Smell like a man, man. I love those two Old Spice commercials, the ones from the Superbowl. Hello ladies, look at your man, now back to me, now back at your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me. The camera work, lighting, and acting are impeccable. If he stopped using lady scented body wash and switched to Old Spice, he could smell like me…so on and so forth. My favorite bit, from the shorter one…”did you know that I’m riding this horse backwards? ..*pause*.. Hyaa!”
It’s just so classy, so awesome. The tickets to that thing you love…the tickets are now diamonds!
But…I wonder what old Theodore Roosevelt would think of this guy and his talk of smelling like a man. I can’t help but wonder what he would say.
They’re cool and comfortable commercials, so much fun to watch…but that’s it. Men, look at your life and boil it down. Is there a lot of grit? Is there any grit at all? Do you love, fear reverently what ought be feared reverently, and care? Do you rarely hit, but never hit softly, do you give grace, respect, and mercy? Yes, we may say…but that grace, respect, and mercy, is it for the prostitute too? Does that scare you? It should not. Women*, do you see men like that around you?
When I think of the truest men I’ve met, some come to mind immediately. One, a skinny white boy, changed more lives for the better than many will in their whole lifetime, and he only spent 21 years here; he’s in a better place now. Another, a short (and slightly pudgy) fellow, does good work helping people who desperately need it. He’s dirt poor and does not own a boat. He has saved many from painful death (hundreds if not thousands), and has helped even more live fuller and richer lives, in a country where that does not happen often. I doubt either of them would fit too well into the Old Spice advertising campaign.
Both these men are set apart by a distinct sense of being, almost of place–their place. It’s a thing common to good men; it seems to come from a deep bedrock of a dual nature.
One side is grit, straight up. The grit to turn away fun affection, knowing the end harm it would bring (none to you). The grit to turn down being a fighter pilot for an utterly unglamorous life lived for others. The grit to give help to a prostitute, he or she. The grit to be both a fighter and a father with passion, intensity, dignity, and humility. The grit to chase her through the sky, stabilize her tumble once you catch her, pull the rip cord on her pack, then watch to make sure her chute deploys right, all while counting and knowing yours won’t have time to (true story–it ended how it sounds like it did; he was a professional, under 30, she was a complete stranger and novice, over 40). The grit it takes to accept redemption on your knees, and then on your feet walk back to the loved ones you’ve hurt (that may be the truest).
The other part is pure heart. Complete love and care, faith and hope, so intensely rooted and powerful they seem a bit out of place in the world we see. Like a diamond in the pavement— the reflected sunlight catches the eye for a short pause in time and, instantly, the mind–the being–knows there’s more. It’s a little glimmer of something unnatural to us, unnatural yet purer.
I know I haven’t seen much of life; I have a long way to go in this work of becoming a good man. But from where I’ve been, where I am, and what I see, I do know this must be part of it.
Be a man, man.
*Don’t misread; what a woman should and shouldn’t be is not something I’ve even begun to try to understand. Well…maybe I’ve thought about it a little bit. But that’s all. This is about men, and being a man, a much more familiar topic for me.