Five Ways to Reclaim Your Masculinty at Fifty

by Tony B.

1.      Build a campfire just before dark. See if your teenage daughter will join you, but the chances are low, since she’s mostly outgrown these moments. Crumble up newspaper or phonebook pages (nobody uses either anymore), layer with small, dry twigs, and top with a criss-cross of logs. Consider pouring on an accelerant, perhaps from that can of old mis-measured gas/oil mix. Light the fire. Feed it twigs and additional tinder. Spend no less than an hour contemplating the licking flames, the glowing coals, and your lucky, lucky life. A cigar will help.

2.      String a hammock between two trees in the shade on a breezy summer day when you should be mowing the lawn or balancing the checkbook. Lie down in the hammock, and try not to worry that it’ll rip under your weight. Nap for no less than ten minutes. Dream about sleeping or cliff diving or fighting aliens. Wake up slightly disoriented but recharged, with the wind whispering through the trees. Don’t confess this sin to your wife.

3.      Before the long holiday trip with the family, pack the back of the minivan carefully, expertly, systematically with no gaps or spaces, Tetris-style. Treat the luggage as if it’s important. Gaze with satisfaction upon the snug suitcases, the just-in-case snow boots, the filler pillows, and the bags of wrapped gifts for grandmas, nieces, and nephews. Pack nothing in the back that needs to be fetched mid-trip. Make sure that your wife sees these masterful packing skills, but accept her compliments nonchalantly.

4.      Listen to Tom Waits singing “Heart Attack and Vine” or “Lucinda.” On CD, vinyl, mp3—don’t be a jerk about it. Turn it up loud and, if you’re not driving, take a swig of stout or porter or Scotch. But of course you’re driving, probably on your way to pick up one of the kids from their busy lives. So take a swig of the McDonald’s Diet Coke you always buy at the drive-thru. Sing along with Tom in your lowest, most gravelly growl to match his raw, hound-dog howls. Sing along until your throat hurts a little, but don’t blow your vocal chords entirely. Nobody needs to see or hear this private performance, so keep it to yourself.

5.      Look closely at your face in the mirror. Study your graying hair, your receding or receded hairline, your multiple chins you attempt to hide under your uneven goatee. Study your frown wrinkles, your yellowing teeth. Vow to smile more. Regret that you never had braces as a kid, that you don’t work out, that you’ve let yourself go, simple as that. Then look closely at your wife. Study her familiar face, her soft skin, her twinkling eyes, her sweet, genuine smile. Regret how you’ve taken her for granted. Think about the loser you’d be without her. Appreciate the fact that out of the millions of possible mates in the world she chose to spend the rest of her life with you. Thank her. Then tell her—tell her!—tell her everything.