Curing 30 Years One Month At A Time

December 31, 2008

Dr. John Dorian – A Real Man Nicknamed Nancy

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , — 30tocure30 @ 11:30 pm

 

Nancy Is A Real Man

Nancy Is A Real Man

 

 

Queue the montage music from one of the most underrated comedies of all times: Scrubs. This soundtrack seems fitting for my reflections considering I learn the majority of my life lesson from the final few minutes of Scrubs episodes. It’s scary when 95% of the MP3’s found on your iPod can be traced back to this show.  In my eyes, John Dorian is a Buddha like figure dispensing nuggets of truth in bite size portions all while having amazing hair. I guess with that last statement the cat is now officially out of the bag. I have a bit of a man crush on Zach Braff. Luckily, this month has proven I am manly enough to admit to my affection.

As I look back on these past thirty days of manliness much of what I have learned has been shaped around J.D.’s character. If you know how random my brain works, you would understand the logic behind a guy nicknamed ‘Bambi’ being my point of reference for masculinity.

 

It’s Guy Love – From the moment they met at William & Mary College, J.D. and Turk’s relationship has been closer to codependency than friendship.  They can barely stand to be apart. Their bond is so strong that they are able to call one another out when the other has blown it, dropped the ball or has a wrong perspective on a certain situation. If we are ever to make any headway on what it means to be a man, a ‘Band of Brothers’ is a pre-requisite. I’ve learned I cannot do this whole process alone – not just when it comes to being more of a man, but whatever these next 11 months might hold.  Luckily, I have guys who care more about my character than they do my friendship. This is when a man knows he is in good company.

 

Sleeping Around In The On-Call Room Gets You A Son Named Gilligan – I guess it is true that chicks really love doctors because J.D. was quite the ladies man. It seemed like every episode he was having a different romantic liaison with a female. He never learned those fleeting moments of pleasure were not worth the eventual aggravation they caused. All they got him were headaches and a son named Gilligan. One of man’s greatest downfalls is our tendency to act before thinking. In our eyes, men were not born with a funnel to process their thoughts. We see what we want and we go after it without contemplating the impact of our decision. Unfortunately, our lives do not resemble a sitcom where everything gets neatly solved in 30 minutes or less. Our excuse is we are just being a man by acting on our impulses. It is a pretty sad statement when our standard for manliness is set so low even ‘The Todd’ could reach it. Over these past 30 days I’ve begun to realize that a true man is one who walks with integrity.

 

We All Have Our Elliot –For the first 3 seasons of Scrubs, we watched J.D. wrestle with the emotions he feels for Elliot Reed. They tore him up inside because he had no clue what to do with them. It shouldn’t be a surprise because emotions (not just dealing with the opposite sex) are a tricky thing to work through for us guys. I don’t know if I’ve really figured out what the proper way is to process my emotions. Are you manly when you bottle them up inside until you finally blow your top and punch a hole through a wall? Or what about the other extreme where every time you hear the song Cats in the Cradle that you ball like a baby? I’m guessing it is somewhere in between. Where that line is I am not quite sure.

 

Secretly We Enjoy Being Called Nancy and Newbie – Dr. Cox is J.D.’s hero. He is the type of doctor he wants to be one day. Whether it is divorce, a dad who is always at the office or an absent father, we have lost many of our heroes. One of the reasons for our confusion as men is that more and more of us are growing up without a father figure who exemplifies these qualities. We are left to make up our own target so we can take our shot in the dark. Once again, I count myself as fortunate to have a father who took me under his wing and gave me something to shoot for becoming.

 

There will be more reflections to come on 30 Days To Becoming A Man. Unfortunately; I have to cut this one short for a very important reason.  WGN is playing my favorite Scrubs episodes – “My Porcelain God.” It’s the one where the Janitor installs a john on the roof, which gets dubbed ‘the epiphany toilet’ due to its’ special power of reflection. Perhaps I should see how much this type of toilet costs at Home Depot. After all, most men do their best thinking on the pot.  

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December 18, 2008

The Shame Of Receiving A Slow Clap From A 2 Year Old…

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — 30tocure30 @ 11:12 pm

 

May You Never Experience The Slow Clap

May You Never Experience The Slow Clap

Every man hates the slow clap of pity. Before today, I had been on the bad end of the clap only one other time in my life. Back in 9th grade I joined the high school swim team, not for the chance to wear Speedos or the horrible experience of participating in shaving parties, but rather to pick up girls. Being a little preoccupied with the ‘scenery’ I never paid much attention to the actual technique involved in becoming a decent swimmer. I was much closer to frantic Chihuahua than fish in the water.

Naturally, my gracious swim coach picked the 500-meter freestyle for my first race. Stamina and focus were not my strong suits which became problem since these two qualities are necessary in long distance swimming.  As you probably have guessed by now, I finished last. Dead last. Actually, not physically dead, even though there were a few blurry stretches I attribute to my goggles uselessly hanging around my neck. It was either that or the lack of oxygen from sucking in half of the water in the entire pool as I gasped for my last breath. From what I’ve been told, they were very close to calling 9-1-1 thinking that I had gone into an epileptic seizure. As I hit the wall, I hear the faint CLAP – – – – CLAP – – – – It is about time Free Willy finished – – –CLAP.

Having to do the walk of shame in a Speedo does not even compare in terms of what took place yesterday morning. My not yet two-year-old daughter, Paige, dished out the slow clap. You know you’ve hit an all-time low when the person who shows you pity still poops in her pants and can be entertained for hours with a cardboard box. After numerous failed attempts to put in a hair pretty, I finally managed to do a little squirt top. Granted, it looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but that is beside the point. Sensing my frustration, Paige rubs my back, says ‘it otay dada’ and finishes with a slow clap.

Only fathers of little girls will understand how this act cuts me deep. After all, for the past four years, I’ve been engrossed with everything female. Baby dolls, dress up, Fancy Nancy, Purplicious and all things Disney Princess. I make the most delicious tea for our afternoon tea parties and have been known to have quite the eye for picking out ‘oh so pretty’ outfits.

I realize the estrogen levels clearly outweigh and outnumber the testosterone in my household. However, I wouldn’t change it for the world. This might be due to the fact that I was always terrified of raising boys. Can you really blame me? After all, girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Boys come from bits of snails and puppy dog tails or at least that is how the nursery rhyme goes.

My fear has nothing to do with the stereotype that boys are wild, crazy, hard to handle and love to do daredevil tricks constantly. If I still struggle with self-confidence, how would I even come close to raising up a head strong, secure boy?  How do I paint this picture of being a real man when all I have in my arsenal are crayons? Do I just make up the rules to masculinity as I go since I never received the handbook?

I feel like I don’t have the right skills and interests needed to be a father of boys: I’ve never built anything with my bare hands, have never gone hunting and I am clueless when it comes to cars and home repair. I picture a very Andy Griffith moment when my son asks me, “Dad, what does it mean to be a man?’ and me just stumbling over my words before finally blurting out “I’m still trying to figure that one out on my own after 30 years…. good luck.” 

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