I LOVE MEN!

I love men. Some people have assumed or suspected that I don't. But I'm here to tell you that I do. Once I hit 30 then 35 then 40 and still no marriage there were whispers about whether or not I'm a lesbian. After I went to work at a battered women's shelter, some folks suspected I would just write off men because they were all violent pigs. But it's not true. Nothing makes me happier than to glance at a really awesome tush (I'm surprised I don't watch football). And if a man I'm attracted to gets a fresh haircut, I feel like I'm in heaven just looking at the back of his neck. If you give me smart, funny, sensitive, tall, and he laughs at my stories, well then I'm down for the count. I have met that combo only one time in my life and it was a crazy and fun but ultimately heartbreaking ride.

After years of flirting, hanging out, apple picking, endless midnight calls and slow dancing on a bridge with a full moon while a big band was playing in the distance, I was still weak in the knees everytime I saw him. Soon after I met him I told one of my closest friends that I was honestly afraid of what I might do if I found him alone in the copy room. I told her I could not be trusted. I might not be able to stop myself from kissing him at any moment!  He's the one man who, when I first met him, I turned to my friend and said, "I hope I marry him someday."

My junior year in college we both worked in the same office- Student  Volunteer Services. We matched Calvin students with volunteer opportunities in the community. The year started with a staff retreat at a campground on Lake Michigan and I remember just staring at him through the smoke of the bonfire in pure lust mode!

  One problem right off the bat was that I was dating someone else. "Dave" was one of the sweetest, most funny guys I had ever met and we had a great time together but the relationship lacked the fire I was looking for (probably because, years later, I found out he was gay). I really had a way of falling for men who were gay. At one point I thought somehow I was turning them gay because on 4 different occasions I was the last person these men dated before they came out.

 But I digress. That story is for another time. Right now I'd like to continue telling you about hunkypants, HP for short. Another problem with HP was that he was a senior and would be moving to Washington DC soon. So I focused on our friendship and enjoyed working together and settled for him endlessly popping up in my dreams. Near the end of the school year I was so infatuated with him that I arranged to take over the lease of his apartment and live there for my senior year. I invited 3 girlfriends to move in with me so long as I got HP's bedroom (yes- I am embarrassed to admit that one).  I went back to Indiana to work for the summer and when the school year was about to start I moved all my stuff into his room and made sure to put my bed right where his had been.

 The very first weekend I was there HP drove in from DC and stopped by for a visit. I was ecstatic. I hadn't seen him in three months and he looked as hunky as ever. After a big hug we got caught up and then went out to grab some dinner. He told me he had a busy weekend so that night was going to be the only time I would see him. Then Sunday came.

 One of my best friends at the time, we'll call her Sissy, was my roommate for a second year in a row. Our junior year we'd have these late night, intense conversations on all kinds of (what seemed to be) critical matters.  Like what HP wore that day and how funny it was when his roommate dropped him off to our office on a particularly snowy day and he didn't realize until he got in the building that he had his, what came to be known as, dad slippers on. You know, the leather slip on kind that look so. . . mature. I told her how I loved him, not Dave, and we dissected his every move to try to detect if he loved me too. I felt really close to Sissy and grateful to have her as a friend.

 Okay, back to that first Sunday of my senior year. I'm sitting in my hunkypants bedroom when Sissy, rather sheepishly, knocked on my door. She proceeded to sit down on my bed and utter the following words. "HP and I have been on a few dates this summer and when we saw each other last night WE decided WE should tell you about it". She "we-d" me! Then she proceeded to tell me that a few weeks after I left for the summer he invited her to the movies and then they started hanging out. I was beyond devastated. All I could do was leave. I drove around for hours trying to clear my head.

 How could she? I felt so betrayed and so hurt. I had never revealed my feeling to HP. He wasn't to blame. But Sissy? I poured my heart out to her. I reported my every interaction with him to her. I couldn't imagine having to live in the same house with her for the next nine months but I also couldn't figure out any other way.   So when I returned to our apartment that night I went straight to my room. For several months I pretended like she didn't exist. Right after Thanksgiving I heard through another roommate that it was over between them. Over Christmas break HP came into town and asked if he could see me. We met over lunch, talked about everything except Sissy and surprisingly had a great time. We picked up right where we had left off except I was protecting myself big time.

 I proceeded very cautiously into friendship mode with HP and tried my best to forgive Sissy and be civil to her until graduation. The spring was very busy with student teaching and job searching and worrying about where I was going to live after graduation. I was also grappling with the fact that I had to admit to myself that I didn't want to become a music teacher. It was one of the only things I knew for sure. But it was also the only thing I was qualified for so I started interviews. The only teaching job I was offered was at the high school in Climax Michigan. I could not even picture telling my friends that I was moving to Climax so I took it as a sign from God that I shouldn't teach and decided to move to Washington DC.

