I proposed, she accepted. We’re engaged. Second time’s a charm, as they say. I’m sure I’ll have a lot to think and perhaps write about being engaged and how it redefines me as a man among men and women (ugh, did I really just write that?), but right now, I don’t. The one thing that’s interested me since it went down last Thursday, is how, in the aftermath of such a momentous occurrence, gender roles, as ever, hold true. The guys, the fellers, my boyz, in general, want to shake my hand or give me a hearty (and heartfelt, don’t get me wrong) hug, sometimes one of those handshake-pull-into-hugs popular with the young, hip, hetero urban or wannabe urban(e) American male these days. What the fellas don’t do is ask me anything. Where did you ask her? What did you say? Were you nervous? What’s the ring like? None of that. The ladies, they ask all those questions and then some and I do my best to answer them, and I kind of enjoy answering them, but I also find that I don’t like all that girl talk as much as I like to think I do – I’ve often felt that I’m more comfy being one of the girls than one of the boys, and am always honored to be treated as a peer/insider when I’ve ended up being the only man among a group of women. And I like girl talk when it’s us girls (the girls and I) talking about stuff in general or about other people (aka gossiping), but when it’s about me, all of a sudden, and my relationship, I get uncomfortable, I become . . . a guy. You know, I asked her, in the restaurant. After dinner, before dessert. She said yes. It was cool. I’m sure I’m being a little more expressive than that, but the stiffness I’m feeling around talking about it makes me feel like such . . . a guy. And it was totally cool, the asking, her response, our friends’ excitement, all of it. But for some reason I get embarrassed recounting said coolness. I do enjoy hearing Anja recount my proposal, though, so if you want more juicy details, please feel free to pay her a visit at fruitandsugar.com.
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Aside from plotting and rehearsing my pending proposal, one thing that I thought about last week, as I watched the networks faux-reluctantly racially profile the yellow menace (He wasn’t a REAL American, of course, he was a outsider an immigrant, an Asian one at that . . . not that there’s anything wrong with that) who massacred those people at Virginia Tech, is that these spree killers, no surprise, get racialized when they’re "of color" and get defined as "mailman" or "postal worker" when they’re white, but I never hear any mainstream consideration of the fact that they’re always always always MEN.
Is there something inherent in our maleness, in testosterone and other chemicals, perhaps, that allows men to act out so outrageously? Or is it something societal that allows, even encourages some men and prevents all women from committing such heinous acts? Perhaps a combination of the two? Something I’d like to ponder and study and report on at a later date. Or hear from you about.
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Among other things I’m planning to address soon here is the content/discontent of those who’ve chosen to surgically change genders (or is it only sex one can change and not gender – or is it both, or, arguably neither?) and I’m waiting for two friends who’ve made said changes, one f-to-m, one m-to-f, who’ve promised to write something about their experience. I’d love to hear from others as well on this.
Are there masculinity issues you find worthy of address that Dan and I haven’t yet touched on? Please let us know by posting below or writing Dan from the profile page or me at jamie@jamiebergerwords.com). We’d really love your suggestions, ladies and germs.
