While living in Pakistan, I noticed that many of the old-school tribal dudes wore awesome undershirts with intricate embroidery on them. I snatched a couple for myself before heading back to Canada.
I was wearing one under my shirt this past weekend at my family’s holiday gathering thingy. As the night wore on and the games grew intense and the wine flowed more freely, one of my relatives noticed the embroidery at my collar and wanted to see the shirt. I took my overshirt off.
Then they all started to laugh at me.
The embroidery was in the shape of a heart. They were laughing at the heart.
Because hearts are for girls, of course. Men don’t wear hearts. Men don’t do that love stuff.
I was surprised. Not upset, not sad, just seriously shocked. It’s not masculine to wear hearts? Not manly to express love? I guess I always knew that. I guess that horrid idea had been already hammered into my head since I was a child.
Is it any wonder things are fucked up when we mock men for wearing hearts and cheer when they come home with a new SUV or hunting weapon? Is it any wonder things are fucked up when the section for boy’s toys is filled, aisle after aisle, with fake weapons and scenes of battle and death?
No, it’s no wonder at all.
We won’t get anywhere while it’s unmanly to love. We won’t get anywhere while asshat pastors like Mark Driscoll shit on men who they don’t think are manly enough.
We won’t get anywhere while it’s more manly to kill than it is to love.