 Prior to that decision I had made a pro and con list. Pros were things like living near Jill and Randy- two of my best friends in the world, being in a huge urban area where I could volunteer for lots of different orginations and maybe narrow down what type of work I would like to do. I had also researched this Volunteer Management Certificate I could get at an area college and I really wanted to sing in the Oratorio Society at the Kennedy Center. Some of the cons included not knowing where I would live, if I could find a job and HP. Out loud I considered him a liability because I was so afraid of being rejected and getting hurt. But deep inside I knew that I may as well have throw out my pro and con list. I just wanted to be closer to hunkypants.

  For the next year and a half we hung out all the time, took in the sights of DC and got to know each other really well. I never had the guts to profess my love but I also felt like he had to know how I felt. It was also clear that he deeply cared about me but he never said it and as each day passed it made me sadder and sadder.

  Over the holidays my dad died suddenly of a heart attack. I decided I needed to move closer to family. My mom was not a mentally stable woman and I wanted to be there for my sisters. Some friends in DC threw me a going away party the night before I left. In all my grief and pain I told HP that I thought it would be best if we simply said goodbye. He had started hanging out with a woman from his church and I couldn't take the ambiguity of it all anymore.

 A few weeks after I had come back to the Midwest I found an apartment with a good friend and found a job and started getting settled into this new life. Then there was a knock on the door. It was HP. He told me he was worried about me and just wanted to check in. I don't know how he found me. I hadn't spoken to him since I left Washington. But there he was, being Mr. Perfect Man, going way out of his way to check on a hurting friend. By then some of the shock of losing my dad had worn off and I knew I needed all the close friends I could get.

After he went back home I started to put my "adult" life together. I was the Executive Director of a shelter for abused women and their children. I was decorating an apartment and buying furniture like a grown up. And on my 25th birthday I met someone.  

HP had gone on to more seriously date the girl he had been hanging out with while I was there and I began a serious, "grown up" relationship. But HP and I remained very close. We talked all the time and saw each other whenever he came into town and for a little while there I think we were happy for each other.

 Then my relationship took a turn for the worse, complicated by the fact that I was pregnant and I suspected he was cheating. To help me decide what to do I had suggested we take a vacation . . . to Washington DC. I wanted HP to meet him and give me some advice and I wanted to just have some concentrated time with the boyfriend to figure out what to do next.

 It was on day two of vacation that it happened. I found myself on a double date with HP and his girlfriend. There I was, seated between the boyfriend and hunkypants, listening to a concert, and I started to cry. The only thing I knew for sure at that moment was that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with HP, not the father of my baby (who NO ONE knew about at the time). I made up some excuse about how beautiful and emotional the music was and excused myself to the restroom.

 A few weeks later my boyfriend and I broke up. A few weeks after that I had a miscarriage that I never told anyone about. I kept in close contact with HP but he continued to date his girlfriend.  When he came to Grand Rapids to visit his parents for Christmas, I knew he had just broken up with his girlfriend. She had told him to propose or get lost. I decided that I had to tell him exactly how I felt and let the chips fall where they may. Tell the truth with no regrets.  But he broke our date and then had to return to DC before I ever got to see him.

I decided to write him a letter and explain to him that from the moment we had met, four and a half years earlier, I had wanted to someday be his wife. I told him that if he asked me to marry him, I would say yes. I told him that I would quit any job and move anywhere to be with him.

 A few days passed and no phone call. A few weeks passed and not even a letter. A few months passed and I got the invitation. The invitation to his wedding, with a handwritten note inside. He told me that I was strong and smart and independent and never acted like I really needed anyone. He said that he needed to feel needed. He wanted to take care of someone and she fit into the mold of his conservative family. She would not rock the boat or make his mom uncomfortable. She wasn't career driven and would be happy at home taking care of a family. How could he have known me so well and been so wrong about me at the same time? How could he not have known that I could be all of those things? Why didn't he know that I was just afraid to ever let him know how much I needed him?

I didn't go to the wedding. I never spoke to hunkypants again.  But I did start seeing a counselor. I was a big tangled up ball of issues that needed unraveling. I did some really hard work and I promised myself that I was not going to become a man hater (even though I thought I had every right to be). So, today I can truly say that I love men!  And I still hope to find one who makes me weak in the knees and blush when I peek at his tush.