I’m scouting the living room of a middle class home in the suburbs. The owner is next to me. He’s big, burly. Thinning hair. Walrus moustache. Wilford Brimley would play his part in a movie. I think he said he works at the phone company.
I notice a framed photograph of a boy, 10 or 12. He’s dressed in a pink and purple figure-skating outfit, an exuberant grin on his face. The man sees me looking and says quickly, “that’s our boy. He does figure skating.” He gives a small shrug as if to say, “I don’t get it.”
But at the same time, I sense him staring intensely at me, searching my expression for the most minute reaction. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I exhibit any sign of disapproval or ridicule – a smirk, a raised eyebrow, a wince – that he will join me in it.
Because he knows that among some people, there’s a code of what boys and men should and should not do, and maybe he previously held himself to this standard, or still does to a degree, and wants to know where I fall, a form of self-protection.
And if I make a joke, he’ll laugh and we’ll move on, like he probably has countless times in the past. But there’s a tiredness in his eyes, like he just can’t put himself through this ritual again.
Of course, I say how great it is that his son has such a passion, and clearly one he’s good at, noting the many awards around his picture. And I can feel the man’s guard instantly relaxing, like a weight off his shoulders.
He suddenly starts gushing about his son, talking about the many trophies he’s won, and how there may even be talk about of the Olympics in his future.
Then, just as suddenly, he quiets down, as if he’s shared too much. He says “Yes. We’re really…” His eyes fixate on the picture as he drifts off for the briefest of moments. Then, even more quietly, sincerely: “We’re really proud of him.”
I like to think that I’ve seen the real man in this moment. He may not have been this man before having his son, and he may still be battling that old version’s shadow still fighting to survive within him.
But I hope this new man wins the day. I think he wants that. I think he’s trying. I think he just doesn’t have it in him to keep putting up the shield for the sake of a stranger like me.
And then we move on to see the next room.