Being suddenly single, as I am once again (since mid-Oct, 2016), my thought processes have taken a decidedly carnal turn. I find myself pondering things like, “How can I be authentically male yet still appeal to women in my age group who are authentically and happily female?” When I was fourteen years old such a question would have seemed pointless and absurd. All I had to do was to “be,” in the Hamlet sense of the word. I only had to live and to walk about. If I wanted to press the issue with a fine-looking lass, I could let her catch me looking at her.
In later life, the raging hormones that drive adolescents not ‘out into the open’ but instead drive love-crazed teens to seek ‘episodes of dual seclusion,’ those hormones no longer prevail. Time is not on my side, nor are irrepressible drives working to my advantage. My circumstance has caused me to think, probably way too much, about male/female differences and how we come to be where we are in life. Why do I still seek union with my sexual opposite?
Boys and girls seem to be very much alike until about age ten. Boys experience minor changes as they age and erupt into adolescence. Girls experience major physical (and I expect psychological) transformations as their bodies change to accommodate the possibility of becoming mothers. In the teens and early twenties male/female differences are pronounced and captivating. Such fine reminiscences those years provide.
Here I am, 68 years old, still age-inappropriately libidinous, fit (as far as I can tell), out in the cyber-sphere, chasing the girlies (close to my own age) and having very little luck. Let me re-phrase that, “experiencing regular frustrations.” Very few grandmas and great-grandmas seem to have that same drive they once had as young willows.
I ponder the lessons of Plato’s Symposium on the Origin of Love. (Look it up if you wish, but to paraphrase the Austrian Emperor’s criticism of a new Mozart piece, Plato’s Symposium has “too many words.”) Better to take a peek at the You Tube version provided by Hedwig and the Angry Inch. He/she takes a concept that in words is dry and theoretical and makes it theatrical, moist with the juice of life and some very shiny lipstick.
(Click twice on the central arrow! It really works!)
A child of the moon am I! Conceptually, I am ever linked “Like a fork shoved on a spoon,” as Hedwig says, driven by some unrelenting force to try to reunite with my opposite. But where is she? What true ‘she’ will accept me in this randy state? She’d have to be a very special woman, possibly more understanding and accommodating than ‘driven’ herself.
Yes, I’m pursuing on-line dating, but my eagerness frightens many of these gals and the ones seemingly not frightened, either live too far away, (hence, sheltered from the pressing reality of me) or they are pros who live and ‘date’ along trucking routes. Hmmmm. I vow not to go there even though their pictures on the dating site are often unabashedly alluring.
Time to move on. Go to the club and shoot some snooker. Let the boys in the club have another good laugh at me. I don’t care. The remarks of two of the heroes from my childhood come to mind in response. To the boys, I am Popeye, who says, “I yam what I yam!” To the girls, I am Mighty Mouse, operatically (and unneccesarily) proclaiming, “Here I come to save the day!” Neither proclamation seems entirely appropriate, but they’re both fun to say. And this whole, sweet, whirly-gig of life ought to be fun, I think. As David Bowie said in one of his child-of-the sun songs, “What are we coming to? No room for me, no fun for you.” There’s room in my world for the children of the sun and the children of the earth. I only hope to find my own opposing side, my female child of the moon.
C’est la vie!