Most Of My Hair Is Silver Now

The house I grew up in in Madison, back in the '80s, was a typical ranch house.  After my parents had a small addition constructed (FL / sunroom), it amounted to +/-1,800 sf.  A quirk of this house was that the garage flooded (even with the garage door closed) during a deluge.  I remember having to "sweep out the garage" immediately following these rainstorms.  There was always either a push or corn broom on hand for this task.  But even then, the concrete garage floor would remain saturated / puddled, thereby making traversing throughout a slippery affair.  And if it was mild weather, this dampness would remain for days. 

When my parents sold this house (1990 - my freshman year at MSU) in order to move into a rental ('till their newly constructed home was finished), I wonder if they disclosed this quirk.  For they never made any effort to remedy it.  It was just one of those nuisances that we lived with throughout our time there.

Today, when you attempt to sell a home, disclosures are expected.  For every house has its quirks.  I remember populating my mother-in-law's disclosure statement for the home she sold a few years back.  It was multiple pages of Q & A with sizable legal warnings throughout threatening legal action if the document wasn't ENTIRELY FORTHCOMING.

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My oldest friend's wife is morbidly obese.  She's always been overweight, but over the past 3-4 years, she's gained more and more pounds.  Now it's to the point (for those of us who've known her for decades) of the inevitable shock (especially considering their Xmas photo card).   

She's also a heavy, heavy social media user (political commentary).

When I last spoke to my friend, his wife was unemployed, having been laid off from her job.  He mentioned a job prospect she was pursuing that would title her "Admin Assistant" for a consulting engineering firm.  This position was in line with much of her resume.

I asked him to let me know if she received an expected offer.

I haven't heard back from him since then.

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I was convicted early on within my life that "letting one's hair down" always came with a cost (physical appearance / words).  And most of the time that cost (for me at least) was risking offense and, in turn, the due penalty (some semblance of rejection).  Therefore, I'm constantly weighing risk versus reward herein.  And, I believe, that's a worthwhile exercise to be tasked with.  It strengthens emotional muscle which promotes / endorses maturity.  

It's one of the main reasons I enjoy writing publicly on this blog as well as my former blog.

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Earlier this week, I had an opportunity to say "hello" to a cousin whilst meeting with a longstanding business owner client (my cousin happens to work there).  He was shocked to see me.  This made the rendezvous all that more special.

My personal blog, "The Architect's Garage", that was deleted in September of '13, was a combination of video / text posts that spanned +/-5 years.  There was a naivety there.  I'd go so far as to say an emotional immaturity.  I posted thoughts and feelings that were deeply revealing within that blog.  Especially as it pertained to my dad / our relationship when I was a child.  As such, it reflected exactly where I was for such a time as that.

This aforementioned cousin was offended enough by those posts to alert his father (my dad's youngest brother, who he loved dearly).  And though the blog had long since been deleted when I came to be made aware of this squeal, I felt something that I'd never felt before as it pertained to my family.

Seen and somewhat known.  It represented an incredible leveling up for me.  For it was the first time someone (within my Turner extended family) actually had the opportunity to pay attention to the Rob that I truly was / had been.

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There are folks who live to be spotlit.  I believe my friend's wife falls into that category.  Her physical self is a mirror to her online one.  

There are others who are required (at times) to be in the spotlight.  For it's the only way they can make sense of the world they're faced with.  Especially regarding those who just might take the time to read the entire disclosure.  

I am so looking forward to seeing my cousin again soon. 

As a Christian, You're Going To Get Hurt Within Samson Society. Why Expect This? Because You're Called To Serve Firstly & Feel Secondly.

Prior to losing my Campus Architect / Facilities Director position at Delta State University in 2013, I was surrounded by men day in and day out via the demands of / setup within my vocational role.  I did my darndest to treat everyone fairly, but since I was only there one year prior to my termination (thanks to me violating their IT policy), I really only had time to grow close to a handful of these blue-collar blokes.  Overall, though, I felt this experience was literally the zenith of my career as an architect.  And I felt this at day one.  It truly had all the makings of a dream job.

My leadership approach was as follows: open-door, listen and try to help without in any way pretending to know better than they did (because I usually didn't).  My predecessor had taken the exact opposite approach, therefore the change in leadership style, for my minions, was like a breath of fresh air.

Therein, what dragged / wore on me constantly was how one-sided this setup was.  Especially as it pertained to both me and my family being transplanted into this very new, very isolating small-town MS setting.  For my minions had been starving for respect, therefore my appointment was soon met with all that pent up demand.

Ultimately, no one there knew Rob - warts & all. Nor did I have any friends (outside of work) that served me within the same open door, subservient capacity (as I was day-in-and-day-out serving my men).  As a result, as each work week passed, I felt more and more like an outsider through and through. 

