Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, December 14, 1993 TAG: 9312140070
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Neil Chethik
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
The day after Thanksgiving, following a smooth pregnancy and a harrowing labor, my wife, Kelly, gave birth to an 8 1/2-pound baby boy. Because of the tense delivery, there was no sweeter sound than Evan's first healthy cry. We cheered and hugged him when it came.
But that could be the last time anyone praises him for his tears. He's a boy, after all, and the world will soon teach him that burying his emotions is part of the price of becoming a man.
From the first admonitions that "boys don't cry" to the movie images of thick-skinned cowboys, my son will be taught that to reveal what he truly feels is a dangerous and provocative act. He will learn to swallow hard, puff out his chest, and stuff away his pain or fear or joy.
Then he'll go on with his life. But it will be a lesser life. A person who does not know how he feels is only half-alive. He can think, argue, debate, fence and fight, but he cannot infuse his actions with the passion of soul. He cannot call upon an inner voice for guidance and compassion. He cannot really trust himself.
I conclude this not from observing others, but myself. Somewhere and everywhere in the blur of childhood, I learned that to show my emotions was to show weakness. By the time I was old enough to be called a man, I had become expert at hiding what I felt, even from myself. I could not identify most of my feelings, describe them or express them.
This training did not serve me well in young adulthood. Confused about my inner life, I found emotional relief primarily through anger. I made decisions about work, family and friendships that were based on the expectations of others. And when women asked me how I felt about them, I had to answer honestly, "I don't know."
Since becoming aware of this, I've spent years trying to unlearn what I should never have learned in the first place, to let go of the male self-stereotypes of provider, protector and stoic.
I don't wish this fate upon my son. But how does a parent counter a culture's powerful teachings? How does he help his son keep his emotions alive and accessible? How does he give the boy the tools for intimacy and interdependence?
I suppose the place to start is encouraging him in what he already seems to know: that it is his right to cry, laugh, scream, howl, and swing his arms like a windmill out of control. As his father, I must see these expressions not only as signals of his needs, but as signs of his emotional strength as well.
When he gets a little older, I can help him put words to his emotions. Just as I might ask him to name a color on a page or a tree in the forest, I can ask him to say what he's feeling. Is he hurt or scared, mad or sad, joyful or grateful? And what's the difference between these?
As he grows into manhood, however, he will learn most by watching men, especially me. Only when I question the expectations of manhood will my son have the courage to do so too. Only when I freely express my emotions will he find it acceptable to express his.
I only hope that I gleen enough wisdom from him now, during this time of uninhibited innocence, to offer it back to him in the struggle-filled years ahead.
Men-tion
For a handy guide to naming moods, emotions and sensations, check out Dan Jones' "Words for Our Feelings" (Mandala, $5.95). You can get it at some bookstores, or by sending $5.95, plus $2 for shipping, to P.O. Box 5892, Austin, Texas 78763.
Male call
Men: What kind of training did you get in expressing your emotions? Women: How do you react when a boy or a man gets emotional? Send responses and comments to The Men's Column, in care of the Features Department, Roanoke Times & World-News, P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke, Va. 24010-2491. Universal Press Syndicate
by CNB