What it is to be a man

There is an ideal in America of what it means to be a man. It means being tall, good-looking, athletic, “tough,” not easily hurt, etc. This is not what it means to be a man.

My last entry in here was about the death of my grandfather, who probably fit into most of those categories. But my grandfather wasn’t half the man my father is, who does not fit the stereotypical image. My dad is tall—six foot. But he’s been rail thin his entire life, always with a pair of coke bottle glasses, and never the man you would bet on in a fight.

But you’d never have the opportunity to bet against him, because my dad would never be in a fight. My dad is the gentlest, kindest, most compassionate, strongest man I know. He has more character than anybody I’ve ever met, and he loves his children more than he loves himself. Since my grandpa’s death, I’ve been thinking about my mom, and how she never had much of a father, which makes me think about my dad, and how fortunate I am to have him.

I’ve also figured out a perfect reply for the next time someone asks me why I’m still single—I haven’t met anyone yet who can measure up to my dad. They say girls marry their fathers; my mom married someone who was everything her father never was. Because she did, I would be incredibly lucky if I were to marry someone like my father.