Nonetheless, Rob's respectful modus operandi was appropriate and helpful to all of these men, and this provided me with peace of mind.  For it represented me not being - in the least - overstepping of the supervisor / minion relationship.  For I'd experienced that myself when I too was a minion (within other vocational settings), and it was neither fair nor in anyway helpful therein as it pertained to me doing my minion job to the best of my ability.

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My introduction to Samson Society in August 2014 (11-months post job termination) felt like the "mirror universe" version of my aforementioned Campus Architect / Facilities Director role at DSU.  And this was absolutely apparent, within that first in-person Samson group, due to the fact that I simply wouldn't / couldn't be called upon to "hold the professional line" (put up or shut up).  Therefore, no matter what I happened to say, either within or outside of a meeting (after meeting / retreats) I was allowed to test this assumption repeatedly, yet never once did anyone pull me aside and say, "you might want to tone down the authenticity rhetoric a little."

For such a time as that, I was desperately in need of this weekly orgy of truth-telling / being heard and listened to, for I had so much anger, shame and desperation, with no idea what to do with it.  Plus, I simply wasn't interested in really hearing or knowing otherwise about anyone else's situation (though I certainly pretended to).  My own pain was simply too big to look away from - 24/7/365.  So much so, back then, that it came close to pulling me under completely (thanks to PTSD).

Eventually though, it became more manageable as the pressure eased within my mind.

As such, I did begin to heal.  And from there, I truly began serving / giving back to this community in droves.  I'm here to testify to the fact that Samson Society absolutely worked its magic.  From there, I hit recovery cruise control via service to those who'd have me.  And oh, how much fun that's been. 

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Consider this memory of note:

My breakout attempt to extend an intimate hand of friendship within Samson Society took place right before Christmas 2014.  A younger man who'd been faithful (at that point, longer than I had) to the First Baptist Church Jackson Samson Society piqued my platonic interest in light of his exuberant, outgoing persona (super fun guy).  I'd been fortunate enough to hear bits and pieces of this Samson brother's story throughout the five months I'd been attending said meeting and had even attended a few Bible studies over at his apartment  

What I didn't realize was how my attempts to extend a personal hand of friendship would be reacted to via the other men or at least one, in particular, who'd long since crossed that particular relational bridge (w/ fun guy).

This was when I quickly realized that my involvement within Samson Society was in no way happening inside a vacuum, and that I was just as blokey as all my peers.  And running headlong into this now wedge hurt, but it also didn't deliver reciprocally anything other than a strong reminder of how absolutely okay it was for me to stand up for my own wants and desires within this sacred space of brotherhood.  

Or this one:

I poured mucho time and energy into a guy who'd, like me, come to a Samson story retreat.  This was my second of these, and mostly, I was there out of respect for the facilitator (who was my first "Silas" - pre-Samson Society).  This (fellow retreat attendee) AL native and I agreed to continue dialoguing into the future, and he was extremely faithful to that agreement.

Eventually, the stars aligned, and from there, we were set to both attend a Samson Society National Retreat.  I'd been to many of these prior, but this was his first.  I vividly recall comparing (to him) my previous Samson National Retreats as vampiric feeding grounds.  In essence, fantastic opportunities to make new connections and therefore "drink in" stories 'till one's heart's content.  

Disappointedly, he failed to engage.  In fact, he spent the majority of his time - throughout the weekend - text messaging his wife back in GA.  For she was his codependent female "Silas", for lack of a better word.  As a result, not one Samson guy benefited from befriending this dude (besides brushing shoulders with him during the lunch line).  And that was because he made zero effort to invest as he'd invested in me (& vice versa) throughout the lead up to this endeavor.

We continued our ongoing bi-monthly chats, but it took a long while for me to settle back into our routine emotionally unscathed.  

Nonetheless, I'd realized from the get-go, whilst walking into that second Samson story retreat, that it wasn't going to offer me a whole lot (repetitive) unless I made the most of this syndication.  And that's what motivated me to pursue new connections.  For this, I had no regrets.

Or this one:

Young guy shows up to my Samson meeting at Lakeside Pres church one Saturday morning.  Since he's a newbie, I immediately follow-up with him out of respect for showing up.

The deep-seated respect that returns to me is noble but also uneasy-ly blind.

He continues attending (like clockwork).  Eventually, I tell him to let me come alongside and intentionally assist in his recovery (over the course of the upcoming calendar year).  Months pass.  From there, we agree to meet once a week.

I become his very intentional big brother cheerleader, attending his side hustle events, gifting him at birthdays / promotions at work, and ever steadily continuing to meet regularly. Our friendship is richly rewarding. 

I even loop him into a movie night ("1917") with my father at the newly opened suburban MoviePlex.  Fun times.

Then very unexpectedly the relationship exploded violently.  And of all places for this to occur, ironically, it was during an in-person Samson meeting.        

Within just a few minutes, our friendship / brotherhood ceased to exist in spite of it being bookended on either side by this very ministry.  

