There are days...

Ladies, this is a post for the men. You're more than welcome to read it and pass it along to your man if you think there's something here. But you may not think there's anything here. But then again, you might learn something about your man or men.


There are days when I'd like to get in a fight. Days when I'd like to open up a can of whup-up and get sideways all over somebody. I wouldn't have to win the fight necessarily; I'd just like to mix it up. I had a day like that yesterday.

I've been to two school functions this week, one on Monday and one last night. Both times, there has been this one dad that I've just had a hankerin' to punch. No lie. There have been scores of dads at both of these functions, guys I know and guys I know of. I've talked to some, shaken a few hands; you know, the stuff guys do at school functions. But this guy, let's call him puffy-chest-dad, was in close proximity to me both nights and both nights I've left the function thinking to myself: I shoulda kicked his ass. How's that for being confessional?

On Monday, puffy-chest-dad brushed by me as he ran to cheer on his offspring at the track meet. There's a football field worth of open space available and this guy decides to run as close as he can to me on the way to supporting his kid. I'm thinking What? And it felt like a very intentional I'm-gonna-run-as-close-as-I-can-to-you moment; kind of like a challenge. Now I know this guy's wife, my daughter had her for a teacher, but I've never met him or shaken his hand.

And last night, I was in a group of parents and puffy-chest-dad was scanning the perimeter for, shucks, I don't know, aliens or something, and he sees me and looks me in the eye and I kid you not, there was this I'm the king of the hill 'round here, Bucko look he gives me. He swaggered around a little, barked at his kids, and that was it. We're at an everlovin' elementary school program and this guy's playing jr.high testosterone games.

Now gentlemen, I'm wondering if you've had this experience before? Now I know that a roomful of men is a potentially dangerous room; there's always that tension between males that females are oblivious to. But this guy, it's just felt like he was looking for a rumble, a chance to take somebody down and then beat his puffy chest and do a Tarzan victory yell. Strange, very strange. I didn't have on my WWJD bracelet last night, so that question was not on my radar. What was on my radar was a gut feeling, a man-stinct, that said "this guy thinks his stuff don't stink."

I'd love to tell you that I came home both nights and prayed for puffy-chest dad, that I took the route of compassion and Covey and "sought first to understand, so you can get some synergy-stuff." But I didn't. I hit the treadmill and weights last night and had one of the best workouts I've had in weeks. I guess I must've "worked it out." I guess. There are just some days when I'd like to get in a fight. And I've had a couple this week. I told my girlfriend about it last night and she looked at me like I had bananas growing out of my puffy-chest or something. She also looked a little nervous.