If you’re reading this because you thought this article would be about the election, Republicans versus Democrats… welcome. You just got click baited.
No, it’s not about political parties. I’m writing about birthday parties. Specifically, the first half versus the second half of a 40th birthday party.
I had an incident recently at a friend’s 40th birthday party. The night started off classy. Wagyu burgers. Expensive bourbon. He’s single. Doesn’t want to be. So he gathers a mix of friends: half college buddies married with kids, half bartenders and bar hoppers. The nostalgic group and the trendy dudes.
An interesting thing happened. Around 11:30pm, people started to clear out. It was a Thursday night. Work beckoned in the morning. But then there were the stragglers. Those who just linger.
Maybe they had a little too much to drink and were trying to take the edge off.
Maybe a few who didn’t want to go back home just yet.
Maybe some just wanted to cling to this stress-free moment.
But after midnight, the party shifted. From classy, celebratory enjoyment to something a little more sinister. Something sorrow filled. Around 12:30, a very good friend of mine, who’d been mockingly hinting at his own divorce and how terrible that’s made his life, completely snapped and became unhinged.
In a drunken stupor, he was yelling—no, screaming—”I’m divorced! And I have a BAAABBBBYYYY!” at the top of his lungs. With as much force as he could muster. I was sitting on a couch. he was standing up, bent over at the hip, both hands balled into fists, straight back behind him like a long-distance ski jumper. His face was maybe six inches from mine. Over and over. “I HAVE A BAAAABBBYYYY!” Like a legit crazed man. Six guys were in the kitchen, just staring. The matrix was fractured. Someone did something out of the ordinary.
It’s hard talking to a drunk person. They want to talk in depth, yet they have no capacity to really reason. It’s like they have supercharged vulnerability without any clarity.
So, I pulled him outside and began talking for another hour and a half. Others eventually came out by the fire. By then it was 2:30 a.m…. on a Thursday. I had work the next day. The conversation mellowed and I went to grab my stuff. As I was gathering the rest of my things, someone blurted out, “Hey, how’s your marriage? You doing all right? How’s your marriage?” What an odd question at 2:30 a.m. from someone I hadn’t really spoken to in about five years.
I gave a brief 30-second answer. His immediate, unprompted response: “Mine’s the worst it’s ever been.” It’s now 2:31 a.m.
He proceeded to tell me about it for the next hour plus. He’s been married 18 years. Started dating when he was 16. And, he was right, by the sound of it, his marriage was pretty miserable. Again, all the vulnerability without much clarity.
So here we are. Now 4:00 a.m. Supposedly celebrating the 40th birthday of a friend. However, these middle-aged men had different plans.
They decided to break the fourth wall of polite society and share how miserable they are, declare how awful life is, mutter how lonely they feel, scream how hopeless they have become.
And thus lurks the underbelly of Christian men in America. I ask you, if you were in my shoes, where would you suggest they go from that night? Who should they inform next? Where can they receive the help they seek?
I share this true-life story to implore you, the reader, to start tapping on the emergency glass of the men in your life. Ask some pressing questions and see if the facade holds or if it shatters. If you’re feeling healthy and secure, reach out and see what spills out. I guarantee you some men desperately need the outlet.
And if you’re the one feeling the cracks, don’t wait until you’re screaming into the night or spilling secrets to half-strangers. Don’t wait until the bourbon loosens your tongue and the darkness feels overwhelming. Speak up. Reach out. Don’t let another day pass pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. There are people out there who care to know.