A few weeks later, I followed through with (yet again) attending the National Samson Society retreat.  This was never an option for my previous Samson brother.  For anytime I brought up the notion of him accompanying me was met with swift refusal / rebuttal.  

It was during that retreat that I asked Mr. Justin Schwind about attending the virtual Samson Society meeting he facilitated (I'd never prior given serious thought to attending a virtual Samson Society meeting).

And that formally segued me from in-person to virtual literally overnight.

And finally, this one:

A newcomer to this "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson meeting caught my attention.  I DM'ed him via Slack and before long we were off and running.  He'd attended intensive weekends within other men's parachurch ministries, therefore Samson was serving him beautifully as an everyday reminder / placeholder of that / those sacred event(s).   

We talked A LOT for weeks on end.  The alignment pertaining to our intellect, personas, faith were undeniable. Plus, he was just so hungry for attention.  As such, the attraction was building between us. 

By this point (this was February of '23), I had amassed quite the impressive resume of Samson stories.  So much so that I truly thought I'd heard it all.

But with this guy, that was most definitely not the case.

My reaction therein was blunt.

Needless to say, he was deeply offended.

And that was the end of that.  

But, in the end, it was this offense that motivated me to reposition myself in (virtual Samson meeting) "Brain Changers" on Sunday afternoons / evenings.  And eventually, from co-facilitator, I became sole facilitator ("Transparent Training Union").  

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Last weekend, my wife and I bumped into a guy I often see at the Y.  At the time, she and I were at the local grocery.  This man's younger than me, but due to his build, looks a good bit older than his biological age.  I'd been praying for an opportunity to give him my business card in hopes of us having lunch someday.  And lo and behold, here was my opportunity.  

Why pray this prayer?

Because he's right there in front of me, and he's got a story I want to hear.  That's why.

Plus, he knows my name.

Seriously, I can't not take the chance to see where an extended hand might very well lead.  I love men.  God loves me.  It's full circle.  

Lagniappe

More lagniappe

Even more lagniappe

Compromises Made To Recovery Work Add Up Over Time / Place = Expected Behavior

My middle daughter and I were in AR last week and whilst there, we had dinner at a memorable Hot Springs sports bar.  The restaurant was tucked in the corner of a strip shopping center adjacent to our hotel which made it too convenient to not pass up.

The early evening was just beginning to see some drizzling rain as we brought our travel-weary / empty stomachs through the pair of storefront doors.  The sports bar was understandably dark inside but very clean and spacious.  Despite the fact that it was a weekday evening, there were a number of middle to upper-middle class patrons enjoying the friendly atmosphere.  With live music playing and sports channels supersized (projection) on most walls, there was plenty to take in / relax by.

We enjoyed dining on high sodium, high fat appetizers combined with homemade chili and pizza.  It was extremely satisfying and had we been drinkers (middle daughter isn't quite old enough to drink yet but bear with me), a cold beer(s) likely would have only made it that much more enjoyable.

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My first Silas (we cross pollinated; therefore, I served as his Silas in kind) was an alcoholic.  He'd unfortunately (fortunately?) received a DUI a few weeks prior to walking into his first Samson Society meeting back in the early fall of 2015.  This served as his primary motivator to move into recovery.  

Internet porn consumption was also, at the time, a big part of his life.  And most of this was occurring at his office.  Surprisingly, this behavior was unrelated to his alcohol abuse.  

He would tell me stories of how sports bars were his "second office" whilst out of town on business (he traveled 3-4 times a month).  Per the man:  Once he'd successfully located a familiar-looking one (early to mid-afternoon), he'd situate himself at the bar with his laptop / cellphone ON GO ready to down as many craft beers as conceivable.  This would go on 'till the wee hours of the morning.  From there, he'd oftentimes find himself so inebriated that he'd no idea how to find his way back to his hotel, therefore he'd simply black out along the perimeter of some random retail parking lot.  Therein, he'd sleep off the booze there amongst the freshly mulched Indian Hawthornes.   

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As a Christian, we're called to be imitators of Christ.  Also, I'm filled with the Holy Spirit, therefore in and through me my behavior should exude this.  And it does, yet I cannot deny that my flesh comes along for the ride.  My flesh has memory.  History, if you will, that reflects my past (recent / distant).

Over the past 8-9 months, there's been a newbie at the Y who bears a striking resemblance to a very popular, very handsome television star.  The defining attribute of this actor is his impressive, arduously sculpted frame.  

Let's just say you could take 1.5 Robs and pack them into this muscular 40-year-old dude.

I took the initiative to introduce myself to this newbie a month or so ago, and he's now reciprocating the cordialness when our paths cross, even going so far as to discreetly track my movements in and through my improvised strength training routines.

