To Have Guts

http://www.flickr.com/photos/goddess-arts/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

On a blog I follow (Sociological Images) the author recently looked at some stereotypes of masculinity in some funny, but also thought provoking, advertisements about hygiene / beauty products for men, depicting different ideas of what it means to be masculine. This reminded me of a previous post I wrote ("When Does Manhood Happen?") about my journey towards adulthood and manhood (since I’m male the two seem somewhat interchangeable). I recently had another experience that helped me on that journey.

Why this journey is important to me is because for a significant part of my life I did not feel like I matched up to what it means to be a man. As a child I was the odd kid. I didn’t enjoy sports, especially not sports that involve a ball (I still don’t); and, of course, in my culture that automatically labeled me as queer. That I enjoyed other activities like climbing trees, horse riding, swimming, and fooling around on obstacles, made no difference. (Back then, Parkour was not yet the recognizable X-treme sport it is today.) “O, you don’t play rugby – definitely a ‘moffie’!” My society had no alternatives – it was rugby and cricket, or you’re gay. Add to this that I am a creative soul with an appreciation for the finer things in life – books, art, music, flowers, cats (!), cooking. Again, stereotypes in my culture (?) did not, and to a greater degree still doesn’t, allow straight men the luxury of enjoying such things.

If everybody questions your sexuality, even outright label you as gay, then you start to believe them. Clearly all the masculine guys can spot the difference between “masculinity” and whatever I was. At that age I did not know that one can be masculine and gay, or feminine and straight; artistic and straight, or butch and gay. Such complexities of gender roles and sexuality were far above my understanding at the time. All I knew was that it is not okay to be what I was perceived to be – which was clearly not “manly” enough.

Furthermore, the denouncements of my father contributed to me questioning my sexuality and identity as a man. If a boy’s father, the one who should lead and initiate him into the masculine role, does not support him, does not show the way, the boy will have a very hard time discovering for himself what it means to be a man. Some will merely adopt the “alternative” role, the only other available option, pushed upon them by their society’s stereotypes. Others will resort to some form of hyper-masculinity that encourages violence and misogyny. Others, like myself, go through a large part of their life always questioning themselves.

“You don’t have any guts.”

I guess this was my dad’s attempt at motivating me. But this insult, thrown at me and my older brother on numerous occasions during our childhood, had no encouraging effect. I cannot speak for my brother; as for me, such insults were mere validation that we would never be good enough – man enough. I remember quite vividly some specific incidents where my brother and I would return after attending a Taekwon-Do tournament. Both of us brought home medals – often the highest medals. Typically my brother would have gold for sparring and silver for patterns. I would have gold for patterns and silver for sparring. Showing our prizes to our father he would mention that it’s nice, yet add: “But you don’t train enough.” I can remember only one compliment in my entire life that did not have a “not good enough” sentiment tagged to it.

“You don’t have guts.” I’ve heard these words so many times that I actually started to believe them. What’s the use of trying to do my best if it’s never going to be good enough? So instead of trying to excel, and in direct contradiction to my father’s attempt at reverse psychology, I became complacent. I guess that another child, one that is innately more stubborn or competitive, would have acted differently to my father’s verbal abuse. Another child might have made a resolution to disprove his father’s insults. I’m not competitive by nature. I think that I became even more passive because of my father’s slights. If I’m never going to be good enough, why even bother? I didn’t do terribly badly at school. Neither did I do terribly well. In hindsight I know that I could have done much better if only doing better was worth the effort. For me, at that time, it wasn’t.

As I grew older and as geographic and emotional distance between my father and I continued to grow greater, internally motivated efforts started to germinated. As adolescence waned and I became more and more self-reliant, I found personal reasons for excelling. After my father got shot and my mother died (in the same year) I was forced to support myself, and by God’s grace I finished my pre-grad studies, finished an honour’s degree, and continued to do a master’s degree; finishing the latter with distinction. And while my father’s words echoed from the past, I continued my martial art training. I now have a fourth degree black belt in Taekwon-Do, a degree in Hapkido, and also cross train in numerous other martial arts. None of these were to impress my father. They were personal ambitions grown out of personal interests.

On the last day before I departed from South Africa recently I was doing my rounds at my Alma Mater, dropping in at offices of my old professors, attending final appointments, saying bye to friends. One such a visit was with an English professor (now the head of the department). We stumbled into each other earlier that week and he asked me to make an appointment and come see him before I leave for Korea again.

This professor was one of the main lecturers during my honours year. We were only four or five students doing an honours degree that year (2001). It was a merciless ordeal. I’ve never done so much reading, and difficult reading at that, in my whole life. With this professor we had Post Critical Theory – I think that was the name of the module. In any case, it involved contemporary philosophy and critical theory. We were forced to read Jacques Derrida, Roland Barthes, Jean Francois Lyotard, Michael Foucault, Jean-Paul Sartre, Umberto Eco, and others. Not merely read, but understand and apply applicable theories to texts and write essays. It was undoubtedly the intellectually hardest year I’ve ever experienced – but the scholarly growth was exponential and rewarding.

Upon our meeting this professor asked me about my current work in Korea, my future goals, and my life in general. Towards the end of our meeting he said something to the following: “I’ve been keeping track of you during the years, and just want to tell you that I think you have guts.” He added some other compliments as well, saying things like he’s confident that I will continue to be successful in my life, and the like, but I can hardly remember any of it. It was those specific words – “You have guts” – that rang out like a siren. The very thing that my father denied me, this professor blessed me with.

I’m sure many a person had said things to that effect to me in the past, but never had they have the same effect on me. First, the specific choice of words – denial of having “guts” replaced with an affirmation of having “guts”. Second, this professor represents a father figure – a man I respected, looked up to, and even slightly feared. A person both objective enough, who has seen me live my life given the cards I’ve been dealt with; but also subjective, in that he knows me personally. He had the authority to affirm me in this way.

His words “You have guts” touched a very deep wound. I felt it the moment he uttered the words. It hurt, but in a remedial way, like a finger rubbing balm into a wound. “You have guts,” he said, and my subconscious believed it, and the healing began.