Rules of Being a Man If We Know Them Why Dont We Change Them
Transcriber: Minh Thư
Reviewer: David DeRuwe
Men live by rules.
They may not be written anywhere,
but we know what they are.
I’ve dedicated my life
to pushing back on those rules.
I believe we could all be better men
if we just stopped
trying to prove ourselves as men
and started knowing ourselves as men.
This all started when I was six years old.
During recess one day,
my three brothers and I
are called to the principal’s office.
We’re sent home.
Something’s wrong.
When we got home, my mom is in tears.
My mom tells us our dad is dead.
My mom never talked
about how our dad died.
Years later, I learned
my dad died by suicide.
I suspect my dad lived
by those rules for being a man:
Never show your emotions,
your vulnerability, your pain.
Suffer in silence.
Men and boys are three times more likely
to die by suicide than women,
according to the Canadian
Mental Health Association.
Three times more likely than women.
That’s shocking.
Men are paying a price.
My cousin tells me that my dad
didn’t want my mom to work.
He needed to be the breadwinner.
My dad was very traditional.
I’m not here to talk about suicide.
I am here to pose the question:
What is the cost
of traditional masculinity?
Now I’m 17. I’m in my final
year of high school.
My brother, Gord, is at Queen University
doing a commerce degree.
I look up to him.
He has blond hair, blue eyes.
He has it all, or so I think.
My brother, Gord, died by suicide.
I’m 17, and I’ve lost
my dad and my brother.
That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.
The rule is men are supposed to man up,
be strong, be successful.
And another rule: never ask for help.
My dad and brother took their own lives.
Men live and die by the rules,
and many people think
that’s just the way it is.
Men are naturally aggressive,
naturally strong, naturally tough.
But research shows otherwise.
The American Psychological Association
acknowledges that men and boys
are socialized to the rules.
That’s not just nature;
that’s also nurture.
Men and boys are taught how to “be a man.”
And the problem is we know
that if we don’t play by the rules,
we’ll be kicked out of the boys’ club.
As an early researcher,
I was interested in boys who didn’t fit,
who didn’t say the same things
as the other boys.
In 2008, I did a research project
looking at teenage boys who didn’t fit
into physical health education class.
Even before I started
the project, I was asked:
“How will you even get the boys
to talk to you?”
because we all know the rule:
men don’t talk to other men.
As it turns out, I couldn’t get the boys
to stop talking to me.
They wanted to be heard.
They told me locker rooms
were not safe places for all boys.
Even the boys know the rule:
It’s OK to glance,
but don’t get caught looking
in the locker room
because if you’re caught,
you’ll be bullied, for sure.
The boys told me they
were ashamed of their bodies.
They would hide their bodies,
lean in, and hide somewhere else.
I saw it with my own son,
and he was six years old.
He was in the locker room
and he leaned in behind the locker door.
As a masculinity scholar,
I’m watching my son learn those rules,
and as a father, my heart is breaking.
When my wife and I discuss
having children,
we agree that we don’t want
that whole pink-blue thing going on,
now or in the hospital room.
Our son Matthew has just been born.
No blue cap for us. We choose yellow.
I go into the hall with the other dads
carrying their babies.
They’re looking at me.
I’m looking at them.
They’re looking at Matthew, and they see
his yellow cap, and they look confused.
And I’m wondering, why do they need
to know whether he’s a boy or girl?
Does it really matter?
Will they treat him any differently?
It’s so frustrating.
He’s two days old,
and it’s already started.
So typical.
I’m back in the hospital
room with my wife,
She’s breastfeeding Mathew.
I’m in awe.
She has this immediate
closeness with our son.
I’m jealous.
I want that closeness too.
When I carry Matthew,
I decide to slip him inside my shirt.
I feel his skin next to my skin.
I’m relieved I can have
that closeness too.
I’m excited.
I go out into the hall, and the nurse
sees me carrying Matthew in my shirt,
and she comes up with this big smile
and she says, “Can I take your picture?”
And I say, “Sure, but why?”
and she says, “It’s not often you see
dads carrying their babies like that.”
We’re teaching
our infant sons another rule:
Men are not physically
close with other men.
We avoid it at all costs.
We learn it in “bro” culture:
Keep your distance.
If you need to hug another man,
it’s always, “I’m not gay.”
Slap, slap, slap.
When I go home to see my brother, Bill,
I decide I want to be closer.
No more handshakes.
I see him, and I go in for the hug.
And he says, “Whoa, what’s going on?”
He says, “Men shake hands.”
And I say, “You’re right, Bill. Men can
shake hands, but we can hug as well.”
I did the same thing
with my father-in-law,
and hugging became natural for us.
With my son, Matthew,
I taught him handshakes are for strangers.
Many people think that boys
don’t want to be close to other boys,
but research shows otherwise.
Dr. Niobe Way wrote a book
on her research on teenage boys.
She found that boys
yearn for close male friendships.
They’re desperate for someone
to open up to, for someone to trust.
This flies in the face of another rule:
Men cannot be emotionally
vulnerable with other men.
I decide I will not teach that to my son.
I want him to feel his feelings
and to be able to express those feelings.
From early, early on, whether tucking
him into bed or saying goodnight,
I always said to Matthew,
“Matthew, I love you.”
I’ve been doing that for 17 years,
and now to this day without hesitation,
Matthew says, “Dad, I love you too.”
I saw what happened
to my dad and my brother.
I know the rules come with a cost.
I want something different for my son.
This is not just academic to me.
This is real life. This is our lives.
Our relationships
I’ll end with one last rule:
Men are supposed to take control.
So how about we take control of the rules?
It doesn’t need to be
“the big warrior thing,”
and it doesn’t need to be
one more thing on the to-do list.
It’s simple, really.
It’s the small choices
we make in the moment.
It’s making those choices
in the moment to be vulnerable.
It’s making those choices
in the moment to share our feelings.
It’s making those choices
in the moment to be authentic.
It’s my hope that we can recognize
these unwritten rules
and recognize they hold us back.
We hold ourselves back as men.
It’s my hope that we can catch
a rule in the moment,
and in that moment,
choose to be free to make
a different choice as a man.