On Becoming a Man
July 14 2008


At some point, you become a man.
No one could ever say what, exactly;
so I always thought it was one of those things
you’d know when it happened,
and there was no going back.

At 13, I read from the Torah,
right to left, chanting uncertainly;
but felt no different afterward.
Before that, my body started acting-up,
but I managed to let it pass.
Which could have been it, actually,
the beginning of my mastery
of denial
— the first test of manhood, some might say.

How to knot a neck-tie.
Learning to shave,
like some steamy initiation
with its ritual letting of blood.
Kissing a girl
without wiping my lips in disgust.
Driving lessons, dad’s Buick,
navigating that big land yacht
into parallel park.
And the first part-time job.

And the rites of passage went on —
from graduation,
through the first serious relationship,
to mortgaging my soul
to the bank.
You’d think fatherhood, for sure;
but even there
a man is on the sidelines
cheering, holding hands,
somehow excluded from the intimate bond
only mothers have.

The problem is
it’s one step forward and one step back,
so even a grizzled old man
can feel like an impostor.
And under all that bravado
you are still 13
where you somehow got stalled;
looking out
from this large awkward body,
that just kept on growing
‘til it stopped.