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What’s happening to boys?

Into the Wilderness: Part 37

Is a trend emerging? Nice boys, raised by dedicated mothers, taught to respect women and see the world’s inequality toward women. Boys who made room in the school yard for girls to join ball games. Teens and young men who knew and honored the meaning of “no.” Twenty-something male adults who attended and graduated college, befriending 20-something young women as equals, study partners, friends. Suddenly, are they all losing themselves?

The latest lost boy was a son to me. He needed a place to live so I opened my home- we had an entire unused apartment in the basement. He could stay with us over the summer while he sorted out school and work. He stayed longer.

When he came home from school or work, he’d sit at the kitchen island and talk while I prepped dinner. We’d talk about politics, country music, life mistakes, parenting, sports, cats, food… and hundreds of other subjects. I always invited him to join us for dinner. And he did, shoveling multiple platefuls with gusto that expanded my Greek mama’s heart by two sizes like the Grinch’s. He loved curries and bold flavors, so I expanded my repertoire. I made butter chicken, keema, Gochujang buttered noodles, Korean meatballs. He ate the leftovers for lunch, saving them from the trash (girls don’t eat like boys). He always cleaned up too, rinsing and stacking dishes, scouring the pots.

He became a family member. On the wall, we have a magnetic Scrabble game. Before he’d leave for his early morning run, he’d put a word on the board. When I returned later from teaching Jazzercise class, I’d add mine; my daughter would add hers. We tallied the scores on the side.

We also sent each other Instagram reels. Recipes we wanted to make, silly cat videos, lots of pug and beagle videos. When I got a gas griddle for the deck, we made patty melts and sausage with peppers and onions. One day, he made authentic Asian dumplings. He even made the dough. He made chicken shawarma, and I learned to make it too. He came to Jazzercise and brought his friends with him. And he was really good! I’d get him up on stage to dance with me.

He bought me sourdough bread in the city, macarons, honey from the Middle East. He brought me flowers for International Women’s Day. He gave me a glass that said, “Mama needs some wine.” He called me Mama. He was another “honey,” the universal name for everyone in my house.

I had met him through my daughters who were attending the same college. He was part of their friend group for at least two years. He lived with us for over a year. He celebrated every holiday with us. He was family. He had been estranged from his mother who lived half of the globe away. His “tiger mom” had beaten him into excellence. I, then, would heal him with love.

He was the son I never had.

I’m using past tense. I’m sure by now you’re getting a sense of what’s to come. I wish life gave similar forebodings as writing.

Actually, warnings were there. He stopped coming to dinner. No more words filled the Scrabble board. He left before the sun came up and returned way after dark. I figured he was busy- work, school, sports. He’s an elite runner who trains for hours daily. He had goals. I figured he was working hard to live into them.

But I knew something was wrong. Suddenly, he didn’t call me Mama. He ate McDonalds rather than home-cooked food. His increasing absence nipped at my heels like an angry chihuahua (angry Chihuahua is redundant). He just slowly disappeared- first in closeness, then in relationship and finally in presence. Poof! He was gone!

He was gone, and we were left with charges on credit cards we couldn’t explain, hundreds in EZ Pass fees and a damaged car. How could we have been so stupid?

Or was I stupid? What happened to him? Searching online, lots of people are asking this question. “Nice guys finish last,” the saying goes. But this nice guy wasn’t. He was doing well in school, he had a scholarship for track, he had lots of friends- nice friends! He had a wonderful girlfriend he professed to love. He had us- his new, American family who adored him. I adored him.

On YouTube, videos made by young men tell other young bros to “stop being nice to women.” The Andrew Tate epidemic is strong- and men are listening. Incel culture is flourishing. They are buying the “women are the problem” argument, blaming women for every fault, rejection, blockage they experience. It’s part of the current American belief that men deserve anything they want. Their desires should come to them without effort. It’s their birthright. Sorry, guys, no one gets anything without work. The equation is easy: work on yourself rather than blaming others.

I watched videos of guys saying- “I’m a nice guy and no one wants me.” The guys saying this are often kinda creepy. Women usually see this. Most of the time, women know when “nice” doesn’t mean kind. Perhaps “nice” is a pretense while kindness is real. Perhaps men have glossed niceness over misogynistic beliefs, birthright beliefs that show equality really means to them that they are better than women. Their basis is “men are better.” Being nice with this belief is like wearing an expensive Italian suit over tattered, filthy jockey shorts. Eventually, those unders will be visible.

As far as my near-son, I wonder what lived in his heart. Were his efforts about making us like him rather than have a genuine relationship? Real relationships require honesty, hard conversations, discomfort, straight talk. I see now, he avoided all of this, conforming himself to our vision of who he was rather than his real person. I’m pretty sure I would have liked that person as much. I’m pretty sure the facade couldn’t hold, reminding me of Yeats, “The Second Coming”: “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.”

In my center, I feel a gash, an oozing unhealed gash. I think, “I wonder what X would like for dinner?” Then I realize he’s not here. I’m struggling more than anyone in my family. They have re-centered, reconstructing life without a family member. I still want him to eat the love I poured into my food. I still want the Scrabble game, the dog walks, the late night movies. I want the son I never had.

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Source: What’s happening to boys?

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