Posted on: Sunday, July 3, 2005
My buddies have what it takes to be real men
By Michael DeMattos
A buddy of mine recently had a family emergency and had to fly back to the Mainland ... for good.
He needed to prepare his house for the market and called upon a few of us to help him with the prep work. There were a million things to do, including repairing the roof, painting the exterior, replacing the doors and updating the bathroom.
In a matter of minutes after I arrived, I found myself on the roof ripping worn-out shingles, replacing boards in the eaves and coating the garage roof with a waterproof protectant.
When I looked down, I saw one of my other friends painting the picket fence. He held the brush like a knife as he took small stabbing strokes at the defenseless redwood. He did not have a clue what he was doing, but he was doing it because he was called. I knew, right then and there, that despite his lack of skills, he was a real man.
The question has been around for as long as bipedal folk have roamed the planet: What is the measure of a man?
For Neanderthal man — who, I believe, is alive and well — it is the size of his bicep.
For Wall Street man, it is the size of his bank account.
Sadly, for Preoccupied man, it seems it may still be about the size of his ... well, Freud has covered that subject matter extensively so there is no need for me to get into that here.
I believe size matters, but I believe the measure of a man is directly related to the size of his heart.
I am talking heart, as in integrity, courage and a willingness to do the job lesser men pass on. A man with heart does the dirty work whether the job is big or small.
If heart is the ultimate measure of a man, then I hang out with some real he-men. The kind of guys you can count on when the chips are down.
Yeah, some of my friends have big guns. In fact, a few look like they have legs attached to their shoulders, but the majority have bellies to match. Most of my friends are quite intelligent. I am likely the slowest of wit, but I chose them as friends, which makes me bright in my own special way.
In my world, heart matters so much more than brawn or brains and it is not just because I am weak and dim-witted. No, heart matters because life is about being there for friends and family and neither the strong man nor the smart man can be counted on when you really need them, but the man with heart will show every time.
A man is truly tested when he is faced with a task for which he has neither the skill nor the passion but takes it on anyway.
Such was the case for my paint-covered buddy.
He easily could have asked for another assignment, claiming ignorance, and he would have been justified, but he did not. He was assigned a task and he pursued it with vigor.
The crazy thing is, he did a great job. The fence is now a deep, rich red — the color of blood — and it was painted by a man with heart, a man whom I know that I can count on when lesser men balk.
Michael DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. He lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter and two dogs.
