we demand. There’s no discussion about how he felt when he
hit the ground—nobody’s asking him to talk about whether
he’s too scared to get back on the bike and try again. Our auto-
matic response is to tell him to get over it, get back on the bike,
and figure out how to ride it so he doesn’t fall again.
Now that he’s grown and in a relationship, you expect that
same boy who was told to keep quiet and keep it moving to be
a man who can sit and listen and communicate and nurture?
I’m telling you now: your expectations are off. Women have
different moods, and ideas in their head, and you all expect us
to fall in line, and if we don’t, it’s a problem—you’re telling
your girlfriends, “He won’t talk to me,” and “I can’t get him to
open up.” But opening up is not what we do. Profess, provide,
and protect—all our lives, that’s what we men have been taught
and encouraged to do. This, we’ve been told, is how a man
shows his love. And The Fix falls firmly into the “provide”
category. For sure, provision isn’t just about money; for us, pro-
viding also is about righting what’s wrong, and figuring out
what’s going to keep everybody happy. Because any man with
sense knows that when mama’s happy, we’re all going to be
happy. And when you’re happy, there is a great return for us. So
we provide and fix.
I’m telling you right now: if you go to your man with a situ-
ation that’s fixable and he doesn’t try to fix it, he is not your
man—he is not in love with you. Go ahead, I dare you to try it
for yourself. When your man comes over, tell him, “You know,
singke
(singke)
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