What prompted this post was a chance encounter at my local coffee shop Thursday morning. I was standing in line behind a man whom Linda, the cashier, addressed as Joe. He is a regular, hangs out with a small group of men who gather there in the morning before going off to work, or golf, or fishing, or whatever it is they do each day. Until Thursday morning, I didn't know his name, barely paid him any attention, in fact. Just knew his face from being a semi-regular, myself.
Linda placed a coffee mug on the counter before Joe had a chance to say anything.
"Your regular order, Joe?" she asked, reaching for a fork and spoon to add to his tray. She had started to walk toward the bagel display, but stopped, awaiting his response.
"No, I think I'll have one of those cherry danish things," he said. "I'm celebrating this morning."
Linda lifted her eyebrows in mild surprise and asked him the cause of his celebration.
"I was awakened at midnight last night," he said, pausing, his face reflecting wonder or puzzlement - I couldn't tell which.
"My son called to tell me I am a grandfather!"
He and Linda chatted for the few seconds it took to fill his order and pay for it. How nice, I thought, a brand-new Grandpa. Joe took his mug and tray to the coffee urn area, while I got my order and found a booth. I intended to work on a story I've been trying to finish for several weeks now, but I was taken by the exchange between Joe and one of his unnamed coffee buddies.
"Did I hear right? You're now a grandfather?" asked the Jeep-Man. (He owns a big red Jeep and parks in 'my' spot almost every morning. I'd deflate his tires, but his Jeep could pulverize my ancient, rusting Jimmy, so I don't do it.)
"Yep, my son called me at midnight! It's a boy!"
Lots of good wishes from the other coffee-buddies, most of it lost to me because I couldn't follow all the voices at once. Then Jeep-Man spoke up again under the din of all the other talk; his voice a bit different, as if just the two of them were in the room, or as if what he had to say was a very private conversation in some sort of code. Made me listen intently.
"Everyone okay?"
"Yes," answered New Grandpa, "they seem to be. Thank you."
In the space between "be" and "thank you" barely a breath was taken, but there was a monumental change in tone and meaning in that space. I heard the ragged edge to the 'thank you' and felt it.
Both men instantly went back to their regular hale-and-hearty, good ol' coffee-buddy patter, as if nothing had transpired, but it did. It did. Jeep-Man and New Grandpa Joe let the door to the world of male emotions crack open just a wee bit, and I was witness.
In that exchange, I heard and felt the fear of a spectre as old as humanity itself, whispered underneath the words of polite inquiry. Joe and Jeep-Man spoke the Unspeakable, the spectre of Death-in-Childbirth, the Scourge of ancient man, of man before we had language to express our fears. The Scourge that plagues us still, despite our advances in medicine.
I was gobsmacked, the best word I could think of at the time to describe the impact of that exchange on me. See, I don't know anything about men, other than their physiology, their anatomy. Men are a mystery to me, unfathomable, so not-me that I am leery of them - if I'm honest with myself about it.
New Grandpa Joe and Jeep-Man let me peek into the emotional life of men, which they are so very good at keeping to themselves.
I'm talking about the core-of-the-animal kind of stuff. The raw emotion, protect at all costs, vulnerable stuff. The emotional hurl kind of feelings, like I had when my grandchild was born. It was there in Joe's "Thank you," about to puke itself all over Jeep-Man's quilted jeans vest and fawn-color, buckskin-leather hiking boots - all over the tiled floor of the coffee-shop. Fresh-kill raw, uncontrollable, unstoppable, scary as hell.
For that split-second glimpse, I knew men. They aren't so different from me, after all. They just don't talk so readily about their atavistic responses as I do, but they're there, right beneath the skin. Who knew?
Happy Father's (Grandfather's) Day, New Grandpa Joe, Jeep-Man and all your coffee-drinking, back-slapping buddies down at my local coffee shop. And thanks.
(c)2009 Text and photo of my grandson. Martha McLemore
14 comments:
How beautifully written, Martha! Once upon a time in my somewhere travels, I entered a small town coffee shop, and in the midst of the dining area sat a large, round table with mismatched chairs and local males (also mismatched)seated around it. Over it hung a sign. "Liars' Table", it read.
Bev:
If this coffee shop weren't part of a national chain, I think there might be a similar sign above Joe's and Jeep-Man's table, as well.
Every community has such a place, sometimes several. I consider myself lucky to have been in mine for that snippet of conversation between the two men.
I like your description of the mismatched chairs and men, Bev. Good image, that!
:)
Those places are dying, sadly.
Humans is humans. And I think men can actually be more sentimental than women, write the most sappy songs, get squishier over babies. Especially considering the societal expectation that allows women to be so, and works against men expressing themselves softly.
This is such an authentic Father's Day tribute, quite touching. I wish every man in every coffee shop could read it and see themselves... and not be too embarrassed about it either.
What a beautiful baby boy! It is amazing that so many children are born healthy and perfect, since so many things can potentially go wrong. One of my children was born with a birth defect after a grueling thirty-six hour labor, so I know first-hand the spectre that you speak of here. The harrowing nature of the birth process makes God's gift of a little one that much more precious and awe-inspiring
Zhoen:
I agree that humans are human the world over. What I didn't know about men was that they have the potential for the kind of raw, unexplainable, unvoiceable emotion that I have experienced and talked with other women about.
Shows my ignorance.
:)
Marja-Leena:
Maybe women who don't know much about men, women like me, would benefit from reading it, too.
:)
Deedee:
Children are a wonderful gift.
The baby boy in the picture, my grandson, was born with Asperger Syndrome, one of the Autism Spectrum disorders. He will be 17 this fall. In the photo, he was three days old.
:)
I think Zhoen is right. In general men are more sentimental than women.
Men are generally more wary of words and what they can do than women.
They also rely more on physical presence, posture, nods and expression to communicate before resorting to words. Body language between men can be quite amusing to watch.
I've just blogged on a father's day at school and the whole 'man thing' of few words was very striking.
Quite fascinating and a difficult subject to pin down.
But isn't it nice that there unknowns.
As a man, I find women equally incomprehensible and all the more fascinating for it.
I wonder, is there less mystery for those who are gay?
AWB:
I think, judging from your response, that I may not have expressed myself very well, so I am going to rewrite the post. I needed, I believe, to give more of the backstory, of the day my grandson was born.
I'll be back.
:)
Wonderful post, really hooked me in.
It never ceases to amaze me how human beings have survived as a species, with childbirth being so problematical and dangerous...
Lucy:
I think if we knew, really knew on that deeper layer you mentioned in the "Bwahhh" post comments, the nature of the dangers before us, there would be a much lower birth rate everywhere.
Then, again, maybe we do know, but the id's drive to procreate overrides caution.
As the King of Siam said in the movie, "The King and I," 'tis a puzzlement.
:)
That was beautiful. You are a very, very talented writer and observer.
Susan:
The moment in the coffee shop was beautiful, which made writing about it very easy.
Thank you for your kind words.
:)
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