By Michael Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer

Exactly one month ago yesterday, my good friend Gary, an Army reservist, left family and friends in Hawai'i for what we understand will be a one-year deployment in Iraq.

For the past three weeks, I've been carrying in my backpack a single sheet of college-rule folder paper upon which I've written, "Hey Gary," and, so far, nothing else.

For someone who writes for a paycheck, for grade points and, occasionally, for my sanity, I'm more than familiar with the familiar mind-gumming, finger-paralyzing effects of a good writer's block. But this dang letter, this mostly nonexistent missive to a friend, is driving me batty.

And it occurs to me — and not coincidentally since there is a column to write as well — that my problem is a perhaps a problem of gender: Men aren't supposed to write letters to other men.

Let me refine this a bit before the e-mail flaming commences.

Of course men write letters to other men. Presidents and kings (and presidents who think they're kings) do it all the time. Far-flung family members do it. And writers have done it to death for hundreds of years. Heck, F. Scott Fitzgerald left a paper trail as long as the Great Wall, and just as dense.

But good old-fashioned handwritten correspondence between men — between guys who hang out regularly, understand each other well and verbalize diddly — is a rare thing in the e-mail age and something I'd argue is not always consistent with the way many men communicate.

Always high on the list of grievances women have about men is our supposed inability or unwillingness to communicate in meaningful ways, i.e., to put our thoughts into words.

And it's an understandable gripe. When your dearest spends half an hour recounting, in vivid emotional detail, the events of her crappy day at work, she probably expects more than a raised eyebrow in response.

But guys understand what that eyebrow means. Some of us actually prefer the non-verbal lexicon of pursed lips, furrowed brows, "howzit" nods and "screwed-again" chuckles to words that are always inadequate, that cheapen the thing by making it obvious.

Mind you, none of these gestures translate well to the handwritten page or have a shift+option option on the keyboard.

I could resort to the old sports standby and write about how well his San Antonio Spurs are doing in the playoffs and how lousy my Knicks and Celtics look. But comforting as that slice of the normal might be to him, I'm not sure if I feel quite right writing it while he's living in a trailer surrounded by folks who'd like nothing better than to send a mortar round through his roof.

Gary joined the reserves six years ago to earn a little extra money for his family and to pay for his return to school. If his deployment hadn't overlapped his exit date, he'd be out already, and we could go on talking in our nontalking kind of way. But he's in Baghdad now, and somehow that changes things.

Before he left, Gary said he'd gotten over his anger about being deployed and his fear of what lay ahead. He was more concerned about the two kids he was leaving behind. I'm not sure what, if anything, I said.

The last time I saw Gary was at a pre-deployment ceremony at Schofield. We spoke briefly about a motorcycle trip we're planning for when he gets back. We double-checked our mailing information. And then we stood there with everything understood and nothing left to say.

So here I am with that blank sheet of paper, a pithy salutation and only one thing I really care to write: Stay safe, Gary, and hurry back.

Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com or 535-2461.