What is it about women that make them so attractive to me as friends? (Nope. Sorry. It has NOTHING to do with physical looks or attributes.)

To honest, I think that women are more tuned into relationships and feelings than are most guys. (Notice, I said most guys.)

I truly believe that most men are afraid of their own feelings, and they have a hard time acknowledging them, let alone talking about them! Most men “bond” by insulting one another or sharing sports allegiances, and they very rarely admit their insecurities and frailties…even to themselves. They build these facades of “masculinity” around themselves that are, in reality, barriers that keep others out and keep them in. Therefore, they never really get to experience the full and true beauty of being human. Their irrational fear of themselves keeps them from it.

Now, I can trade barbs with “the boys” as well as the next guy. The fart jokes, the put-downs, etc. are all well and good in their appropriate places, but, to be a friend of mine, you also have to be able to communicate with me,even if it’s once in a blue moon, on a more “intimate” level.

Some men are incapable of doing that. They must fill their chests with bravado, and they perform for the audience. Kind of like the male peacock showing his impressive fan of feathers. (But, where push comes to shove, they are just that: delicate feathers.)

However, some men are capable of showing there feelings to and for other men without losing one iota of their masculine aura.

Here is an example of each:

A young friend of mine, we’ll call him Henry, saw me at a party and he came over to me, looked at my attire and said something like, “You didn’t have any clean shirts to wear today?” I took that in, and then came back with "You know, if I actually considered your opinion worthwhile, I might have taken offense by that comment." We traded barbs for a while. But when it came time for him to leave, he came up to me, laughed, shook my hand and said, “The show I’m directing opens next week. I’d really like you to come and see it.”

He knows I’ll be there.

He’s been to a number of shows that I’ve directed and acted in, and he always tells me, honestly and quietly, what he liked about them and what he thought I should change.

Henry and I are good friends. We may be sarcastic with one another, but we know when to let the bravado go away.

I have another friend. We’ll call him Peter.

Peter and I hadn’t seen each other in two months. One night recently, Mary and I walked into The Main Street tCafe to join about a dozen or so of our friends for a good time. When we approached the table, everybody was happy to see us, shaking hands, hugging, etc. Peter sat there, waited for the commotion to quiet down, and then he shouted in a voice loud enough for the whole bar to hear, “Where’d you get that stupid-looking woman’s coat that you’re wearing?”

The question was so loud and so in-your-face that I was taken aback. I asked him what he was talking about.

At this point, Peter looked around to the rest of the people at the table with a “watch this” expression on his face. “I mean why are you wearing a woman’s coat? Padded shoulders and all.”

I looked at Mary Ellen. She just shrugged. Peter’s wife was embarrassed, and she put a hand on his arm to quiet him.

“There aren’t any shoulder pads in his coat,” Mary said, getting a bit angry, “It’s all Jim.”

Peter then turned to everybody sitting there, his audience, and continued making fun of my coat. Nobody else thought it was funny.

Finally, I had had enough of his little performance, and I said, “Look, Peter. This coat was the last gift I ever received from my Dad before he died.”

It was the truth. You could have heard a pin drop in the place.

After a moment, Peter recovered with, “Why would your Dad give you a woman’s coat?”

I decided to let it drop, and I spent the rest of the night enjoying my other friends…and the beer…and I pretty much tuned Peter out.

Women, (and the men I choose to be my friends), on the other hand, are into sensitivity and feelings. They understand the importance of such things, and they also have a need to vocalize these feelings.

Women, for some reason, (and, again, the select men that are my friends), are easier for me to trust than the stereotypical modern male. They are easier to open up to. I have less fear of being attacked by them. (Probably because I don’t see my mother in every woman any more the way I used to. I now see compassionate friends who are willing to take the time to understand.)

To be honest with you, I like talking about my feelings, and I like people talking to me about their feelings. Does that make me feminine?

Yup.

I truly believe that we all have masculine and feminine sides. ALL of us... even Peter. And when women don’t acknowledge their masculine sides, and men don’t acknowledge their feminine sides, they are cheating themselves of a full existence.

Are we different?

Of course. Physically and psychologically.

Are these differences HUGE, insurrmountable chasms between us?

I don’t think so. Not unless we choose to make them so. I think that we are two interlocking pieces of a two-piece puzzle.

Can one piece exist without the other?

Yes.

Can we exist more happily together?

Some people say no.

I say yes, and I am proving it.

What do you think?