends an ear and seems to know what they’re talking about.

That’s very dangerous.  When you’re at your lowest is when you need to hear what people are saying the most.  There are millions of snake oil salesmen out there that lack substance, but because it sounds like relieving words at a time of need, we take it as gospel.

That’s when people fall for the “okie doke.”

For those of you who don’t know what that “okie doke” is, that’s when someone gets played for a fool.  Think of all those internet scams out there that promise $1000 a day for 15 minutes work…and all you have to do is make 3 payments of $39.95 for it.  That sounds like a godsend…but if it were that easy, there wouldn’t be a broke ass on the planet.   A lot of people fall for the “okie doke” on a regular basis.

The reason I bring this up is I was listening to an urban radio station today and heard a classic example of the “okie doke”.  A psychic was on and invited people to call in and discuss their problems.  A  young woman named Trina called in to ask the psychic if she should stay with her child’s father.  She said he comes around to spend time with her and the baby, but that they don’t see eye to eye.

A slick talker would be able to take a lot out of the italicized passage and use leading questions to guide someone in the direction they want the conversation to go in, luring them into the “okie doke”.  The psychic skillfully asked  series of questions that didn’t really say much, but had Trina thinking she was the second coming….

You probably feel overwhelmed with work and taking care of the baby, right?

Uh, no sh*t.  Basically, Trina’s a single mom, and there may be no tougher job in the world than that. Unless she’s on welfare, she’s working.  I know I talk a lot of sh*t about the ladies, but I acknowledge and appreciate the hard work a single mom puts in holding down a 40 hour a week job, and then coming home to cook dinner and help the kids with homework.  She must be tough in a tough situation.

The psychic made Trina feel appreciated, like someone out there understands what she’s going through.  Whether the psychic was single and had children or not is irrelevant; she made Trina feel like she could relate and played the sympathetic friend.

The first part of the “okie doke” is to make someone feel like they are safe and can trust you; a boa constrictor always hugs its prey before squeezing it to death.

(On a Side Note:  Some of you ladies brought this upon yourselves. A lot of times, you nagged a good man to death and drove him away.  The next time you want to blame someone, look in the mirror instead of calling your girlfriends and complaining that there are no good men out there.  He wanted to help with kids with homework and make family time, but you were steady b*tchin’ about the toilet seat being up.  The toilet seat is down now, but there’s no man in sight.  Dummy.)

There were probably money issues, right?

That’s not exactly a leap of faith since money is one of, if not the, top reason couples separate, whether it be one uses it to control the other, or just that the bills and necessities aren’t being taken care of.  And we the current economic state of the country, chances are money issues would apply to Trina too.

Even though he come by to see the baby and make family time, you’re still not happy, right?

All the psychic did here is repeat what Trina first told her but in the form of a question.  She didn’t really add anything, but the way she phrased the question makes it seem like she did, kind of like the “Great Repeater” at the office, who just repeats everything everyone else says with a few gestures and some big words thrown in.

xxxxxxxxx…RIGHT?

Notice how the psychic ended each question with the word right.  She’s TELLING Trina these are the reasons for her issues, even if they aren’t.  Right isn’t used to confirm, but to control.  For someone already having troubles, hearing that this is right is like finding the cause to your problems…even though they are something all together different.

After Trina hung up, I’m sure she felt like she had the source of all her problems…but she really didn’t get much help.

That’s the “okie doke” for you.  Feel free to comment.

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This post has 476 words. It will take approximately 4 minutes, 45 secondes for reading it.

I pride myself on being a man.  Part of a man means taking a stance and standing tall.  It is also knowing when kneel down and take a lesson from your children.

In the first part of “At Least Leave Me My Dignity“, I talked about being dead set against any type of testing that involved anything going in my ass.  I would rather eat glass than have someone’s finger jamming in my rectum. Anyone who tried to rationalize it got cussed the f*ck out quickly.  But something happened recently that changed my thinking on that.

My son was recently in the hospital.  He’s been having abdominal pain so he went in for testing and was admitted.  The doctor wanted to make sure there wasn’t any tearing or inflammation.  They prodded, poked, and took multiple x-rays.

Then they had to do…the test.

The doctor put on his glove and asked my son to turn over on his stomach.  My son knew what was coming.  He winced a little and that was that.  The doctor took off his glove, told Gio he’s be hooked up the IV to get liquids for the night and left.

