Sage Telling Your Story

There actually have been times during my adult life that some people wished to use me as a role-model. I am far too self-effacing to comfortably accept that suggestion. I never have had a huge ego, and I do not regard myself as a remarkably successful person. Nor am I especially emotive or flamboyant, drawing attention to myself. Still, I recall a markedly ironic episode in 1970 when I specifically was asked to play that role.

I was in my early twenties, living and working for just one year in a stereotypical Midwest town. It was not a town that I would like to spend a lifetime in. I suppose that many of the citizens were decent people, but they were much more narrow in their experiences and thinking than I would like. The dominating economic force in town was an Alcoa plant. Other than people’s work and families, the main focus of their attention was devoted to church – – there was a disproportionate number of churches for the size of the town – – also men joining the Rotary Club, along with the almost mandatory high-school football and basketball. I gathered from hearing people talk that, when a baby boy was born, he immediately was destined to play football, if he was chunky, or basketball, if he was thin and long.

Even the school-teachers were not particularly well educated, and they certainly were not cosmopolitan. I recall one English teacher stating, “I told them students to put them books back on their desks.” Then she adamantly asserted, “I’m not interested in ever going to Europe. Everything in America is bigger and better than anything in Europe.” You can just imagine what their attitudes were about sexual identity, appearance, and affect, especially for boys.

I recall one sunny day sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus, when a well-dressed woman sat down next to me. She did not hesitate to introduce herself and engage me in conversation. She seemed eager to tell me that she had a daughter my age, not yet married, who had been in Japan and soon would be rejoining her. Almost as though the mother were vetting me as a potential son-in-law – – and perhaps she actually was—, she inquired all about me. She seemed impressed that I had more to offer than the usual young men born and raised in that town. I also got the distinct impression that, when I told her that I had, over the years, much interaction with many Japanese because I had studied Judo and Karate, she apparently concluded that I possessed an appropriate degree of masculinity.

She then very kindly, but also rather forcibly, suggested that, my being relatively new in town and not knowing many people, I should come to her home and join her husband and teenage son for supper. She claimed that we would have so much in common to talk about; and, later when her daughter returned, I could meet her, too. Without hesitation, she stated an appropriate date and insisted that I accept, which I did, albeit with some misgivings.

From the moment of my arrival at their home, I sensed a peculiar situation. The husband, rather than standing up to greet me, remained slunk in a coach, looking at me in discomfort. Then her fifteen-year-old son politely but timidly approached me and held out his hand. I remember his appearance quite clearly. He was blond, pleasantly attractive, and, like many colt-like, long-limb fifteen-year-olds, slim.

What she said next astounded me, for she said it right in front of her husband and her son. She stated that she was concerned that her son did not show signs of being sufficiently masculine, that he needed to have a masculine role model to interact with on a frequent basis, and his father was not up to the task. She thought that, if I visited the boy frequently and engaged in various activities with him, I could be a good influence on him. I was truly embarrassed for the father, and I could just imagine what that poor boy was thinking and feeling.

I remained polite throughout the dinner, keeping the conversation focused upon general topics having nothing to do with the personalities of the boy or his father. I somehow managed to make the evening short, thanking them for a pleasant evening, and, much to my relief, departed.

For some reason, I managed to never return to that home. I never got to meet the daughter once she returned. I suppose, considering the fact that I never phoned their house, the mother must have concluded that I was not eager to become connected with her family.

In retrospect, that mother’s attitude toward her son and her husband does not surprise me, especially considering the time and place of that encounter. Yet, that mother’s lack of acceptance toward her son, whatever his orientation or personality, and that of her husband, saddens me. I have no way of knowing what may have become of that boy; yet, obviously, I hope that he found some degree of happiness, security, and acceptance.

© 16 September 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.