Perspectives

"I sometimes think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated His ability." — Oscar Wilde

I am going to give a "talk" in May at the Winter Park University Club. This rambling essay is a search for a topic. Over the past few years, I've explored the nature of beauty and have made the case for optimism (a distinct challenge). I've recounted the contributions four specific men made to the quality of my life as well as touched on the value of history.

I am intrigued by the research on the human brain and how "some" scientists argue that men and women really do think differently and, as a result, reach different conclusions. This seems "old hat" ever since, well, that book came out titled, "Men Are from Mars …". Nonetheless, science seems to be validating that premise with research and clinical observation.

What intrigues me about our species is how we are so beastly and women seem to get a pass on that, as if they are not, somehow, complicit in what we are. Whenever I hear of the latest wholesale atrocity (99.9 percent of the time committed by men or gangs of men) I wonder if I am capable of that? Recall the mass killings of the Tutsis by the Hutus. Nearly 900,000 people were slaughtered in a matter of days by men wielding machetes in 1994 Africa.

Could I have been a Nazi? A concentration camp guard? Could I have been a soldier who rounded up Cherokee Indians in 1838 Georgia and marched them to their deaths during the infamous "Trail of Tears"? Just following orders, don't-cha see. Such a timeless justification.

Could I have been just another Southern '60s redneck who terrorized blacks by lynching uppity "negras"? Or burned crosses and bombed churches? Men who do such things are, for all intents and purposes, just like all other men, just different.

But where does that difference originate and why do women seemingly get a pass on accountability concerning any of the atrocities that are so common in our species?

To women who suggest "beastly" behavior is strictly a male prerogative, I ask one fundamental question: "Where exactly do males come into existence and spend their many formative months?" That's correct. Tucked securely, motherly in your tummies. Out of which came Adolf Hitler, Mao, Stalin and any of the countless machete-wielding marauders who hacked to death tens of thousands of innocents in Rwanda or who unloaded Jews at Auschwitz.

No, just as it takes two to tango, it takes two to create our species and we are the gnarliest, nastiest, toughest species on the planet. Thank you, Dad. And a tip of the hat to Mom, too. We are, after all, your little boundless bundles of joy. Just look what the stork delivered! Is that you, Adolf?

But if we (mankind) were merely atrocious, what sort of story would that be? So very boooring! We create incredibly "beautiful" art in all its many manifestations and we are capable, too, of inspired acts of compassion and self-sacrifice (although science is suggesting such acts may not be so altruistic). And, as my sister says, "We are the universe talking to itself," at least in this part of the Milky Way. We are such clever little monkeys. Yakety-yak! Can we talk about it? She asked.

Actually, right there is a beeeeeeg difference between men and women. I don't mind (so much) talking about "something" oh, say, six or seven times. Really, I don't. I'm a Chatty-Cathy, up to a point and on a subject of my (or mutually agreed-upon) choosing. But, after something has been discussed, after the differences of opinion(s) have been formed, delineated and discussed (debated, if you will), what is gained by revisiting the subject yet again? Clarification has been achieved. If "X" is 100 percent clear and understood, what is to be gained by going over it again? And again. Ad nauseam.

I don't want to make a broad generalization but I will. "Some" women will "jaw" some things to death. Literally. Just to make a point. Or, at least, until the conversation is no longer, hmmm, quite so engaging. Hah! This subject would be an appropriate topic for further exploration. So many examples abound.

I am interested, at the moment, however, in fathers and fatherhood. I've been a father for 40 years. My daughter turned 40 on April 6. I've not done anything in my life that has been as rewarding or as challenging. Children, to state the obvious, change your perspective. I believe humans are selfish and men, generally speaking, are more selfish than women. Whatever the science behind that assertion (on females being less selfish), I have sufficient anecdotal evidence to make that claim and do.

Fathers are one of the "really big" themes of literature. We all have one and/or are one. It's about as basic as it gets. Either dad measures up or he doesn't. He's either a force or he is absent. He sets and enforces standards or he acquiesces. He's either comfortable with who he is or he is troubled. He is either loving, affectionate and supportive or something less than. Most men are fathers and they comprise a whole myriad of qualities that are a mixture of both the positive and negative. At times. They may be strong, energetic and ambitious when young yet inexplicably (to you) surly and bitter when old. They may be unfaithful but loyal husbands or some combination in between. They may be treacherous, demonic and complete scoundrels but love you unconditionally as their child. Fathers can gut an enemy one day yet cry heartfelt tears over missing their loved ones the next.

I've said before that there is no bigger gift a child can receive than a loving, caring mother. From that, all else follows. It's both a leg up and a head start. If a child gets an equivalent father, he/she is doubly blessed.

I marvel at the complexity of life and specifically, I marvel at the human species. We are both the demonic and angelic. And nowhere is that more clearly demonstrated, our dual natures (our dueling nature), than in men (as in male).

It is no wonder to me that the gods mankind has forever created have this duality of personality. I think immediately of Shiva (a Hindu god), the destroyer and the benefactor. Or, Yahweh. Two brotherly peas in the godly pod.

That is our story (is us) encapsulated by what we worship.

Yet I share Henry David Thoreau's sentiment, "I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious behavior." I so want to believe that.

Now there's a subject: On the perfectibility of man. Of males.

Do we have our work cut out for us?

Chris Jepson's opinions are made independently of the newspaper.

Write him at [email protected]