So, I had dinner with Joe Quinn the other night. And this is significant for several and various reasons.
I never have dinner with just another man, and rarely even with several other men, unless I have to for business. Period. I have dinner with my wife. My mom. My immediate, and my extended family. My wife and I have dinner with other couples, and single friends, groups, parties, etcetera. But me and one other guy? Never.
I guess I’m not really what you would call a guy’s guy: I love sports, but I don’t much care to sit around and discuss sports. I really like going to work every single day, but I find business is just about the most boring thing in the world to talk about (other than sports). I don’t own a house, so power tools, small carpentry, home improvement projects, and second mortgages are not exactly on my mind. Never took up golf, never even picked up a club. Don’t brag on my kid, and rarely talk about her, at all. That just about covers (in my experience anyway) 99.99% of manly conversation.
I often tell my wife I really like being around men (only) in a couple of specific circumstances, and at my age these circumstances just aren’t relevant any more: I like, and have always liked, being around men in order to play contact sports. If the reason we’re getting together is for you to tackle me, or vice versa, then, cool, let’s go. Call me up and I’m there. Or if you wanna box, block, check, collide, dodge, juke, race, shoot, score, slip, slide, save, tag, volley, weave, or wrestle, well then, way cool. I’ll meet you there, wherever ‘there’ is. But that’s just not happening any more. I’m 53. I can only dream about doing most of that stuff now. (However, I am looking for somebody my age who might like to spar a little bit, do some old-fashioned stand-up boxing. You’ve got to be about my size and not able to beat me up. I’ve got extra head-gear, hand-wraps and gloves…just send me an email.)
It’s always been thus with me, as anyone who knew me growing up will tell you. I used to be famous for “disappearing”. I’d go out to all the parties and bars and clubs with Neck and Riles and Farley and Dre and Bony A., et. al.; we’d have a drink or five and shoot the breeze for a while (sports, girls, conquests and past exploits were the sum total of manly conversation as I remember it back then) and after a couple of hours “whoosh” I was gone. They’d get distracted, I’d melt into the crowd, and find the back door. (There’s always a back door.) I’d strike off on my own. They’d look around, figure it out and ‘cuss me, and well, next Friday would roll around and we’d do it all over again.
I took a lot of heat for it, deservedly so. Still do: guys who don’t know me occasionally invite me to go out and see a game, play a round, have a beer. Have dinner. And I pretty much make my excuses. I know, I know: what a vile Crumb I am, a Freak, a Girly-man, a Wuss. I agree. Guilty as charged.
So, why did I have dinner with Joe? Well, we connected (thirty five years later) at the Class of ’78 ReUnion. (Never said 'boo' to each other, not ever once, in high school). And we found out we had a thing or two in common. He suggested we get together again, grab a cup of coffee, sometime in the near future. I tried to politely decline when he actually reached out, as I always do…but I sensed it wasn’t the thing to do, not this time. So, we met at a diner after work one day last week. And you know what? It was pretty cool. Lo and behold, I actually enjoyed the conversation. Really enjoyed it. I wonder if I’m about to change my ways at this late stage in the game…Is it possible? Hhhhhmmmm.
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