Guys’ group inspires

Ryan Lawyer

I was sitting in the library doing my APUSH homework when I noticed an interesting pattern. A few boys from several different backgrounds were all massing together in the library conference room. I saw the choir boys, a few football players, some cross country kids, and a couple knowledge bowl guys all taking their seats.

I thought to myself, “why would this diverse group of men ever be lumped together?” It’s not possible. I couldn’t help but asking the library lady, “What’s going on in there?” She looked at me as if I had been away in another universe for quite sometime, “That’s the Guys’ Group meeting.”

I laughed off her response, saying to myself that a bunch of guys spilling their deepest darkest secrets to each other with a counselor is unimaginable: men having feelings? But as I walked to my next class, I had a revelation: I began to see the possible glory of such an event.

I dreamt of a hockey player speaking his heart, of his love for the girl with the glasses, nasally voice, and a backpack stuffed with books ready to knock her over. And the choir kid, revealing that all he wants is to be able to hit a high C note by the end of his singing career.

I fantasized about the debate guy admitting his passion for interpretive dancing and muffin baking. And finally, the football stud, breaking down into tears while telling his story of his little chihuahua named Sugar, that ran away and never came back––when he was seven.

I imagined about how all the boys sitting in the Guys’ Group sacred circle were finally admitting that they don’t have as much facial hair as they think, that the three whiskers under their lips are, in fact, not a full goatee. And how they secretly want to someday have a beard like Mr. Hawkins, or heck, even a mustache like Mr. Backen or Mr. Lex used to have (just look at an old yearbook).

The group inspired me to think that maybe, I could build up enough courage to admit my secret shame to that circle of men; I am incredibly self-conscious about my disproportionate earlobes, and this obstacle causes me to spend at least ten minutes each morning trimming my sideburns to perfection.

The possibilities of the secrets told in that room burned in my mind for the rest of the evening. In the library the next day, I saw the same group of guys flow into the library conference room. I walked over to the library lady again, but instead of asking what was going on, this time, I asked, “Where do I sign up?”