I ran over to hug my son like he was just shot in combat.  I held him and asked how he felt and he said he felt…violated.  I felt like it was my fault.  I told him that would be the last time and that he’d never have to do it again.  Then he said…

“But what if the doctor says I have to?  I want make sure I’m OK…a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do .”

At that moment, I felt like the room was full with people staring at me, shaking their hear head because my son had done and accepted what I was afraid of.

That was my shame.  At that moment, my son was more man than me.  And if I’m to be an example for my son, I have to man up on this one.

I have to make sure I’m around for him, so that means I have to make sure I’m healthy.  I’ve decided that I’ve been childish about this for long enough.

I’m going to schedule the test.

There’s a history of certain illnesses in my family, and the “test” will help rule out certain things…so I’m getting it…whether I like it or not.  I might even feel violated.  But if it means that I’ll have a better chance to live to raise my son into a man, and to see him raise his own children, then so be it.

Like my son taught me…a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 497 words. It will take approximately 4 minutes, 58 secondes for reading it.

Nobody likes to lose.  Thanks just how we were brought up.  To win.  To do our best…and if we do our best, we can call ourselves the victor and hoist the trophy high above our heads.

That isn’t always a good thing.

I remember reading an article in the December 14 edition of ESPN The Magazine by Jay Bilas (not usually a fan of his, but it make for good reading while in the sauna).  He was talking about the value of playing in early tournaments in college basketball, and made some very good points.  In those early tournaments, teams usually play out very good, out-of-conference teams instead of their usual in-conference cupcakes. A lot of times they’re in a tough matchup or even lose, but there can be some value in that.

In the article, Bilas quotes Michigan State coach Tom Izzo as saying “You’re fooling yourself if you think you can be ready without playing the best teams early.  But you can’t be fooled when you’re getting your butt kicked in a fistfight. You need that fistfight to get better, to evaluate your team and yourself.”

That got me to thinking about how we can apply that in life. A man shouldn’t be afraid to test himself against a tough challenge, whether that be interviewing for a new position or trying to step out on your own.  Whether you fail or succeed, you’ll learn a lot about yourself that you can build on.

Taking a loss will let you know what you have to work on.  It could expose the slightest detail that you’re lacking.  You might be good at initiating contact, but suck at “closing the deal.” You might be able to develop new ideas, but your ability to present them to the powers-that-be might be lacking.  Develop these and that will make you stronger.

However, if you take a greater challenge and succeed, that’s a great confidence boost and confirms that you’re ready to move on to bigger and better things.  Dunking on your 5 year old little brother says that you have a twisted view of family time.  Dunking on Lebron James says that you might be ready to don an NBA uniform yourself.

But the key to all of this is that…you can’t be scared to take an ass whuppin.  You can’t be scared to take a greater challenge because you might fail.  You can’t think about the fact that you might fail.  It you take the greater challenge, you just might surprise yourself.

I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed. – Michael Jordan, arguably the greatest player of all time

I think that says it all.  Feel free to comment.

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This post has 335 words. It will take approximately 3 minutes, 21 secondes for reading it.

I was at a dinner party this a few weeks with some former co-workers and old friends.  We had a few drinks, sat around and started talking sh*t about all the world’s problems, one of which being…men.  Not the typical-woman-man-hating-wanting-to-castrate men but more asking where have all the real men gone.  We started jumping from dating to education to fashion, and skinny jeans came up…

…so you know I jumped all on that.  And if you have to guess which side of the issue I stand on, you are not TrueMan Approved and should leave this blog now.

Our host disagreed with my views and said that it was just fashion and who was I to question what was “manly.”

I wanted to say, “Who am I??!  Who am I?!!  Dammit, I’m TrueMan, the standard to which other men are measured, and if anything I’ve said about skinny jeans offends anyone on the face of the planet, then take them out ya gotdamn closet and burn them!”

However, I kept it simple…”If not me…then who?”

There have to be bare minimums.  There have to be standards.  There have to be degrees of what a man does and what a man doesn’t do.  And there has to be someone to enforce them.  That’s where I come in…

There has to be someone to stand up for truth, justice, and the manly way.  And since no one has stood up to say things like men wearing silk scarfs, skinny jeans, and most important, anything associated with Kanye West are not manly, then dammit, I’ll step into the phone booth, change in TrueMan, and fly off to combat unmanliness wherever I see it.

A man will stand up for his belief, even if no one will stand up with him.  So dammit, I’m standing up against skinny jeans.

To my fellow men reading this blog, I ask you…who will stand with me?

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 683 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 49 secondes for reading it.

