Cruelty Fetish

Back during my architecting (private sector) days (1995-2006), I worked for a midsize firm in Jackson, and it was there where I eventually found myself somewhat under the tutelage of a semi-retired architect who'd been hired as the "quality control" man.  This elder statesman's job originally was to check construction documents for accuracy / coordination issues.  Simple as that.

He seemed kindly and adroit at first glance with his diminutive, pot-belly scale, false teeth & mop of silver hair neatly parted to one side.  Always wearing slacks, a dress shirt & tie, Mr. T, as he was quickly dubbed, had an appearance that did absolutely nothing to antagonize / draw concern.  Instead, he was the type of Medicare man figure who easily could've passed for either a charity hospital baby rocker or perhaps a clean-shaven, pretending-to-be-an-architect Saint Nick.  Approachable to a fault.  Shy, demure.  Meek?  Hardly.

As such, everyone (the vast majority of which were dramatically younger) couldn't help but appreciate him almost immediately.  I mean, what's not to like?

But I could smell doo doo even at our first juncture, and it really bothered me that others couldn't.

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I've done my fair share of therapeutic work centered around my parents (who hasn't within the Samson Society community?).  During my young adult years (1994), that was mainly centered around how the dynamics within their marriage / our youthful "triad" (I'm an only child) family impacted my development (or lack thereof) as a masculine man (my focus, back then was primarily internal).  Thankfully though, none of that work detailed one iota of cruel / hateful dealings (towards me nor anyone else).  That simply wasn't nor has ever been baked into my parents' modus operandi.  As such, they're many things but not that.

Nonetheless, my grandmother (on my father's side) could have been the poster child for cruel & hateful (particularly in the '60s), and she felt zero regret therein.  Similarly, my mother-in-law (& to a degree father-in-law) were situated within the same boat.

So what exactly am I referring to when I say cruel and hateful?

These are folks who relish watching others suffer.  Particularly others of their own race / creed / demographic, and suffering of the type that's public / semi-public.  But too, allowing themselves similar "fun" / satisfaction by turning their attention to the marginalized isn't out of the question.  Therefore, gossip, for folks like this, is like fine wine.  Hence, working (corporate / public sector), socializing (Country Club), churching (mega), even watching the nightly news (Cable TV) naturally reap multiple hits:  high earnings, esteem, ticket out of Hell, the latest juicy talk & prepackaged stories of the downtrodden. 

But beyond gossip, there's the cruely-fueled (versus curious) gawking, which typically must be done covertly if one's supposedly a good Christian.

All-in-all, envy may very well be what's motivating this particular dark heartedness but not necessarily.  Instead, perhaps it's simply a sick fetish.  

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What's truly noteworthy is one of Mr. T.'s daughters grew to become a superstar sports architect not too long after starting her own career in the same field (far & away from her humble origins in Mississippi).  Therefore, not only due to her gender but also due to her resilient relevancy within that space, I'm reminded (quite often, in fact) of her legendary ballpark / urban planning creative juices as they continue to further the notion of Americana (the great American pastime) whilst filling the pocketbooks of the team owners from one end of the country to the other. 

Having never had any interest in sports, I could care less about sports venues no matter the nostalgia factor / apple pie historical relevance.  And, arguably, most architects are in agreement with Rob that anything associated with the word "team" is an outright bore.  

But the public disagrees.  For sports arenas are akin to the representative cathedrals of yesteryear.

Nevertheless, just this week, my father slipped a copy of a features piece (that had no doubt come out of some recent periodical) detailing (yet again) Mr. T's infamous superstar sports architect daughter (she's in her mid to late 60s now), surmising the story, yet again, of her humble beginnings + origin story as the de facto baseball arena design consultant go-to on planet Earth.  

And yet again, my thoughts immediately turned back to what I remember of her father.  Vividly remember of her father.  And this is sad to admit to for she actually came to my aforementioned employer (adjacent to an end-of-the-year holiday) and gave a short presentation regarding her current stadium project.  

That's what I'd like to remember for that's what the press' appropriately celebratory work should be doing.

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Mr. T's office was adjacent to the "drafting room" (which is where I had a desk for 3-5 years of my tenure therein) within the firm we both worked for.  The space he'd been given to work wasn't large at all, but it did have enough room (barely) for a standard sized metal desk.  Within just a few years, every inch of said space was filled (including his desktop), almost halfway to the 8'-0" ceiling with "half-size" sets of "in progress" construction documents.  These sets were his to "redline".  This was his way of denoting errors that needed addressing.  

