The platonic friendships I have built with boys and men throughout the years have been meaningful if not just a heck of a lot of fun. Although I was not blessed with a brother or brothers, their likenesses–stunt doubles, if you will–usually surrounded me in the neighborhoods of Jersey where I grew up. For whatever reason, there were just more boys than girls, so even though I longed for more close gal pals, there just weren't enough of them to go around. By the time I was in high school–albeit, I did befriend quite a few females–I found myself playing poker for pennies with five male friends every Wednesday night, something my Depression-era mother could not quite fathom. What could I possibly say? I just liked hanging out with the guys. And I wasn't bad at Texas Hold'em either.
When I turned nineteen, I really got to know my father better after deciding to become more solicitous in terms of his occupation. He hired me as his personal assistant for the summer, and together we appraised numerous edifices, a.k.a. real estate, including musician George Benson's home in Bergen County. June, July, and August of 1978 were enlightening months in my life that I will never forget.
It comes as no surprise then that the men in my life today are somewhat avuncular. As an adult, despite still having a considerable amount of women friends (some are the same ones whom I had in grade school), I also enjoy men as buddies, particularly those with whom I can collaborate in some organized way.
For example, when I perform as a jazz singer, I prefer to play with the boys. Quite literally. One evening two weeks ago when Bond (yes, I did decide to take a risk and go back to dating him - see the entry dated March 5th) and I were strolling the pier, which extends out into the Pacific from Hermosa Beach, we came upon a trio of very young jazz musicians busking. As I have no real understanding of shyness, I bounded up to them between tunes. Before one could say, "Play it again," I was jamming with them on an extended version of Cole Porter's "I've Got You Under My Skin" in Db. The jam, complete with my improvised scat singing, continued for about twenty minutes. After we realized that night was upon us, the crowds had dissipated, and we could no longer see well, the notes ceased. Before saying adieu, we exchanged Instagram info and promised each other we would do it all over again in the near future. Even if it never happens, inside of those musical moments, I couldn't have been happier.
When it comes to playing with the boys, what I adore in particular is golfing. Sorry, ladies, but my past experience tells me that you are way too competitive for my taste and are too concerned with playing by PGA rules. I'll follow its game book when and if I ever make it into the PGA, which I can tell you right now, will be never. Playing along with men is lighter. As I can keep up with them for the most part, they respect me, treating me as a peer. In general, we don't take the sport that seriously, offering each other a polite mulligan when necessary and spending a lot of time laughing generously at our triple bogeys. My favorite golf buddy, the ruggedly handsome Rory (not quite McIlroy) just happens to be a fellow actor, forty years my junior, who keeps me on my toes since he is extremely good and a perfect gentleman. How lucky is this sixty-six year old? I'd say extremely lucky.
Ladies, whether you are married or single, it is perfectly okay to spend time with platonic, avuncular men friends who are more than capable of enriching your lives in one way or the other. And I emphasize "enriching" because every once in awhile, the male perspective is needed. Although there are women out there who honestly believe men are only good for sex and moving furniture, they are wrong. Okay, may some men are, but not the majority :).
Just sayin'.
#Personal Essay, #blog, #blogger, #society, #spilled thoughts, #friendship, #editorial
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