Picking a good woman is a tough thing to do.  There’s no exact method or way to go about it. It’s as much art as it is science, and no one seems to have gotten it right.

There have been some theories and a few proven testing methods.  I remember a particular scene from “A Bronx Tale” where local mob boss, Sonny, is trying to school his young protegé, “C”, in the fine art of finding a woman.

Sonny: Alright, listen to me. You pull up right where she lives, right? Before you get outta the car, you lock both doors. Then, get outta the car, you walk over to her. You bring her over to the car. Dig out the key, put it in the lock and open the door for her. Then you let her get in. Then you close the door. Then you walk around the back of the car and look through the rear window. If she doesn’t reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in: dump her.

Calogero ‘C’ Anello: Just like that?

Sonny: Listen to me, kid. If she doesn’t reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in, that means she’s a selfish broad and all you’re seeing is the tip of the iceberg. You dump her and you dump her fast.

I’d like to add one to this.  How about if a woman is willing to drive off while you are in the back of a speeding truck and she keeps going?

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m referring to the sad tale of Cincinnati Bengals’ wide receiver Chris Henry.  He went to his fiancée’s, Loleni Tonga, family’s house and was helping to plan their wedding when something happened that caused Tonga to leave in a hurry.  Henry jumped into the back of her truck as she sped down the street.  At some point Henry either jumped or fell from the back of the truck and died.

She says that she wasn’t driving fast in the 35 MPH zone because he was in the back standing up.  But here’s a thought…how about ya dumb ass stops the truck? How about you get out and see what it was he wanted to talk about?

Any woman who would keep driving when her fiancée is in the back, a man who would take her hand marriage, is a sorry piece of sh*t.  Chris Henry was not trying to remake the movie “Teenwolf” where Michael J. Fox was “car surfing.”  He was not “ghost ridin’ the whip” and asked Tonga to take the wheel (I don’t get the “ghost ridin’” thing, but that’s just me).  He was trying to get her attention. If the neighbor’s account was true, where he heard Henry say that if Tonga didn’t stop the truck that he would jump off and kill himself, she should have stopped the truck.

I don’t know what was said during the argument, but I know that if I’m driving away and someone who loves me and that I claim to love jumps in the back, I’m stopping.  I might be irate and angry but I”m stopping because they are standing in the back of a moving vehicle and they could get hurt.

But I have to put part of this on Chris Henry too. There had to be some signs that she was a sorry ass.  The booty couldn’t have been that good to make him overlook the signs and put a rock on her hand.  There must have been something that he overlooked.  There had to be some signs that this was a psycho b*tch and that she wasn’t wife material.  Henry ignored the signs.

I’m putting my money on the theory that Tonga never leaned over to open the car door.  And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 696 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 57 secondes for reading it.

I’m sorry for not posting the last few days.  I’m in Chicago on business and I haven’t been able to get to Man Among Boys as often as I’d like.

When two people have been in a relationship for a long time, sometimes the love gives way to hurt and pain, and that’s when the relationship ends.  Women become more emotional, and men shield themselves and become colder.   There’s a lot of hate, but eventually, even that gives way to understanding. I have an interesting story to tell.

My son has been sick for the last few days.  He’s been impacted  and has stomach cramping severe enough that he’s gone to the hospital the last two days.  My ex-wife and I have never been able to communicate, but when it comes to anything that has to do with our son, we make due.

I had to fly out to Chicago but I wanted to stop by and see him on my way to the airport to make sure he was alright.  I knocked on the door and my ex-wife greeted me with a warm “hello”.  I replied with my usual “hey” and walked in.

I walked into the living room and made my way to the stairs to go to our son’s room. My ex-wife stopped me short and asked me if I wanted something to drink.

“Is it poisoned?”

“No, it’s not poisoned.”

Hmmm.  So she was just interested in making sure that I wasn’t thirsty.  That was strange.  She was being…nice.

For those of you who know me personally know that our relationship and marriage was very rocky to a point that we hated…I mean HATED…each other.  We have designated places for when we pick up or drop off our son because we don’t feel comfortable alone with each other.  Our son has a cell phone so he can call either of us without having to involve the other.

I’ve laid down to sleep and had dreams of watching her take a bath and throwing an electric space heater in.  For Christmas, I thought about getting on some Kill Bill 2 sh*t and giving her a huge box of money wrapped with a big bow…and when she ripped open her present, have a black mamba with a Santa hat on spring out and bite her on the neck.

But this was different. So I decided to go with it for now.

