I met Macho Guy when I was going to Surfer Dude High School where we both pretended that we were on the soccer team but spent most of the time sitting on the bench. We sat in the back of chemistry class worrying that we needed to secure a girl friend before the following year to take to grad night otherwise, well, we just could not imagine.
Macho Guy had a macho blue Ford camper van. This was back in the days when high school students didn’t tend to own cars. Several times he suggested I should join him with his other older macho friends on a camping trip down to the south county beach where they did macho things such as fishing and drinking beer and climbing on rocks around the tide pools.
It got to the point, in our little circle of friends, that all we had to do was sit on a bench as if a rock, rest one fist on one leg, the other arm on the other leg tilting that shoulder slightly forward, and then saying with a chiseled, serious face, “Let me ask you something, babe,” and we all burst out laughing. We knew we were making fun of Macho Guy.
Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what made it so funny. There is nothing wrong with being manly and macho. There is nothing wrong with doing manly and macho things. There is nothing wrong with taking steps to look manly and macho.
Yet with Macho Guy, something just didn’t fit well. Perhaps the hilarity was in his overcompensation.
By senior year, we both had girl friends and decided to drive together with our dates to grad night in Macho Guy’s macho blue Ford camper van. It started at Macho Guy’s house where his ultra-permissive yet demanding mom insisted we begin the night with a toast of champagne. His father, who always struck me as passive and emotionally withdrawn, quietly responded to her orders. The three of us declined but Macho Guy drank on our behalf.
We got into the macho blue Ford camper van and we were off. We headed for a port where we would get on a boat that would take us to a little resort island two hours off the coast for a dance and dinner. The macho blue Ford camper van rattled away as we made our way up the freeway into the next county.
Arriving at the port did not go smoothly for Macho Guy. When he parked, he did not simply bump the cement parking stop at the end of the parking space. He did not merely come in so hard so as to lift a tire up upon this cement divider. When Macho Guy pulled into the parking space with his macho blue Ford camper van, he drove completely over the cement stop with all four tires.
This is when we first suspected that there was something amiss with Macho Guy.
A bit shaken and cautious, we got on board and the boat churned towards the island. Since this was an official school function, someone smuggled beer on board. We told Macho Guy that it wasn’t a good idea for him to drink but he protested vehemently that he had been on boats all of his life and had drank on several occasions so he knew what he was doing.
Later at the pavilion in the transition between the dance and late night dinner, I went to the restroom to freshen up. I washed, straightened, and combed the hair. As I was leaving, upon a glance, I made the observation that the guy lying on the floor wrapped around the toilet bowl happened to have the exact same jacket that Macho Guy was wearing. I marveled at the coincidence and headed towards the bathroom exit until reality hit.
In the early morning hours, we all rode the boat back to the port as the sun was just breaking over the horizon. I watched the sunrise with my girl friend not realizing that we would all grow up and go our separate ways. In the background, Macho Guy was protesting to his now ex-girl friend, “Give me a break! This was just one mistake! One mistake! Can’t you forgive a guy?” But it was too late; she was looking to break up anyway and now had the reason.
After graduation, he had a stint in the military and a couple of marriages and then I lost touch. The last time we talked he had just gotten engaged again and was going on and on about the secret of life was to be happy and that he was happy and he wanted to know if I was happy. It still just didn’t feel real.
There are those in life who from a young age have a firm sense of self, know who they are and what they are called to do, and go on to achieve definitive things. These, frankly, are the few.
There are others who after a time of immaturity, let go of idealized images of themselves, make peace with their strengths and weaknesses, and spend their present moments accepting life on life’s terms, doing honest work, engaging in relationships, and providing for others.
And still there may be others projecting something they were never meant to be while desperately trying to find the road.