Aggregate Man

For as long as I can remember, boys and men in my life have collected. Not only do we collect, but we like to discuss our collections. We give counts and data, discuss processing techniques, and always highlight our prized possessions. I'm sure many women have a similar need to accumulate stuff, but men take it to another pathetic level.

As a kid, we collected things like action figures or baseball cards. Eventually, we moved to stereo equipment or cars. Sometimes, we even collected sexual escapades. This continued into adulthood. Some of us outgrew these obsessions and moved on to beer/brewing or sports cars, but others stuck with their childhood fixations.

No matter the collection or hobby, we always tried to one-up each other. "You may have a Cal Ripken Jr. rookie card, but I have two, plus a Ricky Henderson and a Ken Griffey." There's this constant pressure to be able to have one more or one better than your friend.

A typical conversation between two men who are into indie rock may go something like this...

Guy 1: Dude, I just found a rare first pressing of Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation at Vintage Vinyl.
Guy 2: Yeah, I found a rare Germs 7" and a Pavement import from '91 there last week. Have you heard Evol or Sister? Those albums blow the doors off Daydream.
Guy 1: I don't know. I've seen Sonic Youth at least two...I mean, six times and they always play more material from Daydream than those other records.
Guy 2: Well, I saw them play eight times and one of those was when they played Daydream in its entirety, but the best part was when they played songs from Rather Ripped for the encore.

It would go on from there. Each collected item or experience is one-upped with another vignette. In between, subtle put-downs are slipped into the conversation.

A conversation about beer might go something like this...

Guy 1: Hey, you wanna come over? I have four Hopslam in my fridge.
Guy 2: Yeah, sure. I have a six-pack of Hopslam, plus a Maharaja back home.
Guy 1: We could watch the game. Yeah, I've had the Maharaja, but the Caldera IPA is way better.
Guy 2: The Cards are playing Mets, right? The Caldera's in a can. I prefer my IPA's in a bottle. Besides, it's no Pliny the Elder. Ever had that?

Again, It's not enough for one guy to have something of interest. The second guy always has to possess something better or more of the same. The vicious cycle continues as each guy saves face with better information or larger quantities. It's always about one-upping the first guy, subtly putting him down.

Why do we do that? What voids are we trying to fill? What are we compensating for? (And don't just say "penis size". It has to be more than that.)

What bothers me the most is that despite my awareness and general resistance to pissing contests I still partake in the ritual. I've always seen better rock shows or owned more albums or tried rarer beers. On top of that, I feel this necessity to build my collections and experiences in preparation for that next male encounter. Why do I do this?

It's not any better when you can't compete. You share an experience with another guy and all he can do is prove that his experience is superior in some way. He saw Clap Your Hands Say Yeah on their first tour or has two Dark Lords sitting in his stash. You can't measure up. So, you feel small, insignificant.

But it's just stuff, right?

What ultimately happens - for me, anyway - is that I back off for a while. It becomes apparent that any enjoyment I may have gleaned from my collections or hobbies is lost in an arms race with my buddies. The one-upsmanship ruins the experience and consumes me. So, I take a step back and return to what attracted me in the first place.

However, I don't think it is the same for many men. They progressively become more and more involved with their past times, neglecting their friends, family and themselves in the process. The arms race takes over. It becomes more about accumulating or aggregating than a leisurely pastime.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It's just that I sometimes neglect the people who are important to me or forget how to enjoy life when I get wrapped up in these pissing contests. Sometimes it's really OK to just enjoy a beer for the sake of being a beer or to listen to the same album everyone else is listening to without having to impress the dude hanging out with you.

Take A Bath

When R was pregnant, my dad confided in me worries he had when my sister joined the family. He was scared to death of changing her diaper because she was a girl. Dad knew there was nothing wrong with changing his kids' diapers. He just felt uncomfortable with a girl.

Although I understood what Dad was saying, I never thought I'd feel the same. "I'm a modern daddy," I thought. Feminism has set me straight in matters of gender roles and understanding body politics and such. I could handle a daughter.

Then Lu was born.

Even then, I was fine. I have changed many a diaper without a second thought. I have done everything I can to be a caring and nurturing father.

Intimacy has been a struggle though. Lu certainly has that with her mother. Besides the special bond fostered through breastfeeding, R has a knack for engaging our daughter. They really do have a great relationship of which I'm envious.

The problem is that Lu's need for her mother's attention wears on her sometimes. R, like many mothers, needs a break once in a while. So, she gives Lu off to me to take on outings, play on the floor, feed her solid foods and bottles, and change diapers. All of this has helped to some degree.

However, there was one act with which I was not comfortable: bathing. Sure, I've given Lucia many baths. The difference is that I didn't take baths with her. R's done this many times. They have a lot of fun together. It's another one of those intimate moments they share.

R's been pushing me to take a bath with her in order to help build our bond. I resisted until tonight. But why did it take me so long?


I've thought about this a lot. Ever since I started working with kids at summer camp 16 years ago, I can remember being warned to never be alone and certainly not nude anywhere near a kid. This carried on into my years as an elementary teacher. It has been so ingrained in me that men should not be in such situations with children. This training has scared me to the point I didn't even want to bathe with my own seven-month-old daughter. How sad is that?

Luckily, R is a supportive partner. She wants Lucia and me to be close and to enjoy the same kind of intimacy they experience. However, she also wants me to be comfortable. It was even suggested that I could wear a bathing suit if that would make me feel more at ease.

We took our bath tonight. It was nice. Lucia had a lot of fun. She likes to gather her numerous bath toys all at once, nearly dunking her own head every time. I bathed her as I normally would, except that I occupied the tub with her. As the temperature of the water dropped, Lu became uncomfortable. I picked her up and she calmed down. Her mother entered and took the girl away in a towel to prepare for bed.

I'm glad I overcame my fears. I won't be able to do such things with Lucia for much longer. I should take advantage of this time with her.

It's too bad I'm made to feel uneasy or guilty all the time for nurturing my own child. It bothers me. While mothers face unrealistic expectations of their own, it's sad that fathers have to contend with so many constraints to being a nurturing parent.