Using other men as a conduit to emote. Similar to music. [Those are the notations I made in advance of writing out this post. If I don't take notes, me will forget where I'd like to take the narrative.]
A young Samson guy who took to Samson Society like a duck to water used to describe how emotionally overwhelming attending meetings was for him. And what he was referring to wasn't empathy but actual emoting. Efficient, expedient emoting unlike any he'd experienced prior (except maybe whilst engaging in sex with is girlfriend / wife).
This young professional found the meetings provided him with a setting and therefore means to emote. And emote he did. All manner of emoting. In fact, his emoting went from one end of spectrum to the other and back again (throughout the tenure of our friendship and his relation to our local Samson Society groups). It was like releasing the Kraken. No doubt a marvel to behold.
It's important to note that this Samson guy didn't happen to struggle with same sex attraction, but otherwise he reeked of gayness. And not necessarily in his mannerisms but mostly within his demeanor / outlook / temperament. And others besides me had corroborated this to him directly. Gay men are typically highly intelligent and articulate, therefore they're often hyper-critical relative to their outlook on just about everything around them. This Samson guy was like that to a tee, yet he was immensely straight. To the point of often being in anguish if he found himself out of step with the expectations of the women (mother, sisters, work colleagues, wife, daughter) in his life. Hence, in a way, he was sorta super-straight.
There are those gay men who're out there who fall into the category of generally (averaging relational time) miserable to be around. He could at times be one of those guys. Nonetheless, it was very cool seeing him find such emotional challenge from the meetings and all the positive relationships that developed as a result. For this was a dude who relished a challenge, and obviously Samson Society (meetings & otherwise) provides ample opportunity for those inclined. As such, I loved having him with us for such a time as that.
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For Rob, the act of emoting through another guy first occurred when I was in high school. It was whilst working at Chick-A-Fil in Northpark Mall back in the '80s. As an only child, I'd little experience developing consistent relationships with other boys / young men except for my cousins (who mostly lived within other regions of the state).
But at age 15, whilst acquiring my first part-time gig frying chicken, all that began to change.
As a newbie at the Chick, I mostly passed out fried chicken samples week after week for hours on end. But eventually, after surviving that initiation, I began learning the actual ropes, and those consisted of running a cash register, breading / frying chicken (in the "Henny Pennys") and unloading the weekly foodstuffs brought in on various delivery trucks. The latter of which was the most difficult for I was a lean, completely nonathletic teenager who weighed all of 125 lbs. (with a 29" waist).
During this period of my life, I was so ashamed / embarrassed of my lean physique that I refused to present myself semi-nude in public, therefore that meant no swimming and absolutely no showering with or around other guys (hence, my affinity for being a member of the marching band).
For I felt my body would make for an easy target of any other guy (or girl) who might choose to point out my exceptional leanness as an act of cruelty. Therefore, I refused to provide them with the opportunity. Perhaps this was cowardice on my part, but nonetheless, it worked to keep me from being bullied.
On the flip side of that, I quickly began elevating certain young men who no doubt did not (& rightly so) have this same hang up.
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The private high school I attended in Madison was small. We only graduated, in 1990, a mere 45 students. But there was one of those young men (a classmate) who'd haunt me with his athletically built physique. For I'd no courage whatsoever to attempt to befriend this classmate (which no doubt would have helped to defuse the situation). And this is really where my penchant for homosexual lust went off the rails. Not only was this classmate a varsity baseball and football player, but he was exceptionally shy and reserved. So much so that I don't know I ever heard him say more than a few words during 10th - 12th grade. He was that quiet.
And, of course, this only made it easier for me to take advantage of him within my sinful thought life, seeing how he was such the mystery man to all of us.
I cannot tell you how many times I begged God to forgive me for engaging in lustful fantasies that involved this dude (& plenty of others).
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My senior year of private academy high school saw me friendless, and I was okay with that. I was excited about heading off to college the following year, knowing that I'd be leaving all of my "dumbass" classmates behind. My two best friends were a year older than I, therefore they'd both "flown the coop" - one now enrolled at a university in TN and another in CO - the year prior.
So, I was alone and now working more and more hours at the Chick in the mall (which I sheepishly enjoyed). For it all felt so very adultish.
And then an older, Christian guy showed up at the Chick, and I knew he was a Christian because he quietly reeked of the fruits of the Spirit (which I was then privy to), and he was a seminary student at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson.
The latter obviously made him a lot older than I was - likely mid-20s. And this guy was physically built like a man. I even moreso took note of this because he could execute physically demanding tasks twice as fast than I could. Tasks such as mopping the dining room, behind the counter, kitchen or unloading the aforementioned delivery truck, and so forth. I've never seen such stamina / work ethic.