Mr. T's approach to quality control really had nothing to do with whoever's justification it was in hiring him.  Instead, it had everything to do with him justifying his own value as a golden year professional who'd really never made much of any mark on the profession nor the localized built environment (for whatever reason).  This was his private chip.

Architects are trained to be visionaries.  "Master builders" as they say.  Our entire pedagogy is constructed under the guise of enlightening society via our masterful (designed) control of the built environment, Renaissance man flair & (typically) high altitude liberal mindedness.  

Therefore, considering his training, Mr. T, could not help but turn his focus on us as his site / canvas.  I assume this was his attempt at a last hoorah within a perfectly imperfect (remember, we were quite young & inexperienced) petri dish of professionals (interns & otherwise) who were simply attempting to meet deadlines whilst placating clients / contractors along the way.

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And, of course, we're all cruel and hateful at times.  It's baked into our DNA as sinners, but there truly are some human beings that are deeply cruelty-averse.  

One of the favorite aspects of my parents is their revulsion therein.  I have to wonder if seeing my grandmother's ongoing / attituded cruelty somehow served to inoculate them both from her influence.

Breach / Wake-Up Call / Hidden Predators

Many years ago, I participated in a one-day summer mission workday that our church organized / sponsored.  It was there that I met (arguably) my now BFF (in-person).  I've written about him prior for he made / continues to make a lasting impact on Rob.  Mostly, in light of his loyalty / trust / small-town values / outlook combined with his sweet demeanor and hyper masculine physique / demeanor / appearance.  

With a beautiful wife and multiple children, our family quickly welcomed them with open arms (not long after our aforementioned initial, missional juncture), and from there, they expectantly joined the church without looking back.  

This family is on the up & up in regard to higher education / demographics, and this upwardly mobile movement warms our heart.  But as is typical (seemingly of every western family), screens (television, smartphones, tablets) are a huge part of their existence.

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My BFF's oldest child is a brilliant creative.  She's polite and poised yet tremendously uncomfortable in most social settings.  To the point that it's almost painful to be in her presence due to how obvious it is to everyone around her.

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A deceased uncle of mine (my childhood memory of him), in many ways, reminds me of my (in-person) BFF.  Even his wife (my aunt) too exemplifies his spouse.  And yes, worshipping at the altar of the screen (remember, this was the '80s) whilst rearing their two children under that watchful electronic eye(s) was absolutely their (& everyone else's) modus operandi.  I can remember, as a teen, homing in on their exceedingly lackadaisical approach to policing media consumption.  It was especially painful / worrisome to observe when my cousins were little tykes.  Therein, the television was never switched off (they fell asleep in front of it each night). 

And I get that they lived in deeply isolated rural MS, but still, TV hasn't been around for that long...  In other words, it's a fairly new phenomenon in the grand scheme of things.  As such, even then, I couldn't fathom why it was allowed to influence with reckless abandon.  

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Here recently, a distinct digital nightmare was discovered within my BFF's household, having crept at the door, waiting patiently to be ushered in.   

As such, as of late, it's been all-hands-on-deck as it pertains to the family's oldest child.  

Let this be a warning to all of us.  For no amount of wishful thinking can return this clan to their hopeful innocence / carefree approach to screen life as a collective.  D-day has come and no attempt to whitewash it will ever change that.

We live in very dark times, my friends.  And yes, they're coming for your children.  Starting, first & foremost, with the technology companies / bros who bank everything on us parents willingly offering up our children to the screen gods.  

The Loser Husband

The Loser Husband is the one who's truly "married up".  We joke about that, but you know what I'm referring to.  Think seriously misbalanced asymmetry (taking Biblical complementarian teachings into consideration).  

In the past, I believe the Loser Husband was much more the norm.  He existed because our culture provided opportunistically for his existence.  

And this was simply due to how expected / necessary (to survive / thrive) it was for women to marry / have children.  But that's not the case anymore.  Women, these days, are overall better educated, more tech savvy, physically healthier, and on and on.  Hence, they're allowed to be much more cautious about choosing a husband in light of settling for a Loser.

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So, what is a Loser Husband exactly?   