I don't feign the attention / interest, for I know it harkens to our now familiarity / newfound friendship.  Plus, all of this forecasts tighter connection / trust.  And who doesn't desire that?  I certainly do.

What's challenging though is how two-faced I feel.  Why?  I'm reminded constantly, whilst in his presence, of how awe-inspiringly attracted I am to him.  For there's truly not been another masculine archetype (of my own) within that space (during my lengthy tenure) who's appearance / presence wasn't on par with his own.

And unfortunately, me no longer politely ignoring him has indirectly exacerbated my desires.  Desires which aren't by any means not ruefully kept in check, but far less easy to reign in whilst dilly-dallying with gay porn lackadaisically.

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If I were my aforementioned Silas 1.0 (from 2015), eating dinner last week within a nondescript sports bar in Hot Springs, AR (even with my offspring) would have been woefully irresponsible in regard to my never-ending recovery.  As his Silas, had I found out about this stupidity, I would have questioned it outright.

Comfortable, familiar, private settings, I would argue, can be the driving force behind a mindset of permissiveness.  Place = expected behavior. 

I'm no theologian, but Jesus did embody his humanity at 100% combined with being God also at 100%.  Yet, according to Scripture, he did not Fall into sin.  

I believe much of this had to do with his eternal perspective.  A perspective that pitted his knowledge of all things up against the temporary bliss / novelty of sin.  

I am not of the opinion that he had any sort of God-enhanced humanity which positively impacted his senses, provided him with supernatural physical endurance, etc.  

His mind was the mind of God and therefore the outlook of God.  Heaven, no doubt, was his home.  And therein, he never allowed its address to ever be but a thoughtful heartbeat away.

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Presently, I use gay porn mostly at work, and this pays homage to the beginnings of me becoming captivated by it.  Work setting(s) represent familiarity in regard to this escape.  They're my version of a sports bar.

What's happening though is these casual gay porn interludes are eroding my ability to be Christ-like to the degree (actively but mostly internally) that I'm called to be.  Particularly within settings like the Y (where I've recently made my new friend).  And the resulting problem isn't the fragrant allure of the revolving door that wafts within my proverbial nostrils.  Not at all.  Instead, it's the reassurance of an IDENTITY that's sure to be re-accredidated within my mind.  An identity of compromiser.  Cheat.  Time-waster.  Fraud.  Even self-flagellator.  

You've seen these young people cut themselves to draw blood.  Seemingly, they do this within an oft mindless state of consciousness.  From there, the pain / woundedness therein from these small lacerations reset / solidify their IDENTITY amidst the soothe.  I can relate to this.  For what's occurring privately within my mind (w/ my newfound friend) at the Y represents the scarring I've received from my own poor choices.  Specifically, it decrees that you ARE A PHONY / FRAUD due to the undeniable dermis damage. 

Please pray for me.  Pray that I'll stop compromising.  It's hard enough to be Jesus-like without the negativity / aroma of shame off-gassing from every sanctified pore.  It's like smelling your own body odor with no readily available escape from one's own reek.  

It's so weird how I fall back to an IDENTITY that I know will only hurt me further.  It proves how much disdain I truly have for my own self.            

A Hard Funeral(s) To Sit Through

Out of respect for my father, I attended a funeral (unrelated to family) today.  This wasn't the first time I'd done this.  When I was in high school, I attended a funeral with him.  I remember it clearly, for the deceased had killed himself via suicide, leaving behind a boy who was only one or two years older than I (the boy went to my high school and the divorced dad had attended church with us).  

That was my first hard funeral due to the tragedy tied to the cause of death.

This one today was tough, but mostly it had to do with the tragic, longstanding narrative tied to the deceased's family life.  

The pastor who officiated (who was a family friend of the deceased) beat the drum of his dead mentor "loving Jesus" to the maximum.  We mourners heard this over and over again.  All the while, everyone there knew the dead man, nor his family members had not darkened the door of the church in decades.  And the setting clearly spoke to this dichotomy.  For the wake and funeral was held in a tee-ninny suburban funeral home parlor where the overflow crowd of mourners were all squeezed in like sardines within the repurposed pews.

At the outset of the service, the officiating pastor cited the book of Samuel, quoting scripture which captured David eulogizing Saul (post his suicidal death).  That was fitting, but I don't believe many mourners picked up on the subtleties therein (is there no more anticlimactic Biblical figure than Saul?).    

Not long after that opening salvo, the pastor used the word chaos to describe the deceased man's family, doing so right there in front of his widow, two daughters and all the grandchildren / great-grandchildren (they were all packed in too).  He even went so far as to specifically cite the bastardization of the man's first grandchild (borne from his youngest daughter) as if it was yesterday's news.

Most of those in attendance likely knew the family when that particular shit hit the fan.  The year was 1989.  Understandably, his daughter's future (& their family's trajectory) was forever changed as a result, but what had to have made the greatest specific impact was the unshakable stigma they were now saddled with.  Particularly considering their place as a well-established, upper-class Jacksonian family.

