Middle aged white guys get a lot of crap these days.
Oh, they whine too, some of them...Joe the Plumber types who speak of being emasculated every time they are asked to pick up their underpants. You know the type...pouting about the “feminization” of America because we acknowledged there are other holidays in December and decided that calling people “colored” or "faggot" or other, even fancier words maybe wasn’t the very smartest thing to do ever.
But they also get a lot of crap too. I mean, a whole lot. Bastions of privilege, true, they are used as the personification of an entire spectrum of behavior that runs from perfectly vicious corporate greed to home care cluelessness. They are the stupid people in the commercials who do the stupid things. They are the goofy dorks with the smart wives on sitcoms. The strange obsession with meat. All that. White man as cliche.
But...and I know I will even get crap for this, because to say nice things about men these days is to ‘pander’, somehow..but...
I love them. I love them bad.
You, yes you, Daddy, in the market with your kid in your arms. You in your sneakers and cargo shorts and polos and caps, clean shaven or goateed, holding your cute kid and looking for that special cereal Mom likes. I love you.
You, work-too-hard guy, who watches maybe a little too much football and maybe is bad at laundry but washes the car for her and gets the oil changed and grabs the golf club and investigates, fearfully but relentlessly, when the house goes bump at night. I love you.
You, in your hoodie and jeans in the hardware store, sweetly flirting with me, if I am lucky, or sometimes just really damn helpful when I have a question, because thats what nice guys do. And I love you.
And you hold the door. And you pay the check, but can be talked into being treated too. And you smell like soap and clean laundry and maybe you have a little tummy but I love it, and want to caress it, and find it friendlier than Brad Pitt’s six pack abs....
And you wash out the little hairs in the sink, and you put the seat down. And you show up on time and take the kids to Disneyland, and read the instructions before assembly and grill a mean steak.
And in spite of the fact that men are allowed to express only anger or happiness, the fact that men are given a box two inches wider than they are and told that THIS is the range of emotion and expression that’s “manly”...you manage to show profound tenderness and vulnerability, and thats manly as hell. Really. And anyone who says otherwise has issues of their own. And you haven’t cried in ten years because you just can’t seem to do it and my heart breaks for you because that release isn’t yours. You have to find other ways.
And you are so easy to please, you sweet thing. How little it takes to make you happy, it seems.
(I mean...I LIKE oral sex, sweetie! It’s not a job....its a joy! Any time, love!)
And you rush the hijackers on the plane.
You do that too.
And inside of every middle aged gentle man there is a James Bond wanting to get out. And I see that in your eyes and I want you. Because though the Bond in your eyes makes them sparkle.....your white-guy-in-cargo-shorts-getting-the-cereal self is hotter than Daniel Craig in a tux (and thats hot).
And because even though you want adventure and romance.. (and I want it for you too! Really! I’m there!)....you settle down and commit and take great care of the kids and that’s hard and scary but you do it well and even seem to love it. I am dazzled by the fearlessness of that...by what men take on as a “given”. How you pony up.
I know its more common these days to notice that we women are working are arses off..and oh, we are. We have our own problems, big time...I could spend a lifetime writing about it.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you.
I do. I do. And I want to make sure you know that.
I love you, Middle Aged White Guy.
Thanks for existing.