masculinity ovenbird When my son was three years old I dropped him off at his grandparents’ house for the day. Upon arrival he ran up the stairs and disappeared, likely to dig the toys out of the closet or lay claim to the best guest bedroom. As I was leaving I called for him, wanting to give him a hug before I left. He didn’t answer. “Oh, he’s too old for hugs anyway,” my father-in-law said and my heart stuttered in my chest. “No one is EVER too old for hugs,” I replied, and called my son again, and he ran downstairs and I hugged him, and kissed his soft head. That little boy is almost 15 years old now, and I worry every day that I’m failing to counter the messages from the world that say he must shut down his emotions, that connection can only come through sports and sex, that crying is weakness, that empathy and compassion are the domain of women, that receiving and extending care is unmanly, that he must be stoic and rational and learn to suppress the feelings that stir in his chest. He was always an affectionate child. More so than my daughter who was born with a fierce independent streak. My son would throw himself into hugs and happily say “I love you,” and asked for cuddles on the couch far longer than one would expect a child to tolerate it. But I watched the hockey world tell him that to be a good athlete you have to stuff down the emotions that could distract you from the task at hand. I watched his friends learn to keep their faces neutral. I watched my husband worry about his tendency to break down when frustrated. My husband was afraid of our son’s tears, concerned that if he couldn’t learn to “control” his emotions that other kids would make fun of him. My son used to give me a hug before leaving for school and before bed every day. I suddenly noticed that those hugs stopped at some point in the last few years. How did that happen? How did I LET that happen? Did I somehow feed into the system that steers boys away from love and affection? Did I capitulate? Did I normalize teenage boys pulling away and becoming withdrawn and sullen? This morning, before my son left for school I hugged him. He didn’t run. He didn’t grimace. He hugged me back, though half-heartedly. I told him that I wanted to know about his life and his experiences in the world and the contents of his heart. I told him that he could always come to me with anything that was weighing on him. And I told him I loved him. He didn’t say it back, but I hope he will remember, in the years to come, that there is a power in saying what we mean to each other. I should hug him every day. It scares me that it was so easy to let that fall away. But he deserves to know that affection is not weakness. We are a species wired for connection, and boys need this just as much as girls. We all need to feel seen and heard and known. And we need to teach our sons to welcome the complex mess of emotions that make us human. I can’t erase the effects of decades of accrued social conditioning, but I can tell my son I love him every single day and make room for him to explore his inner landscape. I hope that is something, at least. I hope it’s enough so that if he has children of his own one day he’ll never hesitate to kiss their heads and tell them that they are the world. 261015 ... raze i was lucky to have my dad to teach me that vulnerability is our greatest strength, and not the weakness so many make it out to be. without him, i'm not sure what would have happened to me. my stepfather used to always say, "a real man doesn't cry," while he and my mother berated me for having feelings. you can imagine my confusion the one time he hugged me and said, "people say a man shouldn't cry, but that's bullshit." he was those people. and i was just a boy. i spent a lot of years after that not really being able to cry. but i didn't hide my feelings or stuff them down somewhere so deep inside of myself that they couldn't be found. i just needed time to rewire my own heart. i don't think i would survive being a teenager today. for all its sharp edges, the world was softer when i was growing_up. it's different now. there's so much more shame attached to allowing ourselves to be broken. people seem to have forgotten the skin horse's lesson from "the velveteen rabbit" about what it is to be real. how it isn't something that happens overnight. you become. "generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. but these things don't matter at all, because once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." 261015 what's it to you? who go blather from