Yesterday (the 19th of November) was International Men’s Day.
I didn’t know such a day existed.
In fact, I only found out about it at quarter to midnight, and I wasn’t in the most manly of scenarios: alone in a bed that wasn’t mine wrapped in pink, silk sheets. I looked like a decadent, oversized chipolata. Quite phallic now I come to think of it.
I’m not sure what I think of this International Men’s Day (IMD) business. It seems that, as a guy committed to trying to help other guys, I should be aware of this date. But the thing is, along with my other WMD brothers, my head has been down getting things done.
In a sense it’s great that people are making a concerted effort to recognize the international nature of the difficulties of being a man today. But a bit of me isn’t sure I want to be involved in it.
… anyway, soon after midnight packed IMD off for another year, I fell into a deep sleep that only pink, silk sheets can muster (how, I worry, will I sleep on anything less?!). That night I had a dream, and the only thing that could have prompted it was my subconscious feeling about IMD.
In the dream I was sat with one of my fellow WMD brothers. We were stripped to the waist and barefoot. In his hand was a tattoo gun. He then proceeded to permanently brand a green line into the flesh of his torso. He then handed me the gun… but I didn’t have the balls to do it myself. So he took the gun and did it to me.
Now it’s clear enough to me that this represents some unrest within me about the disparity between how things used to be done
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and how they are done today.
Take the Spartans, for instance. When it was time for a boy to come of age, he was taken by the men into the wilderness. After a series of savage lessons in club-wielding, his initiation ceremony began; whereupon he was expected to drink the blood of fallen heroes and withstand the pain of having his flesh scarred – to mark him out as a
man.
When his flesh had healed, he’d soon recognise that these marks were on the older guys, and that now he was one of them – a man because he was now recognised as one by other men.
Now, contrast that with the efforts to have an annual ‘International Men’s Day’ and you have to wonder what people hope it will achieve. According to their website it’s to ‘appreciate and celebrate’ men, whatever that means.
Is it just me or does that lack the depth and meaning required for a ‘Men’s Day’ – more of a grazing of the skin than a scarring of the flesh?
Personally, I’d take the tattoo gun.