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What I'm going to say next is going to sound like a cop out, but I'm going to say it anyway because I believe it (& lived through it).

The 1980s weren't good to any of us white folks, and this family was (like so many) right within its crosshairs.  I'm not blaming this decade of excess for their specific missteps, but you must realize that families were hit from two (if not more) sides during this decade.

1.  Enormous economic success that was unparalleled.  Especially for those who were put together and Dale Carnegie extroverted (as the deceased had been during that era).  Most professionals were making money hand over fist (both earned & unearned) which precipitated enormous buying power for these.  Constraint / "quiet living" along with temperance were ideas from the past that were outright mocked during this era.  Everything, and I do mean everything was hinged on excess and immediate gratification, no matter the risk.

2.  Massive shift in societal norms as it pertained to the prioritization of class / cliques / relational circles of influence.  Autonomy was so very out.  Country club status quo was everything and everywhere in the '80s.  There was more chrome and hairspray, Porsche and Winnebago than had ever been seen prior here in America.  For all of these veneers / brands screamed, "LOOK AT ME!"  Arguably, all of the upper / middle-class family's identity was classed directly to these pleasurable platitudes, leaving it particularly vulnerable to headship neglect / distraction. 

Considering both of these, time and energy to play within this particular arena massively downplayed what once was the bastion of familial importance:  

The husband / father's role as protector.  And not just via shielding but via exposure / knowledge / insight that's used to educate / shrew the family of cultural / societal deception risk(s).

The familial chaos cited by today's funeral pastor, I'm convinced, found both its origin and virility during this powerfully influential decade.

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Two distinct funerals.  Considering both this one today and the one from my teenage years, both were tremendously hard to sit through but for different versions of tragic.  

My dad thanked me at the conclusion of each for taking the time to attend.  Because I was there to stand with him, I'm glad I did.   

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #19

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

Jesus January - Mid Month Update

Back in December, we had an all-together lunch with some friends whose daughter and son are longstanding friends (former schoolmates) of our children.  Christmas was around the corner, therefore everyone was in the holiday spirit, anticipating the annual celebration with all its traditions and (inevitable) headaches.  This couple had surprisingly (to us) been visiting our church, and as such, once we realized this, saw fit to make a concerted effort to recognize this exciting move via breaking bread together.

Not long into our lunch, the husband of this fantastic couple "laid bare" / admitted to his deep admiration for the band KISS.  I was intrigued.  I'd only heard of one other middle-aged guy similarly enthralled by the "Knights In Satan's Service", and again he too was a parent of our daughters' friends.

I sat there between bites of my Italian entree peering at photos (on his pocket computer) of he and his wife posing alongside KISS' bandmembers (backstage).  He went on to proudly exclaim that he'd seen the band in concert almost 40 times over the decades.  And to top it off, his two KISS pinball machines and signed guitars were some of his most prized possessions.

I asked when and how his passion for KISS originated.  His detailed answer left me unsurprised.  For as I'd assumed, it had taken root smack dab in the middle of his teenage years.

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It's been 15+ days since I've self-pleasured (masturbated).  I'm elated that my "Jesus January" fast is holding steady.  

Why am I doing this?

Though sexual fantasy / gay porn has long since been banished from my self-pleasure routine (by God's grace), I felt deeply convicted to come up with some cadence to briefly pause an established bi- (if not more) weekly trend.  My thinking was as follows:  how else might I conveniently learn via abstinence if I didn't intentionally pull back?

What's struck me the most is how much LESS shame I feel overall.  It's as if boyRob (who exists within my mind) is so very proud of manRob for acting as he has over the past two weeks.  In other words, my boyhood self is who's been bearing the brunt of the shame fallout relative to self-pleasure.  Even if I'm NOT lusting whilst doing so, shame is still manifesting itself as a result.  Why?

As an aside, keep in mind that my wife isn't interested in nurturing the sexual side of our marriage, and she hasn't been since becoming disabled in May of '20.  This realization has never bothered me (& it still doesn't).  In fact, I've often been deeply grateful to have self-pleasure techniques (originating from my boyhood) to fall back on.

Nonetheless, I'm finding - via Jesus January - that the boy inside hasn't been justly served via this laissez faire approach to manRob pulling on his wiener.

Let me repeat that.

Nonetheless, I'm finding - via Jesus January - that the boy inside hasn't been justly served via this laissez faire approach to manRob pulling on his wiener.

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In closing let's discuss pragmatics.  For Rob, lust-free masturbation experiences aren't at all extemporaneous affairs.  Especially if there's been little down time since the previous experience.  

As such, precious time / energy is relegated, and when you take habitual sessions into account, a sizable amount of time / energy (which could be allocated elsewhere) is utilized.

