Good Morning! This week’s post will be split into four parts. I’ve decided to write about how I find my friends. I’m not talking about Facebook/online friends; those aren’t friendships. I’m talking about the people that you invite into your home. The people you trust, the people that you’re willing to help, and the people that will reciprocate not out of obligation, but out of kindness. The internet has pontificated for years on what it means to be a “real friend” so I won’t put it to you like that. I choose not to refer to humans as real or fake in my life. The humans that are in my life have been carefully selected based on my observations of Bro Culture, Hate Culture, and occurrences of drama (read: people that always seem to have something taxing going on).
Living with an open mind can be a lonely existence. I’ve been exploring the social significance of friendship tiers since 5th grade. To give someone the label of best friend or girl friend holds a lot of weight. I began to realize how heavy a weight when some friendships turned to betrayal. As a child, I was teased by those that felt the need to point out my big feet, dark skin, or broad nose. I was bullied by those Bros that had something to prove.
It’s worth mentioning… I hate the modern definition of bullying. *insert old man accent* Back in my day… bullying was a very pragmatic thing. The bully demanded something, or else there would be an ass whooping. It was pretty cut & dry, give this or get that. The mark was left with two choices; give up the lunch money or get punched in the mouth. Today, I hear stories about someone calling someone else a name and parents call it bullying. WTF? Billy the bully called little Trevor a queer and you call that bullying? No, Billy is just a fucking asshole, not a bully. Put Billy through some sensitivity training while he’s still young, tell the male role model(s) in his life (Dad, Brothers, Uncles, et al) to watch the shitty language they use, make him apologize (publicly) to Trevor and keep it moving! A woman once suggested that I was bullying her because I wouldn’t let her injury-free, able-bodied ass use three pound dumbbells in my group exercise class (everyone else was using 8-12 pounds). I explained to her the same I’ll proclaim here. Just because someone says some shit you don’t want to hear doesn’t make them a bully. *end rant*
Dudes that I considered my best friends turned on me (and tried to pick fights or blatantly disrespect) in order to show off for older Bros or some cute girl in class. This was a considerable amount of posturing for 5th graders. But, it fucked with me on an emotional level. These were my first experiences of betrayal by friends and they were all my supposed Bros. They were all males. Years passed and I kept my distance from most dudes because I didn’t feel like I could trust them. Since my 5th grade experiences were over 25 years and 5 cities ago, I still make an effort to find male friends. I have found some men who I’m happy to call my brothers in my chosen family. [If you’re reading this… Isma’il, Sean, Chris, Mark, Mike, Owen, Romal, Jim, Mig, Mattie, Cody, Marc, Sir Howard, Clay, thank you for being good humans and not Bro stereotypes.] However, many men (in my limited scope of experience) tend to be simple-minded donkeys that are constantly trying to flex their manhood for any willing audience. You’ve seen/met the stereotypes before. The Bros that have the subconscious perpetual goal to validate their manhood through sexual and/or athletic conquests. I find the rhetoric boring. The male friendships that I want/need in my life are friendships with open-minded humans (like those mentioned above) that happen to be male as opposed to the Penis-centric Bro that only talks about cars, pussy, and sports. I grew up in the Motor City. My Dad worked for one of the Big Three. I appreciate a well-made vehicle that looks nice and performs exceptionally well. However, you won’t find me drinking a beer, staring under the hood of a car, discussing dick length with the neighbor because I’ve got more horsepower under my hood. One of the sexiest compliments a woman ever whispered, as I kissed and massaged her body with my tongue, was “I can tell you really love women.” True. I do love women. However, I try to honor a woman’s privacy by not kissing, telling, and name dropping. You won’t find me standing around with the Bros talking shit about how I was hittin it last night. I have respect for the performance of PED-free athletes. I will always marvel at their skill. The concept of standing around and talking about who should’ve thrown what ball at what time to have scored and won the game is the biggest waste of time on earth. To be clear, should’ve, in and of itself is a useless word. Further, I’m not going to pontificate on what a team should do or needs to do in order to win. Again, a fat waste of time and energy. I’m sorry Bros, we just don’t have much to discuss.
Living with an open mind can be a lonely existence. There are now (and have been) many aspects of my life wherein I’m the only straight male. [The relevance of pointing out my sexuality is to elucidate the fact that Bros are the only group that fears being mistaken for homosexual as it is viewed, by some, to threaten their manhood.] When I began (nude) modeling for the Apache Café in Atlanta (circa 2002), the curator informed me, “you’ll be our first male!” Years later when I began (partially nude) modeling for Dr. Sketchy’s in San Diego, the producer informed me, “you’ll be our first male!” By no stretch of the imagination am I the first male burlesque performer. But, when I tell someone that I perform burlesque the response that I hear 75% of the time is, “I’ve never heard of a man performing burlesque!” (To be fair, that last statement often comes from neophytes that don’t know the textbook definition of burlesque and they’ve rarely been to a show.) When I tell some Bros about what I do after hours or when they see my nails painted black after a weekend of performing, they recoil and there’s a sense that they’ve been put off in some way. When I try to have conversations with the Bros about anything outside the realm of cars, pussy, and sports, they often refute it. Trying to talk to a Bro about feelings, poetry, nature, altruism, or ambitions (not to be confused with conquests), is like speaking Russian to a native Guatemalan. I hate it when the Bros refer to any of the aforementioned subject matter as “gay” because these subjects require some emotional depth to discuss.
My father was (and continues to be) an example of manhood that has helped me to choose my male friends wisely. My father has an open-mind about art and music. He’s still old school, so he isn’t the epitome of open-mindedness on all levels. But, he taught me to do what feels right, artistically. If that means getting naked and posing as people painted on my body as a canvas, so be it. My father has never been afraid to use words like “beautiful”. He’s never been afraid to kiss me, tell me that he loves me, or call me from Detroit for no other reason than, “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Obviously, I don’t want that from the men that I meet today. I just want genuine male friendships with good humans who are unafraid to express their feelings lest they be labeled (in their own mind) less than a man.
Tune in next week as I write about the response people have to my interracial dating and how those responses have helped me to find my friends.
In part three of this series, I’ll be writing about the worst kind of racism and how it helps me to find my friends.
In part four of this series, I’ll be writing about how other people’s drama make it easier to find my friends.
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