I said thanks, took the drink and headed up to my son’s room.  I kissed him on the forehead, plopped down on the bed next to him, and we played a few Xbox games until I had to head to the airport.  My ex-wife stayed in the room a little while and watched.  All three of us laughed and joked a while, which was really weird because the conversations my ex-wife and I usually have revolve around the words “f*ck you”, “b*tch”, and “drop dead” .

You could see the joy on my son’s face and he looked back and forth at us.  It almost made him feel better.

For those of you saying “Awwww, that’s so nice. They’re made for each other. They’ll get back together”, uh….NO.  There is no reconciliation.  We’re ex’s for a reason.  Our time has run its course.  Maybe we’re realizing that although we’re not good together, that doesn’t mean that we have to hate each other.  I hope she finds someone that is crazy enough to love her.  Two crazy people can stay together forever.

As I got up and made my leave, she wished me a safe trip and told me to call her and my son when I got in to let them know I got there.  Hmm, another act of concern and kindness…gotta be a full moon somewhere.

Or maybe we just turned the corner.  Even after the hurt and pain, we still have a beautiful child to care for.

We’ll see what happens the next time we meet.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 685 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 51 secondes for reading it.

Happy New Year!  Welcome to 2010!  I hope that you all had a memorable New Year’s experience, no matter what you did. I just got back from Atlanta.  For New Year’s Eve, I went to an upscale party at the Ritz Carlton Buckhead across from the Lenox mall.  It was nice.  I did all the typical things, dance, sip champagne, laugh, joke, and people watch.  I don’t know if I’ll do the big party scene again, but the time I spent with friends made it worth the trip.

(For those of you wondering, YES, I did hit the strip club the night before.)

My trip also taught me that you guys still need help.  I saw a lot of unmanly things.  A LOT of unmanly things.  I tried to take pictures but they weren’t clear, but if they were, I’d have them on this post and putting a lot of people to shame.

There were a few “guys” I met or saw at the party that I’d like to introduce you too.  They did a lot of unmanly stuff that I hoped we’d put to rest in 2009, but it’s a brand new year…same ole sh*t…

Mr. Too Cool

I talked about this before but it seems that Mr. Too Cool still wants to wear (fake) designer sunglasses indoors.  No one should wear shades in the club or any dark room unless you got punched in the eye and are covering it up.  And if you’re juvenile enough to still be fighting, you shouldn’t have been at this party.

Farnsworth, I mean..Foolsworth Bentley

Pulling a cheap suit out the closet and adding a large, ridiculous bowtie and a cummerbund does not a tuxedo make.  Trying to jazz it up by wearing bright, sparkly,white shoes with it is just sad.  For some reason, when they sparkled it made me think of The Wizard Of Oz…”I wish I was home.”

I wish you stayed home.

Mr. Tough Guy

Speaking of fighting, the tough-guy-in-front-of-your-woman act is really old, but some guys still do it.  Fellas, you don’t have to fight every time something “happens” to your lady.  I was drinking a bottle of water that my friend knocked over. A little of the water splashed on a lady standing a few feet from me.  She was understandingly shocked at first, but I assured her it was just water and apologized.

Then, after the situation was diffused, her knucklehead husband/boyfriend/jumpoff stepped to me with his chest out asking “Yo, why you gotta spill water on my girl?” I apologized to him, said it was an ACCIDENT, and assured him it was water.  I extended my hand to him and wished him a happy new year.  A lesser man would have handed him his ass…but it’s not worth it.  That’s the kind of stuff that gets guys embarrassed or worse.  If you want to embarrass yourself, it’s a free country, but you’re not going to embarrass me.

Boo Boo Da Fool version 2010

What is it with you knuckleheads and bottles of alcohol?  Do you just naturally try to embarrass yourselves, or do you practice in front of a mirror?

There was a guy holding two bottles of Grey Goose wearing a pimp hat dancing and shaking his bottles like he was doing something.  That was only surpassed by another fool dancing with an empty champagne bottle and actually asked a woman if she wanted a drink.

Mr…Honestly, I Don’t Know What To Say

Lastly, no matter how many Y chromosomes you claim to have, dancing while waving sparklers and spinning ya dumb ass around like a top is the most unmanly thing I’ve seen in a while.  I’d continue on this one, but I have not the words.  Definitely not TrueMan approved.

If after reading this you have to question if you were any of these “men” during the holiday…you probably were.

Cut that sh*t out!  Man up!

Feel free to comment.

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