Of course, boyRob is keenly aware of this.  Particularly from the standpoint of how he sees himself TODAY as a 51-year-old man.

Throughout this life, he adjudicates his older self constantly, taking into account where / how / how much energy / resources are allocated across the entire spectrum of my / his adult life.  As such, it's boyRob who's kept me from becoming fanatical (as an adult) regarding any and all childhood passions that weren't deemed appropriate relative to my maturity (physical / emotional age) as a man.  But the exception to all of this has been self-pleasure.  For it's the one thing manRob has rebelled with.

But I've never realized just how disrespectful this undisciplined habit has been to boyRob 'till this farcical "Jesus January" idea came to fruition.  

So, the question now comes down to this:  What does he need from me in order to establish the respect I absolutely do wish to earn from him in regards to self-pleasure?  

I have no intentions of stopping the physical act of masturbation outright, but I can, most certainly, be more intentional about how often and under what circumstances I do this going forward.

Lastly, can I actually successfully abstain from self-pleasure for another 16 days?

We'll just have to wait and see.

Hold The Line For The Man Who Can't Hold It Himself (It Takes Two To Tango).

A sizeable amount of my time each December goes to gifting clients with cookies and calendars out of appreciation for their patronage.  And I hand deliver many of these whilst road-tripping my way through various regions of the state of Mississippi.  It's an exhausting affair - both physically & emotionally, but an expected wrapping up of the year as a business owner (that was started by my parents, well in advance of me becoming affiliated with their company).

Northeast Mississippi is where I spent this past Thursday, (12/7).  Whilst making my way through Starkville, I was reminded of my college friend, Perry, and the last time we spent any time together. 

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I first met Perry in late summer of 1990 during my first summer (freshman year) of collegiate band camp.  He was in my assigned clarinet squad within the Mississippi State University Maroon Band.  Obviously, he too played a clarinet, and arguably, was far more adept at it than I was.  Perry had an older brother who played tuba (from what I recall), and as such, he seemed to know and be known by most everybody within the massive 300+ instrumentalist / flag-bearing group.  Perry was a brilliant guy who was one / two-year(s) my senior who always seemed distracted.  Always.  It was almost as if he were living a double-life (which he was).  

It's important to know that Perry and I stayed within the same assigned clarinet squad throughout our college careers (he took an additional year to graduate, having changed majors midstream), therefore we spent an awful lot of time together (fall semesters) relative to that nerdy troupe.  

Long after we'd both graduated from college (sometime around 2007), I awkwardly bumped into Perry in Clinton, MS at an (very poorly attended) ex-gay conference that a local church hosted one Saturday.  I don't recall how I came to know of said conference, but nonetheless, I was absolutely stunned to bump into my old friend.  Perry's countenance immediately reflected the explosion of emotions he was feeling therein.  For on the one hand, he was exposed whilst on the other opportunistically intrigued.

Nonetheless, as this incident attests, I didn't know this guy well at all (nor did he know me with any clarity).  And whilst looking back, I'm grateful that I didn't for such a time as that (college days).  For Perry maintained a devout Christian identity that nary a moment hinted at deviancy, yet his true nature had him constantly on the prowl for male partners to bed who were fellow students or otherwise.

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A year or so after losing my job at Delta State University, I reached out to Perry, asking to stay the evening there within his humble Starkville abode in advance of a CEU class (related to maintaining my architecture license) being hosted by MSU's School of Architecture.  Keep in mind that I'd only been involved in Samson Society for a short stint (I attended my first in-person meeting in August of 2014) with this overnighter having occurred sometime around 2015-2016.  

He agreed to this, and it was during our short time together that I finally had him cornered long enough for me to get some answers as to who he truly was, how he got there and where he was headed.  

Perry was hopeful we'd have sex that evening.  It was so apparent to me that it was almost laughable.  I vividly recall attempting to make conversation, suggest an activity like watching a DVD (he had an extensive film collection), 'till finally he agreed to openly dialogue about his past (which effectively extinguished his libido).  I vividly recall us sitting in the tiny den of his 2/2, with one lamp burning in the corner of the room, as he allowed me to interrogate.  

His answers didn't surprise me in the least except for his tales relative to cruising for gay sex during our parallel college careers.  Me not picking up on any hint of this activity during our time together at MSU during the early '90s did effectively stun.  For Perry never cussed, drank, and was always at church (with his parents who resided in Starkville, per my recollection) each and every Sunday.

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After we turned in that evening, sleeping through the night within separate bedrooms, Perry ferried me to a downtown cafe in anticipation of a sunrise men's breakfast Bible study that he regularly attended.  Once we arrived, he quickly began messaging folks regarding their absenteeism.  And it was then that he realized his error pertaining to which Saturday morning (of that particular month) had actually been calendared for this event.  

So, we sat in awkward silence whilst methodically downing our scrambled eggs and toast.  

