Prolifically Raw: Nice Guys

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Nice Guys

It�s Saturday morning and we�ve gathered ourselves from the cozy house to steal into the cold morning. The reward? Sticky cinnamon rolls, eggs, sourdough toast and a big ol� mug of Joe for mom! Can�t wait.

So there we are, all settled in and grinning at each other. �Who�s happy at this table?� Jo (who has changed her name to Belle today and perhaps forever) and Spencer chime back "we are," in response to my call. �Who�s loving her coffee at this table?� Belle says. �I am,� I say, smiling.

I sit back in my chair, watching my kids sticky up their faces and fingers and notice that the place is loaded with men. Some of them are dads with kids (no mom�s), one father takes a photo of his boy digging into a mound of whip cream, another carefully cuts up coffee cake for his sons. A pregnant, and I mean way out there, sway back pregnant woman walks in and her man cannot be more attentive. He�s got a hand on her back and the tenderness between them is palpable. Over in the corner, a big table is filled with a bunch of �sensitive men,� in what looks like a meeting of some sort. They are all dressed in soft, cozy sweat pants and soft cozy sweaters and on their faces are soft cozy smiles warming happy eyes. All that�s missing are the drums but honestly, the happiness of being together is beat enough. They are just talking together, as animated as I ever get with my own friends.

�What the heck?� I think. �What�s up with all these sensitive men all around me?" But I don�t need an answer, I already know what�s going on. I�m learning, through my careful process of investigation that began last summer, that there are a lot of really nice guys.

Spencer is all done with his sticky roll and he's licking his lips. Next to him is a big pile of Pokemon cards he's been collecting. He spies two little boys waiting in line with their dad and fishes out two from the deck. "I think I'll give these to the kids," he says. "I mean, I've got so many, right?"

"Sure," I say. "Go ahead."

He wipes his hands on his napkin and carefully approaches the boys, who eye him with a mix of curiosity and concern. When he offers the cards though, they are his, putty in his hands. He passes the cards over and comes back to the table, happy, happy and he sits down again.

"That was really generous," I say.

"Yeah," he says, "I guess I'm just a nice guy."

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