The Importance of Men Being Men

I lost a friend.

Death often sparks reflection, not only on interactions experienced together, but also on lessons imparted.

As I tried to process his death, sadness, grief, and a bit of anger filled my heart. He was too young. He was one of the good ones. He had a loving wife and two amazing sons. His life’s work extended far beyond the high school where he served as the principal. This man was a force in the community, loved by many. He’d touched countless lives during his short fifty years on earth.

Yet, after having time to process those gnawing feelings, new sentiments surfaced … gratitude, appreciation, respect. Something within lifted, and I knew that this is how I will remember him.

Perhaps some background might prove helpful. Fifteen years ago, when I served as president of our school board, we hired this man as the principal for our Junior/Senior High School. While not as experienced as other candidates, we felt confident he possessed the exact qualities required to lead our 7^th-12^th grade building. We needed someone who could return this building to a level of excellence. We believed he was the man for this job.

Our sons, who were high schoolers at the time, developed great respect for this man. Truthfully, their past principals faced various “challenges.” A few months after he’d first arrived, I asked my older son, who was a senior, what he thought of his new principal. He responded, “I finally feel like someone is in charge of this school.”

During this man’s first year, I witnessed several of his admirable traits. Through commitment, hard work, and balance, he honored both his professional and personal lives. He’d attend late afternoon school board committee meetings then rush to coach his son’s football practice. After that, he’d attend classes for his doctoral program.

But it was more than pure effort on his part. He was a direct communicator. Within weeks of his arrival, he proclaimed a zero-tolerance policy regarding fighting in school. Three days later, a fight broke out between two seventh grade girls. He proved true to his word, calling the police as he’d clearly outlined to the student body. The kids quickly learned their new principal meant what he said. Let’s just say there weren’t any more fights that year.

But his influence went beyond the faculty and student body. He taught the school board a thing or two. One was to see the big picture, not just be concerned with specific outcomes. At the time, we were establishing a dress code policy. Short skirts, tight pants, low-cut tops, and a general grunge look among the students concerned us. We felt it impacted the educational process. Still, despite huge efforts, the administration struggled to enforce this new policy. After several months of continuously dealing with dress code violations, he came to board.

“Listen,” he said, “I can spend hours each day trying to determine if a girl’s wearing leggings, jeggings, or yoga pants. Or I can run this school. I’ll do whatever you want, but please consider revising the dress code policy. It’s preventing me from doing my job.”

As the years went by, we never lost touch. While no longer on the school board, I’d stop by his office to catch up. In the summer, we’d have his family to our house for a cookout, an opportunity for all of us to get together. Then, when we moved to Oregon, our interactions shifted to texting and Christmas cards. During our correspondences, he’d always make a point to ask about the “Davis Men,” referring to my husband and our two sons. Only now do I realize this final lesson he taught to me. And perhaps it was the most important of all.

At first, I thought the term “men” endearing. Admittedly, I don’t always think of our sons as men, even though they are. But I understand the importance he placed on this word. Being a man was not a gender identify thing. It had nothing to do with that. Instead, I believe he saw it as a calling … something to strive for. In fact, fulfilling your duty as a man was the ultimate honor. He was a proud man … and he wanted other men to feel the self-respect and responsibility this term held. Through his daily habits, as well as how he showed up for others, he embodied what it meant to be a man.

Being the mother of sons, I’ve thought a lot about this topic. While I appreciate my husband’s and sons’ strength, protectiveness, and masculinity, I also admire their kindness and sensitivity. Yes, you can be a man and be vulnerable. You can hunt your food and be the one to cook the meat and clean up after this meal. You can open a car door for a woman, propose marriage by getting down on a knee, and tear up in response to a beautiful moment or the loss of a friend.

This man who died way too early consistently exuded strength and confidence, yet he also had a tender heart. I know how much he loved and honored his wife, had total respect and admiration for his mother, and possessed endless gratitude and affection for his two boys. At times, he may have come across as a tough guy, but he was also a kind and gentle man through and through.

For too long, we’ve been giving mixed messages to boys. Boys and girls are different—and there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging this. We can’t always treat children with the same responses and expectations. It’s ok if a boy only wants to play with trucks and if a girl prefers dolls … or if the opposite is true.

Yet, in an attempt to respect the kids who choose differently, we’ve somehow lost honoring boys who want to be boys. And now we have many men in their twenties and thirties unsure how to act. Do they offer to pay for the check? Do they hold the door open? Or will doing so insult a woman? Influenced by societal pressures, too many guys are unsure of “the rules.” In an attempt to treat all kids equally, we’ve created confusion and doubt for both sexes.

But it’s high time we allow men to be men, respecting their natural masculinity and appreciating their soft edges. It’s not promoting macho men. This is acknowledging the sacred masculine, just as we’ve been taught to honor the sacred feminine. It’s accepting both yin and yang. After all, only when they are in harmony is there balance.

While I will miss my friend, I will hold dear the lessons he imparted. Perhaps that’s the most important thing we can do while alive … leave an everlasting imprint so others can become better by our example.

One more thing … I’d be remiss if I didn’t share something else this man taught me. Muddled mint makes bourbon and soda taste refreshing. In fact, I’ll pour one tonight and toast him and the infinite ways he’s impacted others. Rest well my friend. Know you will not be forgotten. You definitely made a difference in my life.