They're husbands who refuse to lead their families, and I have found that they do this mostly via a distinctly passive approach.  In other words, most of them attempt to dress for the part of headship, but underneath, their wife is simply another manifestation of their momma (real or imagined).  Based on my observations, this husband "type" is typically highly intelligent / articulate, and therefore well aware of this preferential mother / son setup / dynamic between himself & his wife.  Think of them as very savvy boymen.

As such, assuming she's an emotionally, spiritually healthy Christian wife, this woman is saddled with responsibility that should be considered unnecessarily burdensome due to the fact that she's privy to her own image-bearer limitations as a female.  Plus, it's simply embarrassing leading around / serving up to their boyman.    

It's a bad situation (unnecessarily burdensome) for her and for her children.  Much worse, I would argue, than dealing with a husband who's made poor choices as it pertains to sexual sin (porn use, infidelity) and is deeply remorseful & therefore willing to get therapeutic help.  

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This topic is top of mind for me today because Angie and I have a few friends who're wives of Loser Husbands, and we're praying / hoping their situation will someday improve.  And these women ARE NOT pleased with their situations, yet this truth isn't public (though readily apparent to those within her orbit).

In closing, there are marriages where the wife prefers this upside-down scenario.  I find that most of those women are mentally ill.  We're seeing less & less of this setup though due to the fact that mental illness is being diagnosed / treated so much more readily than in previous generations.

Please pray for our female friends and their marriages. 

The Second Coming Of Ron

For at least 18 months of my childhood (I was 10-11 years old), there was a strongly influential outsider masculine presence that made quite the impact on our 3-legged stool fam (I'm an only child).  I never met this man, but I knew of him via the tumult his name coincided with.  Therefore, I came away both fearful but also sort of in awe.  For his presence equated with such the season of fruit basket turn over within the Turner household.

And though I was very much at arm's length through all of this, there was still plenty for my childhood brain to not only keenly observe but feel about this force.  And this intrigued me firstly prior to some eventual (thankfully short-lived) terror.

Mostly, I indirectly observed how it affected my dad (who was in his late 20s at the time).  I vividly remember him abandoning me late into the night on one hand, and, in turn, profoundly weeping whilst seated adjacent to me on our back porch swing.  It was as if this force was both powerfully omnipresent yet completely unrealized simultaneously (by my dad).  For it was the electric clothes dryer and my father's heart were the smelly sneakers.  As such, there was seemingly no respite from the ordeal ('till everything did eventually settle down).

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When my wife, Angie, suffered a stroke back in 2020, all we could do was hang on to our hope that she'd recover to the degree God would orchestrate.  Because I'd suffered through my job loss in 2013, Angie's stroke thankfully didn't overwhelm my synapses / emotional core.  That being the case, that definitely wasn't how our children experienced their mother's physical illness / disability.  In essence, they were scared shitless.

As such, I remained cool as a cucumber, never even weeping in front of them.  And it wasn't due to me being emotionally absent or aloof.  I simply had this track record with suffering that had profoundly prepared me for suffering further.  Essentially, this powerfully unwelcome force was allowed to flow over me in lieu of it slamming me to the pavement.

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Whilst looking back, I truly grieve the heartache / feelings of hopelessness / violation my dad suffered all those years ago.  I remember being helpless to do anything for him other than steer clear or attempt to sympathize (which was pointless).  

My dad is a tremendously sensitive guy.  Of course, that only exacerbated his heartache as he tumbled 'round & 'round within that scorching sheet metal drum.

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Fast forward almost 45 years and in light of where I am today, I believe, there's some present familial tension tied to faint echoes of this masculine force from long ago.  And this is especially true considering the fallout that's occurred throughout the course of this year between my mother and me.

Here's another thought:  When I ponder how intrinsically roped in to my masculine archetype that I came to be within middle / high school (homosexual lust), I have to wonder how much this original mysterious force (& it's impact) may very well have laid the groundwork for my decidedly private pursuit.  

In turn, as I've worked my recovery program and therefore become less & less incapable of seeing masculine value within myself (in tandem with my girls growing into young women), how might my 2025 position within this very same 3-legged stool harken back to that decades-old torrent?   

Food for thought, for sure.  You've heard me say it before.  Masculinity is the most powerful force on planet Earth. 

Experiencing Matriarchal Disrespect? Consider Sending A Measured Response (& Don't Back Down)

When my oldest daughter was an infant (she's 22 now), I wrote a letter to my mother letting her know how disrespected (by her) I'd felt as a new dad.  There'd been an incident at my parents' abode.  My wife and I had brought my parents first grandchild (my now 22-year-old) over for a visit, and it was during this after church lunch that a statement was made (by my mom, directed at me).  Her off-the-cuff adjudication was way out of line and therefore pissed me off to no end.

