I nearly lost my temper at a complete stranger tonight. In an instant I went from feeling nothing in particular to wanting to light this man's face on fire and put it out with a brick. I wanted to beat on his mouth with a hammer until his teeth popped out and clattered to the floor. I wanted him dead, simple as that. The sudden rush of rage left me breathless and a little shocked. I'm usually pretty tame. It all made me wonder, what's it mean to be a man? 
I like to work out late at night, lifting weights for about an hour and a half before running three miles on a treadmill. The running part takes me about 25 minutes, which is slower than I used to be in high school when I'd play soccer most weekends, but I like the steady pace of it for the same reasons I love exercise in general. More than anything, I love the focus and discipline it takes to keep a steady routine, and it's the best way I know to relieve stress and cure insomnia. When I finally finish showering and collapse on my bed, I like being so tired that I fall asleep without dreaming. The best sort of body is the one that looks like a naked Greek statue and aches in the morning. This night was different though. I hadn't really had much of a dinner earlier in the evening, so I decided to go a few blocks down the road to a local sandwich shop and order a delicious, 12-inch roast beef sandwich. Then, on the way back, I'd buy a protein shake at a gas station. Afterwards, I'd scarf down a few Poptarts and baked potato chips while watching funny Youtube videos on my computer until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. Evening dinner of champions, right? On the way there I decide to cut across a Domino's parking lot, and I end up walking past three men I'd never seen before on the way. I didn't really get much of a look at two of them, since they were talking to themselves and not really facing my direction. I noticed one of them was holding a guitar and wore black, but that's about it. The other one I hardly remember at all. It was the third one that got me so pissed off. It was obvious what he wanted from the minute he walked up to me. He was a hobo, one of probably hundreds I've seen on a daily basis since moving to Austin. He looked fairly young, like in his mid to late twenties, with a scraggly blond beard and dusty clothing. He wore a beany and held a plastic cup in one hand, and when he pushed it into my face I could see that both his gloves had holes where the fingertips would be. "Hey man, wait a second!" I think he said. I can't remember exactly, since I wasn't in the mood to deal with him. At this point I really didn't feel anything towards him at all. I was tired and hungry and just wanted a sandwich. So, I did what I and millions of Americans do everyday: I ignored him and walked past him. For most people like them, that's enough. But this guy was different, he actually followed me for a few steps. "Oh, is that how it is?" he asked, sounding annoyed, following it up with, "Up yours, asshole!" That was what made me turn around. I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't believe the nerve of the guy. He, a fucking street-urchin, felt annoyed at me for not listening to his goddamn life story and handing him a dollar? He acted as if I were the one wasting his time! It was pure pride, the feeling of "how dare he?", that made me want to hurt him somehow. We're both lucky he didn't try to touch me. If he had set a finger on me I would have tried to break it off. In that moment I would have ripped his ugly ass to pieces. All we exchanged was words, thankfully. I said what felt right; I called him a worthless piece of shit and told him to go fuck himself. He, for his part, spat at the sidewalk in front of me and walked away, leaving me stupidly stunned. I did the same, and the rest of the evening went as planned. I bought my sandwich and didn't see him on the way back to my place. The sandwich tasted like shit, by the way. I was too busy wondering why I had gotten so angry to enjoy it. -------------------------------------------------------------- SELF-CONTROL IS SELF-MASTERY Often times, through the images fed to us through the general pop culture, we equate "manliness" with shows of force and pompous displays of virility. A "real man" has sex a lot, fights a lot, and has huge muscles. A "real man" gets his way and never cries or whines. A "real man", we are told, is the only sort of man who matters. Anything else is "womanly" and shameful. Venezuelan culture is big on these things, and I grew up around it. My father has always hated the feminist movement in general. Not that he doesn't believe women deserve equal rights, but he hates feminists because he believes that they want to emasculate men by having them act like women. Modern feminists want men to be open with their feelings, to be tender and soft, and that's wrong. There is nothing they can't stand more than a man who knows what he wants and acts like what he is without shame. Women, in his eyes, have a tendency to be more passionate than rational, and homosexual men are no better, since they betray their own sex. If I were gay, he'd shoot me...and then kill me. More than anything, I would describe my father as a man who is hard without being rough, like a marble statue. He is very well educated, but his attitudes belong in the Middle Ages. He grew up poor in Caracas, but went to college on scholarships and was able to make it as a chemical engineer in the United States. He's rich now and lives a good life, I suppose, complete with a six-figure salary, townhouse, and boat. He used to be married to my mother, but that's over now. I've never quite agreed with him, but I know his example influenced me growing up. Like me, he's cynical toward religion in general. He'll often smile bitterly and say that God only helps those who help themselves, with the obvious meaning being that he doesn't believe God even exists and that people who think He does are pathetic. He is the strongest, most intelligent man I know. I love him but, though I will always admire him in so many ways, I much prefer the words of Marcus Aurelius: "Violent feelings are not manly. Rather, gentleness and calm are both more human and more manly. Anger is just as much a sign of weakness as grief, for it is the gentle man who has preserved his portion of strength and courage. As a man is closer to imperturbability, so is he closer to power." I've come to see that my father is confused, terribly confused. More than anything, brute force and a pitiless attitude towards others is NOT manly. In fact, I daresay that such a way of thinking isn't even very human at all! Traditional masculinity says that any sign of grief or desperation is pathetic and unseemly for a man, simply because the man in question is allowing himself to be moved by pain towards debasing himself by crying and moaning. However, what about the man who loses his temper and lashes out? Is he not also weak and pathetic, for sometimes allowing someone else's mere words drive him towards mindless rage? How can it ever be an excuse to say, "I was provoked!", and have that be enough of a reason to feel so much blind hate? If you are ever "provoked" it is because you have allowed your petty vanity and pride to swallow up your reason and sense of justice. The terrible thing about anger is that is has no sense of proportion. A minor slight or perceived moment of disrespect could send you off into a killing rage, as it almost did with me tonight. I think back on tonight and feel ashamed of myself. Yes, the hobo was annoying, but he wasn't doing anything unexpected for someone in his circumstances. I'm sad that I had so little love in my heart for him. No sandwich is worth a murder. | 