For Perry had to have recalled that I hadn't had sex with another man ever, and in turn, that I'd not had any intentions of starting with him (relative to what had not gone down during the evening prior).

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There're an awful lot of men, Christian or otherwise, who categorize homosexual activity as discriminately sin-free.  And I believe the root of this adjudication has to do with it involving two consenting genders pleasuring each other outside of the bounds of sexual mechanistic cohesion (in other words - to them, it's not genuine sex sans a vagina).  And many, if not the majority of these dudes, had their first sexual experience (whether predatory or consensual) well before adulthood.  Hence, as adults, there's a harkening back to experiences which categorically feel more childishly rebellious than they truly should.

Most therapists who subscribe to counseling men who actively have sex with other men (& who're looking to pivot away from those behaviors) attempt to anchor their commentary in the notion of masculine maturation via growing up and into a form of manhood that leaves behind these types of behaviors.  The cultural blowback to this approach though is those select few men who radiate not one iota of masculine immaturity / pubescent reckless abandon yet who wholeheartedly embrace sex with other men as their preference.

What then?

It's a great question that I don't have an answer to.

I do know this though.  After finally coming to a point of understanding Perry's complete story, to the degree that I was granted, I saw a complex human being versus the smart-ass jokester / transparency dodger I'd always known.  And it was that complexity that I wanted to explore further versus his genitals or his ass or any other portion of his average Mississippi manbod.  For even if Perry had been an Adonis (which he most certainly was not), I don't believe I would have felt differently.

Give me a man's story, warts & all, any day of the week.  That's intimacy.  White hot intimacy.  For it's the one thing I've always longed to obtain from the gay porn models who boldly pose / perform under the watchful eye of the camera lens.  Why?  To instantaneously immunize myself from those seductive trappings.

Dr. Addison's Reverse-Engineered (Holy Spirited) Catfishing

My sixth grade Sunday School teacher at First Baptist Church Jackson was an up-and-coming local attorney.  He had a beautiful young family (wife / two elementary-age children), and they lived not too far from where we reside today.  

This man was an only child (if I remember correctly) who was reared exclusively by his mother.  And, oh my goodness, did he ever love his mother relative to the single-parenting duties she'd endured (he reminded us most every week of the arduous task she endured therein).

Up to this point in my childhood, I remember little of my Sunday School teachers / coursework.  And I believe that's because I didn't attend regularly enough for proper memories to crystallize.  

I believe Sunday School attendance became more of a priority for our family - around my sixth-grade year - due to my father being ordained a deacon (at FBCJ) around this same time (1985).  For deacons are expected to fully commit to church attendance for themselves and their families.  

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There were only 5-6 of us boys (no girls allowed in this particular class) who regularly attended this sixth-grade Sunday School class, and it was only because we had no other choice.  Those who did have a choice attended only once before never returning.  

Dr. Addison (as we covertly salutationed him) was incredibly earnest and so very hellbent to make a distinct spiritual impression on each of us boys.  Whilst looking back, I can appreciate that, but his heavy handedness / dourness was always too much for us preadolescent children to endure.  

For example, at the very beginning of the "school year", he announced that we'd each be expected to submit a paper - on a predetermined theological topic - at some fixed point during the spring.  Each of these papers would then be adjudicated, and the winner would receive - wait for it - an NIV Study Bible!  Too, he'd on occasion have us boys pray quietly there at our stackable chair - down on our knees.  Each of us would place our '80s freshly blow-dried hair into our hands (elbows supported via the plastic seat), and with our eyes closed, quietly recite our verbiage to God (until given the go-ahead to get back up).  

In short, every 45-minute Sunday School class was militantly executed by a man who had not one iota of fun / humor within his staunch makeup.  And we, do doubt, were the absolute wrong audience for this.  Yet, we were stuck with this dude at the outset of each and every Lord's Day.

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Around Thanksgiving of that year (1985), on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, Dr. Addison had us meet him at his abode with a grocery bag of predetermined (list) food items in hand.  From there, we prayed together that God would lead us to a needy family to gift these staples to.  

After driving a half hour or so into the city, our teacher's SUV pulled into the driveway of a very small, nondescript house in a part of Jackson that I'd never been to.  From there, Dr. Addison knocked on the door beneath the carport before stepping inside to (seemingly) explain our serendipitous intentions.  Around 5-10 minutes later, he returned to his idling vehicle full of sixth-grade boys to retrieve the collective goods.  I remember sitting quietly there within the back seat with the others who'd come along, all the while feeling excited yet strange as this took place.  

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Eventually, our surprisingly happy teacher returned to the driver's seat, having delivered all of the grocery sacks, before we sped away.  But this was without any of us boys having the opportunity to visit with (or even be introduced to) our now bequeathed, needy Jacksonian family.  

It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.

