[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]ears back, in another life, I presented at seminars and conferences that provided continuing education units for professional re-certification. In one particular module, I used a portable grease board in a room in front of my waiting audience. Without introducing myself or saying anything else, I used a grease pen to write the words “Men are…” …
Seeing his reflection in the lives of all the lonely men who reach for anything they can to keep from going home. -Kris Kristofferson Joe Bob searches his home futilely for a place to store a box of baseball cards he‘s collected since childhood. Everywhere he looks is already packed to the edges with something …
David Evans. Collin Finnerty. Reade Seligmann. Don’t be surprised if the names sound only vaguely familiar, though not so long ago they were the subject of national headlines. Perhaps the mention of another name will jar your memory. Mike Nifong. Yes, Evans, Finnerty and Seligmann were the accused in the stridently publicized Duke Lacrosse rape …
This isn’t just about decency. And it is not just about the chasm of mistrust that separates us from each other, or the legions of the walking wounded from this godforsaken gender war.
Personally, I have seen enough of this garbage from men to last me a lifetime. There are men and women out here right now, fighting an uphill battle you can’t imagine just to give you a fair shot at justice when the wife calls in the lawyers and the state to dissolve your marriage and your assets; to dissolve your life.
It was February, and I drove through Athens into the heart of east Texas with a chilled wind blowing dead leaves and debris across the highway. The sky, dark and moody, mimicked an ancient turmoil in my heart. “Just talk to him,” Jim had said. “There is much you have to say and you won’t …
Amy sat across from me in one of the two Queen Anns. She looked vacantly at the floor and her shoulders slumped downward, as if ready to collapse under the weight of a hard life. She used a pale finger to absently toy with a strand of hair that hung by her cheek and was …
I remember reading when I was younger a biography of the artist Jean Cocteau, how on his first plane trip he remarked how wonderful man was, enraptured by the technological marvel that was carrying him across the sky. Of course, by “man” he likely meant “humanity.” Years later I note how I have spent much …