I had never experienced disrespect as an adult - to this degree - from my mother (I was 30 years old at the time).  Her words cut like a knife into my heart, especially so knowing they were said amongst the entire fam.

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I vividly remember how terrified I was to confront my mom regarding this.  For I knew her well enough to know that she would refuse to concede, and thereby quickly (& very easily) pull my father into the mix (posturing).  And from what I recall, that did occur.  I heard from him not long after the letter was mailed in an attempt to convince me that I'd stepped way out of line by sending it. 

Whilst looking back, I'm so glad I chose to put my thoughts & feelings in writing to her versus attempting to '"talk it out".  For neither of my parents (back then) were at all experienced listeners (able to listen sans becoming emotionally charged).

As punishment for speaking up / standing my ground, my mother shunned me for 3-4 months.  She refused to look at me or even acknowledge my presence whilst in the same room.  Oftentimes, when we were within close proximity (sitting adjacent to each other in church, etc.), she'd quietly weep.

As this ridiculously juvenile behavior of Her's drug on, I became more and more certain that I'd done the right thing.

Eventually, she apologized (in writing) to me for what she'd said to me months prior.  

From what I recall, she dropped a letter off at the architecture firm I was employed at.  This was a pleasant surprise.  From there, she returned to behaving normally around me.

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There's nothing more important to men than respect, but it's especially important therein when new territory is being charted (life circumstances).  

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Ever since late 2013, I've been working alongside my parents within their small business.  In fact, a few years back, I actually purchased said business from them (they still work most days within our shared office space).  As such, my relationship with my mom has flourished due to the fact that we work really, really well together both respecting each other equally.

Nonetheless, a few weeks back, I once again found myself having to stand up for myself / my family, and yet again, it ultimately had to do with her disrespecting / mistreating me with her words.  But this time, she wasn't unfairly judging / shaming me as a father.  Instead, she was overstepping by sharing intimate details regarding her ongoing tumultuous relationship with her oldest brother (who's my 93-year-old grandmother's primary caregiver).  

As such, this ultimately led to me demanding some physical distance between my uncle and my family (wife / daughters) versus simply continuing forward with the status quo (as if nothing physically threatening had ever happened between him & my mom).    

Disappointedly, my mother (& father) is using the exact same reactionary techniques as she did 22 years ago when I stood my ground then.  It's like déjà vu.    

What's sad to me - primarily - this time around is the fact that these folks are in their early 70s.  As such, time is of essence (precious), taking their ages into consideration.

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Have you heard the adage, "When momma's not happy, nobody's happy?"  It's sort of a cutesy saying 'till you've lived it.    

Simply Feeling Circumstantially Unsafe As A Boy Can Have A Long-Term Impact

I run twice weekly.  Once during the workweek and once during the weekend.  Each run is 5K broken in half by a one-mile brisk walk.  I run slowly sans a fitness tracker, and I only glance at my watch once in order to see the time.  I do not keep tabs on pacing, heartrate or any of that other nonsense.  I simply run away from home before coming back, the exact same route twice weekly.

I love to hate to run.

Last week, I ran one weekday evening, and upon my return home, it had become dark out.  As I made my way into our 'hood, I could see a Chevrolet HHR parked just inside the property of one of the three surrounding churches - Episcopal, Assembly of God, Presbyterian (circumnavigating our neighborhood).  

Despite the fact that the intensely smoking (it was on fire) retro-styled automobile had emergency off-ramped at the Episcopal church, it was just as vacantly quiet as their religious competitors' property (at the time).  

If I'm remembering correctly, it was around 8:30-8:45 PM when I first noticed the smoldering vehicle and its distressed occupants (mulling about).

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My parents got pregnant with Rob when they were 17 (mom) and 18 (dad.).  (90) days later, they were married in rural Humphreys County (Gooden Lake Baptist Church), not far from where my grandmother (Darlene's mom) still lives (she's 92) within her 900-sf rancher to this day.  

My parents were children who unintentionally had a child together.  The year was 1972.  Both the era as well as the Mississippi setting presumptuously placed a shotgun wedding within their crosshairs.  