Let me repeat that:

It was during our return trip to the suburbs that our devout leader divulged that God had miraculously led us to his maid's home for these non-perishables to be delivered / gifted to for the holiday season.  

I was too young, naive and intimated to question Dr. Addison's sincerity here.  In fact, as a 12-year-old boy, I bought it hook, line & sinker.  And I believe my peers did the same. 

Whilst looking back, I have to wonder what his intentions / motivations truly were.  

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #18

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #17

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

Husband Material?

This past weekend, Angie and I were working out at our local, crappy YMCA, and within minutes of us moseying in, a middle-aged guy introduced himself to me, all smiley and exuberant-like.  Because strength training (if it's done correctly) involves physical pain, it's unusual to encounter folks therein who're in such high spirits.

This energized exerciser recognized me, but not my bride, yet he couldn't quite put his finger on how he knew me (I came to find this out later).  From there, he actually encouraged me to chat with him during my workout routine, but alas, he soon discovered that he'd picked the wrong gym guy for that.  

An hour or so passed, and from there, Angie brought me up to speed regarding this dude.  For he'd eventually introduced himself to her too, and she immediately recognized him as one of our neighbors.  One of our recently married neighbors.  Who'd just happened to betroth another man.  

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Back in late December of '22, I reached out to a Samson dude (via Slack) who'd been in a breakout room with me during a virtual Samson Society meeting.  My follow-up request was to hear his story, and in order to instill some trust, I decided to divulge mine first (along with a link to this blog).  I was grateful that this allowed me to gain his trust.  He quickly followed suit, and within a few weeks, we were off and running with our friendship (rarely, if ever, did we see each other within virtual Samson meetings on down the road).

For the next six months, he and chatted consistently once a week.  And when I say chatted, these were thoughtful exchanges with absolutely zero frivolities.  This guy's voice is one that's overall, truly a pleasure to listen to.  And that's a result of standalone speaking skill, region of the country he was reared within (dialect) and - most importantly - intelligence.  

And when I say intelligence, I'm referring to strong intelligence.  

Yet, his persona is demure.  Almost to the point of being bashful.  Nonetheless, there's a whole lot about him that I am absolutely drawn to.  At least taking into consideration the portion of this Samson brother that I know, constraints notwithstanding.

This man was at the '22 National Samson Retreat, but I didn't know him then.  Nor did I have the opportunity to meet him.

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22-23 years ago, I was already on the hunt for "group therapy / help" in whatever form I could find it locally.  Back then, my primary issue was loneliness stemming from the shame / confusion surrounding my homosexual desires.  This loneliness, I feared, might eventually drive me to cheat on my newish wife (Angie).  Hence, I somehow caught wind of a local Methodist Church that had a "group" for "guys like me" (whatever that meant), and I attended after speaking over the telephone with one the church pastors who reflexively referred me to one of its regular attendees.

The group was a "Sex Addicts Anonymous" gathering, and every man that regularly attended (the same few meetings I attended) thoroughly creeped me out.  Some of the things they shared during those hour-long meetings were so far beyond my comprehension relative to my mundane existence that I felt as if I literally had landed on another planet.  It didn't help matters that most of these men weren't at all close to my age.

But the original guy (who was just a few years older than I) who'd been my initial SA point-of-contact had been super friendly and accommodating.  And he too experienced strong homosexual tendencies (& had been reared in MS).  Therefore, we made a point to meet outside of the SA troupe in order to fill each other in on our individual stories.  

It was obvious from the beginning of our friendship that this man was entertaining the idea of somehow moving our relationship from the platonic to the romantic.  And it wasn't necessarily due to any overt attraction to Rob.  Instead, I believe he was solely looking to conveniently "scratch an itch".  But I was married and couldn't relate to his itch.  As a result of this, I began to slowly back pedal.  

What made the most distinct impression on me regarding this experience was how out of place I felt at the end of the day.  

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Yesterday morning, I received a call from my demure, highly intelligent Samson brother confirming his intention to attend next weekend's '23 National Samson Society retreat.  In spite of his low-key demeanor, I could tell he was excited to be relaying this to me whilst confirming (yet again) my intentions to also attend.

I'll be honest with you, dear reader, I'm just as excited to finally meet him.  

But mostly, I simply want to be present for him.  For this will be my sixth National SS retreat.  For me, they're routine.  For him, not so much, since it's only his second.  

In closing, I'm hopeful this physical coming together will serve our friendship well relative to confirming our mutual trust in each other.  For trust between men is a true gift.  Plus, this dude's just so freaking cool headed.  What fun it will be to see if he'll actually let his guard down as he so readily did when we were telephoning regularly.

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #16

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #15

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #14

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #13

Yesterday marked the 2nd Anniversary of Ethan's death. I still miss him and wish I could go back and talk to him one more time. 

~S

In Memory of Ethan

February 28, 1991 - October 3, 2021

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #12

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #11

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #10

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #9

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #8

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It