I described Rob's body politics within my last post as such: complete unrecognition / avoidness / blindness. To sum that up, I like to use the word void. This is absolutely the best word I've come up with to describe what happens when I attempt to see my physical self.
Therefore, it begs the question: How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?
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When I was a teen, and please know that what I'm about to say simply didn't grow out of teenage angst, I did not feel as if my dad was truly my biological father. Now, as a result of this, I also didn't believe my mother had become impregnated with little me via another suitor, therefore overall, I sort of made the assumption that I couldn't possibly be a "natural born citizen" within our fam. Now, I'm not going to go into all of the why behind my feeling this way, as it pertained to Robert, Sr. But trust me, in many ways, he reciprocally felt the same about me. It made for a childhood where I would find myself enviously looking at my friends' relationships with their dad's (& more than likely the same was occurring with my father enviously looking at his peers - & especially his brothers' - sons).
Therefore, with no siblings to parade around with (or seek counsel from) whilst growing up, I was left to wonder why I felt like such the oddball - particularly as a teenager.
And to expound further regarding this, I also naturally looked hard at my uncles (my dad's three brothers) / cousins (each & every one of them male children) and was unsuccessful in locating a reprieve. Though I loved these men / boys and enjoyed spending time with them (& of course, still do) as my known family, I just didn't BELIEVE that I fit into the group. At all. BUT IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW THEY TREATED ME. They truly were (& still are) really wonderful family members to have.
(I feel obligated to interject THAT.)
My hunch today, whilst looking back, is that the similarities / pedigree were / was absolutely there; its just that I couldn't see them in me myself. And I still today don't know why that was / is.
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It is so pagan-feeling going to Wal-Mart on a Sunday morning. I know that firsthand, having shopped there this AM.
We've been having Sunday morning church at our abode - over the past month or so - due to the uptick in COVID-19 cases throughout our state, therefore this lends itself to even (at times) executing our family church service on Saturday evenings - if need be (which we did last night).
As I was hurriedly shopping at Wal-Mart (surgically masked), I walked past an unmasked guy whose eyes locked with my own. A few seconds later, I wondered aloud if I actually knew that guy. By this point, I was much closer to my big box store destination zone (hardware), yet I couldn't help but continue to ruminate on his face / build, trying to put my recollective thinking into gear.
"Where do I know that guy from?"
After placing my needed items into my shopping basket, I eventually made my way to the self checkout section, and fortunately, I spotted him again.
Then I remembered where he and I used to interact!
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Throughout my life, I've had a love-hate relationship with my imagination. For on the one hand, it's what - in may ways - consistently springboarded me from my adolescent identity vacuum, but on the other hand, wrought so much regret and anger relative to fueling my propensity to willfully sin.
At the center of that chronic routine was what I've dubbed my archetype. An amalgamation of masculine physical attributes - that embodied for me - a sexualized ideal of what it meant to be a man. This archetype was, more often than not, (within my sexual fantasies) an imagined big brother, uncle, next door neighbor, teacher, coach, and on and on. Any of which would eventually work towards seducing me into engaging in homosexual relations.
It was through the "pursuit and subsequent validation" of this archetype that I attempted to endure the void. For he (singular) was as affirming as any group of ideal athletic teammates might very well be whilst all the while being more comfortable with me (& accessible to me) than I was with my own self.
The aforementioned fellow Wal-Mart patron (whom I eventually recalled was a former friend from over a decade prior) happened to - past & presently - embody my archetype both physically and emotionally. He was / is the ideal, and this is a significant truth.
And as a side note, the fact that this former friend continues to be so (at our close-to ages), is rare indeed. For most middle-aged Mississippi guys aren't anywhere near the physical parameters of my archetypical, masculine male (which is a godsent reality for me).
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In the past, encountering my archetype as I did this AM at my local big box retailer would have elicited quite the elicit response. Particularly taking into account a long since forgotten friendship with the individual.
And as such, days and days, if not weeks and weeks would likely have gone by where me being privately consumed with that encounter were the absolute norm.
And as a side note to that, when I began consuming gay porn online (back in late '90s), the impetus for that was me realizing how expeditiously / efficiently I could locate (search engines) and therefore harness those salacious facsimiles similarly (sexual fantasy). All in reaction to the void / vacuum / blindness or whatever you want to call it.
To be clear, it wasn't that I wanted to be these archetypical men. All I was looking for (through sexual fantasy) was a means to manage the pain of acknowledging the reality of the void itself. But it was those specific archetypical men who were the key. And I'm not sure why that was either.
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In closing, it is incredibly difficult to face the truths that I've written about here. Not only emotionally but intellectually (particularly from the standpoint of there being so many unanswered questions). As such, I don't believe I even began to truly wrestle with my own body politics 'till I was well into my 30s.
I do remember, as a much younger man, wishing I had a body that I felt at peace with (self-affirmation), but even as I took action to change my build (age 36+), it had no impact on clarifying my visibility.
So here's that question again: How can you love something you simply cannot see nor have ever seen?
The only thing that has even a remote impact today is holding fast to what I believe of God's take on me (as well as all of his children). His promises. His narrative. His approach.
Otherwise, I'd simply be blind all around.
Sometimes only having a peripheral view of yourself does in fact prescribe an outlook that drives more truth / more faith and less comfortableness with a holy God.
