Earp Takes Aim | Faith, Culture, Life

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Duh!

It’s happening again.  Authentic manhood has lost its sheen— ironically, at the hands of a putz named Sheen. 

Charlie, that is.

Dude Nation has a new hero.  According to The Daily, “Girls Gone Wild” founder Joe Francis, a cultural icon of all things manly, “can really relate to” Charlie.  Along with a lot of other guys whose main interests are beer and chicks {or, in Charlie’s case, goddesses}. 

“I’ve got tiger blood, man!” 

Yeah, and he’s also a “warlock,” a “$#@%& rock star from Mars,” and is pretty much “winning, duh” at everything.  Charlie also has two live-in porn stars for nannies, gets paid {or did} $2 million a week, and lives a real-life version of The Hangover. 

What about that is any self-respecting man NOT gonna like? 

And “like” it is what millions of guys do.  Charlie’s recently opened Twitter account already has over one million followers…and counting.  And as quickly as yet another incoherent and blathering bit of drivel comes foaming out of his mouth?  It just as quickly gets silk-screened onto t-shirts and loaded into cell phones as ringtones. 

Personally, I find this shocking, but positive sentiment for Sheen has more than tripled negative sentiment!  Can you believe that? 

Did you just read what I wrote?  More than tripled.

Francis says, “Charlie has lots of hot girls and he’s living the dream or, as he would say, he’s winning.”  On the website, guyism.com, writer Marty Beckerman called Sheen, “the epitome of manhood, a modern icon of unfiltered, untrammeled masculinity.”

 

“Marty [as in McFly], are you [even] in there?  I mean, really? 

“The epitome of manhood?” 

“An icon of masculinity?”

Really? 

We are talking about the same guy, aren’t we?  The guy who employs porn babes to babysit his 2-year olds?  The “winner” who just lost custody after snatching those two poor kids from their mother upon learning she had the audacity to seek rehab and is working on her sobriety?  We are talking about the same Charlie who threatened his ex-wife, telling her, “I will cut your head off, put it in a box and send it to your mom!”— same guy, right? 

That’s in addition to several other charges of domestic abuse and random acts of mayhem far too numerous for this simple blog. 

 

Then there’s stuff Charlie has said.  Dumb stuff.  Obscene stuff.  And far worse.  Stuff like: 

“If you’re a part of my family, I will love you violently.”  {You’ve proved true to your word on that one, Chuck.}

“They lay down with their ugly wives in front of their ugly children and just look at their loser lives and then they look at me and they say, ‘I can’t process it!’”  {Yeah, and “process” is exactly what your goddesses and several ex-wives do with the big checks you’re forced to write just so they will lay down with you.}

“The run I was on made Sinatra, Flynn, Jagger, Richards, all of them, just look like droop-eyed, armless children.”  {No comment…way too easy.}

 

Enough of Sheen’s nonsense.  He’s spoken enough already.  It’s for someone else to speak.  And on this blog, that “someone” is me.  So let me write a sentence that, sadly, millions of so-called “men” may consider just as insane as Charlie’s rants:

Charlie Sheen isn’t a man; he is Peter Pan in black fedora.

He’s not!  He’s a stunted, selfish, boorish little droopy-eyed boy.

I’m sorry if that’s too strong for you, but the measure of a man isn’t in how many grams he can “bang” or the gaggle of hookers he can buy.  A real man doesn’t leave countless women in his wake— women who fear him, loathe him and consider him “insane.” 

No, a thoroughly masculine man doesn’t endanger his children or use them as props to validate his “not bipolar, but bi-winning” life. 

I’m not mad at Charlie.  I’m not even mildly annoyed at his antics.  Truth is, I pity the dude.  It’s not my desire to pile on, either.  He’s doing enough damage to himself, he doesn’t need my help.  

I’m not mad, I’m concerned.  And deeply worried that Charlie’s boys and my sons and millions of other young men-in-training will take their cues from a culture where most boys don’t live with their dads.  I’m concerned that our future husbands and dads will search for goddesses instead of godly women.  And that they’ll come to view the worth of a woman in terms more akin to a product, not a person. 

 

What I’m trying to do is sound a call [albeit a comparably muted one] for ALL men, both young and old, to choose far more noble heroes. 

What I wish I could do is write a better cultural definition for masculinity.  A description that celebrates what a real man looks like, talks like and lives like.

What I don’t want to do is make this about me.  However, since I’m the only “me” I’ve got?  And since this blog is my blog?  I’m gonna use “me” as a very weak and thoroughly flawed illustration of what masculinity should look like.  Just understand, I could also write a post about the “me” emerging young men should NOT look like…so this isn’t coming from pride.  It’s coming from raw fear for what silence might otherwise suggest.

So, with more humility than you can imagine, here we go: 

When my bride got cancer, the one who took her to chemo was me. 

When it was time to cut her hair, the one she wanted cutting her hair was me.

 

When she got nauseous, I held the bucket.

When her pain was beyond bearing, I rubbed her back.

When she breathed her last breath, I was tearfully holding her hand. 

 

Now THAT is manhood. 

 

Forget sensitive versus hard-as-nails.

Forget arts-lover versus sports-fanatic.

Forget teary eyes versus stiff upper-lip.

 

That stuff is nothing but posing. 

But that’s the problem with most men today.  We are way too concerned about projecting an image.  An image that quantifies manliness by grunting, scratching and making various gaseous emissions {something I can do with the best of ‘em, by the way}— or in how much beer my hero can guzzle or the number of “chicks” he can bed. 

It’s sad.  We men, in our fallen state, are far less “manly” than God intended us to be.  That’s why we compensate so much.  We cover our true insecurities by discussing box scores and by trash-talking each other.  Deep inside, trust me, Charlie knows he’s not a warlock.  But he’s way too insecure and yes, frightened— to actually admit it.  Because nothing is more potentially mind-blowing than to suggest my life isn’t “perfect,” as he put it.

 

Bottom line, it’s not the size of his biceps that reflect the real measure of a man, it’s the circumference of his heart.  

One of the shocking results of my recent journey with Cindy is the number of men who have said to me, “Thank you, Wyatt!  Your example of unconditional and sacrificial love for Cindy has made me want to be a better husband!” 

I never expected that. 

But I DO get it.  Almost 60% of all marriages disintegrate…and that’s among believers!  So when even one husband decides to “man-up” and love his wife deeply and serve her faithfully…?  There’s incredible power in that! 

You wind up some guy who’s willing to say, “Ball and chain?  Are you insane?  My wife was more like wings to my soul and a powerful thermal that gave my whole life its lift!” 

You let loose a man who’s willing to say stuff like that…?  And then prove it by holding his bride’s head while she vomits into his lap…?  And that kind of love will make other men wanna fight to have that kinda love, too. 

 

I’m afraid I’ll never be like Charlie Sheen.  My Twitter will never reach one million followers.  I’ll never have Dude Nation enlist me as their poster boy.

But I don’t care.   

What I did have was a wife who adored me and who called me faithful.

And what I still have is a tribe of children, all of them now adults, who still say, “I love you.”  And grandchildren who call me Papa and run for my embrace.

I don’t have tiger blood or Adonis DNA, but I have known and still do know, great love.  I have made more than my share of mistakes, but instead of constantly boasting about “winning, duh!”— I admit my screw-ups.  I apologize and then get busy trying to re-build the broken places.  Simply put, I stay in the game. 

And I don’t care what anybody else may think, that’s more than “man” enough…for me.  

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