My father had no intentions of leaving Belzoni, MS until a wise, older man convinced him otherwise (my father's father died of lung cancer when he was a 9-year-old boy).  

From there, he. pursued higher education both at MS Delta Community College and Delta State University (the three of us lived in married family housing during his two years as a student at DSU).

Immediately following graduation, my dad got a job in Jackson.  During this time, we lived within an apartment in South Jackson (I was around age 4-5 and my parents were in their early to mid-20s).

We traveled back to Humphreys County regularly to visit my grandparents.  It was no secret that my father longed to return to his small-town roots.  These weekend furloughs served as the antidote.  

I, of course, simply went along for the ride.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Always riding in the backseat of our army green Volkswagen Beetle.  

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I walked the ROW for about a minute before reaching the young family.  The mom was talking on her pocket computer while her young (preschool age) son stood close by her side (tablet in hand).  The father was hastily emptying out the backseat of the still heavily smoking Chevy.  Clothes and trash were being strewn onto the ground via his reactionary cleaning.  The hood of the defunct car had been raised.  This served to only solidify the despondency of their situation.  I asked the young man, from ten or so feet away, who the woman was talking to.  He smugly replied "911" without stopping to look over at me.  

I then turned and walked back to the entrance to our 'hood, sensing that I wasn't needed (or wanted).  

By the time I reached it, I could hear the screaming of the fire truck approaching fast.  As a result, I paused to watch the vehicle eventually pull into the same church entrance drive, directly behind the now - somewhat less smoky - vehicle.  Law enforcement also came alongside within a matter of only a few additional seconds.

I felt at peace knowing they were being tended to during this tough situation.  For they were so very young and obviously just starting out...

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One evening in the late 1970s, my parents and I left Humphreys County (too) late at night for the 90-minute drive back to our apartment in Jackson.  You should know that it wasn't 'till the mid '80s that Highway 49 N was constructed into a divided highway.  Hence, at this time, it was two-lane, all the way from Yazoo City to Jackson.  Up and over, up and over those massive hills as the opposing traffic whizzed by.  

It was on this highway that my parents' VW Beetle ceased operating (we weren't far outside of Yazoo City) whilst traveling south.  Overall, we'd been on the road around 45 minutes.  I can remember my dad pulling over onto the ROW, and from there, him asking my mom to locate a flashlight within the glovebox.  Once she did, it unfortunately failed to illuminate with anything other than a faint glow.  

I distinctly remember how dark it was sitting quietly there in the cramped backseat as I watched my mom's motionless silhouette seated just a few feet in front of me.  Neither of us spoke.  We could hear my dad outside.  He'd raised the hood (on the rear of the Beetle), though we both knew he'd no way of seeing anything via the faint glow of the almost dead flashlight.  A familiar fear crept up inside of me like some sort of emotional nausea.  Yet, there was no means to escape it.  Our situation (once again) looked and felt bleak.  We were like three sitting ducks.

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As I continued to grow as a boy, my parents grew alongside.  Because of this, their perspective matured in tandem with my own.  Hence, the fears I faced as a young child were mostly faced alone (as they did their own).

Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children.  I was privy to this, even as a boy.  For I was no dummy.  Every one of my peers had parents who were much older (& therefore behaved far differently) than my own.

But back to that earlier statement.

Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children.

And it's especially apparent when families like the one I was reared within face crisis.  

Children from those families must find a means to cope with the insecurities that come with being reared by childparents.  

For Rob, that coping came in the form of fantasy.  Elaborate, commiserate fantasy that was customized to my needs (security) as a boy, then teenager, then young man, then man...

Eventually, at the outset of adolescence, those fantasies became sexualized.  And this happened in proportion to hastily accelerating (sizable) insecurities surrounding my sense of adolescent masculinity (or lack thereof).  Aligned with that stopgap solution was me being - by God's design - an extremely visual boy who was easily captivated by beauty - beautiful people (mostly masculine men), automobiles, buildings.  All of these enthralled Rob, but none had the seemingly tangible allure as them Adonises.  For they represented - to me - safety and strength, confidence, gentleness and care.  Sexual fantasies revolving around these men served as the ultimate boyRob pacifier.

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My parents & I have numerous stories we can tell relative to our adventures as a 3-legged stool family unit.  I love my mom and dad.  And frankly, I know that it was only via God's grace that we made it through intact.  

I realize I've posted this prior, but I love this photo of all three of us on my parents' wedding day.  Enjoy.