The Super Bowl: Testosterone Is a Beautiful Thing

Super Bowl Sunday.

I can’t write about the loss of my city’s team because I saw the knee hit the ground prior to the ball crossing that end zone and my bias would shine forth. So, I’ll stick with what I wrote BEFORE Atlanta lost a well played game. Both teams trained, played and worked hard. I respect that regardless of jersey.  I want to talk about men. Because I can. 

While others are busy with friends, parties, food and drink, I am simply reminded of the men and the contrast they offer to my femininity. The starkness of men in all their sweaty glory reminds me of the men I have loved beginning with…

My father. A WWII Vet and hard GM worker, my father was all man. In heart and deed. He was a man who liked to build things. Not very proficient with emotional things until his later years, as a WWII Veteran, he taught me the value of hard work and the art of being frugal.

My fall months were spent helping chop firewood, hauling it and smelling tangerine peels roast on top of our wood burning stove. The summer months always included a family vacation that he faithfully saved for and our father/daughter time, deep sea fishing. Our favorite pastime.

My husband. He was a strong, testosterone filled man who played sports his entire life. And well. There was nothing he could not do well when he set his male mind to it. Nothing.

My only significant relationship since his death eighteen years ago, was with a man who chased the PGA sun for a living. A straight up cowboy from Texas. There was nothing he couldn’t hunt, fish, garden or forge with iron.

Boys. Always a stark contrast to my girl. The hardwiring of the fragile that seeks the bold. And contrary to the ill conceived mantra of the pink vagina-hat-sporting females, fragile is not a four letter word.

See, I’ve learned courage is not measured in pink and my strength surpasses my sexual birthright or any physical limitations of simply being a girl. Being a woman precludes the need to prove I can be a man. No thanks. Sure, I can open my own door, pay my own bills, order my own meal, raise my own kid, run my own company, but so what? That just makes me a God-gifted human.

Knowing my strength, capabilities & identity as a woman, comes from above. It allows me to appreciate, respect and command the attention deserved to the fulness of men being men. And I do require it. Ask any man in my life.

I find myself missing the special men in my life at times. Especially days like today. The day of men in tights.  Sweaty, flexed, cussing, hungry for victory, skilled and unafraid, men. The boys killing each other for a ball, a ring and a title, are all the reminders I need of how gloriously male my counterparts can be.

This doesn’t exclude men in suits, shaping a deal and forging community infrastructure or manning a corporate ship. This is the Super Bowl and it’s MAN DAY and you know it.

Instead of being sad reminiscing about the loves who have passed on or gone another route, I’ve decided to light up the grill, put some logs on the fire, pop open a cold brew (with that awesome little gadget on the front of my girlie colored grill) and remember. Remember what’s important. Remember how gracefully different we are as men and women. I love it. I have to have the difference.

I’m too much of a woman to settle for anything but men being men. I can’t even imagine my father in skinny jeans. Ha. Hell, I can barely wear them myself.

The beauty of man is woman. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it. I am all woman and I make no apologies.

I cover this in its entirety in my book:) Pre-Order today!

xo,