What's Left of a Man

Nathan’s Play






We didn’t plan to go. We just went up to Boone to be able to see Olivia! At supper, I teasingly said that Daddy (it was me!) wanted to see all the penises and Olivia said, well, yall should come! So, we did! Jug and I both think it was the BEST play we’ve ever seen! Such vulnerability, so open, honesty that hurts to even hear let alone say. These eight men unzipped their coats they hid beneath and exposed themselves to the audience in a way that has changed me and God knows, it certainly changed them. I never saw the Vagina Monologues but this was the male version of that play. This masculine version, What’s Left of a Man has been done at ASU for many years. The most moving, emotional play I’ve ever experienced!





It was crowded as hell; a small theatre and after driving around and around looking for parking we were too late to get seats! Livvie, Kristin and I sat on the floor which was the stage—so we were up close and personal! While Jug was parking, I told the sweet, young attendant that my husband could NOT sit on the floor! Just physically impossible for him so they found a seat for Jug. Jug and I were the ONLY attendees over the age of 30! Felt kinda weird, I’ll say! It almost felt like we weren’t supposed to be there—like this play was only intended for the young and hip and more open-minded?? It was such a friendly group of young people. Perhaps they all noticed the old folks but they didn’t seem to mind. I’ve been to many plays in my life and been in a handful myself. I’m not very patient with this form of entertainment—get bored very easily. This was a long play—two and a half hours and the I sat on the floor (and I ain’t no spring chicken myself) and was completely enthralled, never even considering leaving because of boredom or discomfort!!!!!!





Eight young men. Eight distinct personalities. And every last one of them opened themselves to us, to each other, in a way that is extremely rare for men to be able to do. They spoke from their hearts and they spoke with almost painful honesty. They told stories of their past, hell, they told secrets. They offered us a picture of a male that is the real truth and not the stereotype that we all carry with us. With this picture I was reminded all over again how not different men and women are. We are all just human beings. We both are insecure about ourselves and think and feel much the same. As they shared their stories and we saw their truth, goose-pimples were raised and tears stung our eyes.





Then I just saw people—not young people, not even young men—just people, human beings and I felt just love for them. As a fellow human being, not a woman, not a mother, just fellow human, I wanted to wrap my arms about each and every one of them and squeeze them and let the love just flow into them. The air in the tiny auditorium was charged with this energy. I think all were thinking/feeling much the same as I was.






They wore just solid black, loose fitting, comfortable shirts and pants, no shoes. Another means to just be—just be a man, a human being. And one by one, they’d share their souls with a difficult to relate story or poem or sing a song. For two and a half hours! And I was riveted! The night culminated with the lights dimming and they each shed the last of their protective coverings and fully exposed themselves. The lights came up and the eight men stood there, not as naked men, but as eight fellow human beings. God, what that took to be able to do that! And you know what? I didn’t see their damn nakedness, I saw the person, and I heard their words and I knew their pain and God, yes, I knew their growth. It was glorious to behold. I was changed in that moment and I knew it, felt it—knew the hundred or so fellow human beings experiencing this with me were changed too.






I salute them! I applaud them standing up and whooping and stamping my feet. I will never look at/feel about, men the same again. Yeah, so they aren’t as communicative sometimes as women and they carry their stoicism like a badge and perpetuate this bravado all in the name of masculinity. I’ve been married to a man and emotionally intimate with this man for 27 years. I’ve given birth to a male and raised him and held him when he was frightened and I’ve brushed tears from his bearded face. And I’ve freshly, newly, been given this opportunity to see my men as vulnerable, soft, sweet, insecure, frightened, strong, brave, kind, pained, fellow human beings. I’ll never be the same.