But despite his physical age seniority to me, he refused to look down on me or question my role as "crew chief" (his superior). I appreciated this for I'd years of chicken tenure (!) under my belt that he did not.
Therefore, when he would be assigned to work with me during night shifts (there'd be three of us that would close up the restaurant at 9 PM), I would breathe that much easier. For he was literally the ideal crew member - efficient, hard-working, respectful and kind. The embodiment of what I aspired to be - someday - as a man.
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One noteworthy (to me) Saturday, this Christian seminary student (Dale was his name) had been assigned to my crew of three to eventually close up the restaurant, and as was typical for Saturdays when I'd work, my shift usually began around 1 PM in the afternoon. As such, those days were typically long, exhausting endurance runs for teenage Rob at the Chick. But, knowing Dale was there to assist me at close, that allowed me to breathe easier for he literally could expedite the work of two men with ease.
And on that day, thankfully, the daytime hours went off without a hitch as did our closing regimen. But something, for me at least, happened that night which unexpectedly awoken my senses to who I might very well be and how I was truly weirdly wired as a man.
Like every other night where Dale was assigned to my closing crew, he volunteered to oversee the cleaning of "the red floor". This verbiage referred to the dining room. For during the 1980s, the dining rooms of Chick-A-Fil restaurants (all of which at this time were located inside of shopping malls) had glossy red ceramic tile (herringboned patterned) flooring. Therefore, Dale had the responsibility of thoroughly cleaning this space (empty trash, clean / sanitize tables & chairs & garbage cans, sweep & mop "red floor"). And arguably on Saturday nights, this space was the filthiest, having endured a weekend day of steady usage from breakfast to dinner.
As I was working towards double-checking all of our now completed work (by now it would have been around 9:40 PM), I surprisingly encountered Dale shirtless in the kitchen. Immediately before that, I'd made my way to the electrical panel and switched off the house lights, therefore only the few remaining night fluorescent troffers were left illuminated throughout the front and back of the restaurant. In looking back, this brown out had obviously given him the signal that I was satisfied and ready for us to depart, but too, it had provided him with somewhat of a veil of darkness to utilize to change clothes.
It took me a second, but eventually I realized he was simply quietly changing out of his Chick-A-Fil uniform shirt and into something else. Perhaps for a late night date or meetup. For I'd never had that experience before.
And then the three of us all left together with me ensuring the back door locked itself behind us.
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I've thought an awful lot about that night since then. And here's what I know.
Though it's never easy to admit to, there are times in everyone's life when they are vulnerable to exploitation by individuals who're usually older / wiser / savvier than we are. And mostly, on average, that vulnerability happens during our childhood years in tandem with us elevating someone within our minds. As you can see here, based on what I've described of my private self-loathing (& the internal sin-laden self-medication I was administering as a result), it was during my high school years when I was in this isolated, critical position.
Dale was one (if not the one) of the most ideal men I'd ever encountered. Plus, he was a Christian. And, on top of that, he had an enviable body & face (which I had the privilege to see firsthand) to match that humble, gentle spirit.
It wouldn't have taken hardly any effort on his part to position himself in order to serendipitously take advantage of this young, very confused high school student (Rob). But he chose not to. Instead, he not only gave to me a stellar example of Christ through his work ethic / demeanor / character, but he also did so by trusting me with his own thoughtful decision to be appropriately vulnerable (the brief shirtless episode).
Now, you may believe that as an adult I've romanticized this childhood event, and I cannot not agree with you on some level. But, you cannot completely dismiss that what he chose to do by removing his shirt there in the kitchen - versus the men's room - must have had at least an inkling of intentionality behind it. And for me, that decision made all the difference. For it demonstrated trust. And this is what I'd always longed to actually marinate in (outside of fantasy). For it validated something in me like nothing else had prior. And as a result, it seemingly started up an engine (idle speed) which eventually, after many additional years, trials, therapists, and Samson Society found its cruising RPM.
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Over the past month, I'd had numerous individuals comment on my physique. Both men and women. Most of these reactions had to do with either clothes I was wearing that accentuated my 48-year old, 196 lb, build or a lack of clothes thereof (whilst out running in the summer heat). To experience this trend literally causes me to feel like the young Samson friend I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Emotionally overwhelmed.
But one antidote to those feelings is to take myself back to that night at the Chick which I've attempted to describe here. That night where I felt I saw my ideal future self seemingly inside somewhat of a mysterious stranger.
For by doing so, I can recalibrate my heart towards the man who firstly demonstrated to Rob what he (me) might very well become.
Thanks Dale. Wherever you are, I love you. For I owe you a whole lot. And just so you know, there is a portion of me that believes you may very well have been my guardian angel.
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