I’ve decided to push hard for this Men’s Group to come into being. I’ve never been much of a quitter, and my heart and soul tell me this is important for the men and me. I guess the last part is surprising. It is bringing up a lot of things in me.

I went through the Mansion today talking to many male residents; I think a bunch of them will come out next week; they are certainly curious and intrigued.

One of the Mansion aides was surprised to see me walking around the Mansion, taping posters on walls and pushing them under the men’s doors. I said I am happy to do work of my own making; I can paste up posters as good as anyone. The aides have enough to do.

I printed a dozen posters announcing the Men’s Group Meeting number three next week at the Mansion. Meeting 3.0, I call it.

The sole attendee of yesterday’s meeting came up to me today to shake my hand and thank me for “the best conversation I have ever had about my life. Nobody ever listened to my story like that before.”

I listened to several male residents. I’m seeing a good and hopeful way forward.

I follow the Quaker method of problem-solving – find consensus.

That lifted my heart and reassured me that I was on the right track in pushing for this group to form.

I spent some time with Russell, who has been pushing for a men’s club at the Mansion for some time. He explained to me some of the reasons men might not show up. One is shy, another is afraid it will cost something, another needs time to get his artificial leg on, and another gets savage headaches.

Russell is talking up the idea.

 

But all of the men he spoke with, he said, would like to get together with other men and talk freely and openly, as they understood M did yesterday. M spread the word.

I told them all – the Mansion staff – that as long as two or three people wanted to come, I’ll gladly go and try to help run the meetings.

I’ve talked to five or six men yesterday and today and am hearing some common ground from them, not from me.

Many of them are lonely and want other men to talk to. It’s as simple as that. And that is doable..

Some would like to see more male-oriented activities at the Mansion (I’m looking for games and puzzles they might like).

But the idea I came away with  after much listening was that they just wanted to gather in a safe place to talk about the issues they face – sexual questions, relationship questions, and their fears and worries about their lives.

The Mansion is a loving and caring place, but there are few men, and the men feel that. Since men don’t talk to one another as openly or often as women do, their sense of isolation is sharpened.

I’m not sure what, if anything, a men’s group can do about it, but M was sure grateful that he could talk openly yesterday.

I imagine it will take a while before we all trust one another, or they will all trust me. I’ve helped almost each one in one way or another; that helps.

You can’t demand trust; you have to work at it and earn it.

I’ve known some of these men for some time now, and we have strong and trusting relationships. That’s also a good core to build on.

I’ve gotten the usual stupid e-mail from people urging me to be friendly and not yell at the men or be angry with them, as they seem inevitable that I might.

I never love being patronized or offended like that, I have thin skin, but I am getting better at dismissing or laughing at it.

Oddly, it has made me stronger and wise enough to finally ignore it and not care.

When you grow up a dyslexic in a world that knows nothing about the disease, you are continuously ridiculed, called stupid, and made fun of. And I was indeed a weird child, a perfect target. In some ways, I still am. Nothing upsets the broken more than someone who exposes himself out in the open.

That is frightening to them, and they must go after it to justify their anger and hurt. Every shrink I’ve ever had – and I have had many – has warned me about that.

 

(I’m appreciating Russell. He’s a straight talker with a good heart. He wants the men’s group to work, explaining why he couldn’t make the first two meetings. I understand. I’m sure he will be there next Tuesday.)

The choices for people like me – kids who suffered from dyslexia decades ago –  were to break and give up or to fight and make the hurt work for me. You get thin skin, but you better grow a thick one if you wish to live and work in the world.

I sometimes am thin-skinned; sometimes, I have the hide of a dinosaur. It’s Jekyll and Hyde to some of the people who know me.

Truthfully, Dyslexia has made me strong and taught me to fight for myself.

Dyslexia is no excuse for mistakes or bad judgment, but it has helped me survive the worst times and taught me a lot about how to live in the world, as any challenged or handicapped person knows. Maria says this is one of the reasons I’m good at this because I do understand it.

I get the most beautiful letters of support and understanding from people who see themselves in me, and I love them, and many of them love me. Many have dyslexia or other disorders of the mind.

When I was a child, I learned how cruel people could be.

As an adult, I am learning how good people can be.

I don’t blame my teachers any longer. They knew something was wrong, but I could never tell them, and they didn’t know.

I am indeed drawn to sometimes defending myself and striking back.

 

(Jim was wearing the extra-wide sneakers I got him, the first pair was too tight, and we gave them to another resident. Jim is mulling joining the group; he says he is not primarily social and doesn’t talk to the other men much. He says he might give it a try).

When the cruel and intolerant are ignored, they turn to dust like Dracula in the sunlight and go feed elsewhere.

They have to have fresh blood to live. My readers have advised me to do this for years, to ignore it and move along,  but it has taken me a long time to get it. As the country has gotten ruder and crueler, I realized it was time to deal with it.

I see now that you have to be sick to send hateful messages to people you don’t know; it’s an illness, like heart disease or schizophrenia – or dyslexia.

That understanding has turned it around for me and strengthened my spiritual life.

My dyslexia has never stopped me or helped me back; I need to take responsibility for my own life. Blaming and hating, and arguing with others is not healthy or honorable.

It’s not what I wish to do. It’s the ultimate waste of time.

What does all this have to do with a men’s group? I sense I need in these men, we are brothers, and they are in a hard place, some literally and physically broken, some emotionally broken.

I think a part of each of us understands the other.

That’s the pull for me, the opportunity. I also want to talk to other men and be open and honest about my life. So one way or the other, I’m going to get it started. We’ll see what happens then.

I don’t need to tell people that I will not yell at the residents.

Anyone who has ever been in or near an assisted care facility knows it doesn’t attract people who come to shout at the residents. If they do, they would be gone in a flash.

I didn’t volunteer to come to the Mansion to argue with the elderly or yell at them, and I only recall being angry at one man who cruelly insulted a gay female aide and made her cry and cry. I visited him with Red for a few months, and we talked about it. He was way too angry for me to help.

I just left him alone.

I’m very much drawn to the idea of the Men’s Club. As one reader messaged me, it might be the most important work I’ve done for the Mansion.

The staff says it is hard for them to know how to talk to the male residents openly and honestly. They are rotting for this to work. I already had one great talk with two aides and explained the problems one man was having. They have come up with a plan to help him.

A new chapter in my life, and you know how I love new chapters. I’ll keep you posted.