“My Hip and My Man Card”

Today I discovered that, despite Shakira’s assurances…..hips apparently DO lie, at times.

At least, mine do.

In fact, today I realized that my hip might be one of the biggest con artists I’ve ever encountered.

See, about a month ago, I seriously aggravated my piriformis muscle.

Now, if you’ve never heard of a “piriformis” muscle, get in line. If you HAVE heard of it….well…..CONGRATULATIONS, Einstein. You’re probably well on your way to the Nobel prize.

Instead of trying to explain the anatomical intricacies of said muscle, let’s just say that every time I try to sit down, stand up, or cross my leg over the other to put on my shoe, my butt explodes with pain, and I literally cannot help from crying out in some way. I try not to scream but often fail. To my credit….when I DO scream, I try to make it as deep as possible, to sound manly.

And that’s where my hip deceived me today. It whispered lies about my masculinity.

See……the lawn needed mowed. I don’t want to exaggerate here, but our yard had begun to resemble the opening scene from the original “Little House on the Prairie” where the little girls stumble into the meadow of tall grass. Our little poodle mix, Daisy, asked us for a compass just so she could find her way after going outside.

Yes, it needed mowed, and we all knew it.

Last night, I confessed to my wife that I wanted to get up and mow the lawn today but was a little concerned about my muscle strain. She was kind and tried to take the burden off, “You aren’t going to mow the lawn with your back like that. I will mow it…don’t worry.”

Now, she meant this well. She offered this in the spirit of love and devotion, a symbol of marital solidarity….teamwork…..the two becoming one.

But my hip whispered, “she thinks you’re not man enough to handle me.”

And he caught my attention.

My piriformis had thrown down the gauntlet, and I knew I had to pick it up, or that I might as well trade in my man card for a set of knitting needles.

And so, this morning, while my beautiful wife slept comfortably in our bed……I strapped on my old tennis shoes (suppressing my screams, of course), donned a wide-brimmed straw hat that every  middle-aged man would be proud to wear, and attacked the yard……DEFYING the protests of my butt.

Ninety minutes later, I had made it. The lawn was mowed. The little girl from “Little House” was discovered under the tall grass, Daisy valiantly laid down her compass, and all was well with the world.

I laughed in the face of my hip.

Until later…..when a deep, guttural yelp coincided with me getting in and out of my car.

I write about this because I wonder…..when did I start to believe that my masculinity was somehow tied to mowing the lawn even when I’m injured and probably shouldn’t?

Why did I feel the need to clandestinely sneak out while my wife slumbered rather than accept her offer to help?

Is it a sense of responsibility? Something honorable? Is it as simple as my belief that God has given me a call to take care of my home and family?

Is it about chivalry? Is it that I know how hot and humid it is here in the South, and I don’t want to see my wife having to endure those conditions? I mean, our yard is not an easy one…..am I trying to protect her from the struggle?

Maybe all that plays into it….but I wonder if there is more.

I wonder if underneath it all is the belief that if I do not “suck it up” and ignore the pain, I am somehow “less than.”

There are old messages here, I think.

They touch the edges of my memory in staccato phrases:

     “Be a man!”

     “Rub some dirt on it.”

     “Don’t be a baby.”

I honestly don’t even know where the messages came from. Adults who meant well? Coaches who were teaching me to be strong? Television shows or movies?

The hard part is that when it comes to this sense of masculinity there are often kernels of truth mixed with unhealthy hyperbole.

I mean, I believe men are called to be strong. Sometimes we must overcome and not allow discomfort to hinder us. It is good for us to carry the load, so our wives don’t have to.

Right?

And yet…..I wonder if there are times when we go beyond what is healthy. I suspect that there is some kind of connection, at least for me, between being able to “suck it up” and some kind of internal report card that grades my value as a person.

It’s like, somewhere, there is someone in my own psyche with horn-rimmed glasses and a clipboard saying, “Hmmm…..mowed the lawn with an injured piriformis….retains his value as a man for now” and checks a box with some imaginary pencil.

Maybe I’m the only guy who wrestles with this, but I sometimes wonder how performance, masculinity, and value all go together in a healthy way.

Am I no longer valuable if I don’t perform?

Am I less than a man if I don’t push the limits of what is wise for my body or health?

Is my worth tied only to my physical strength?

If so, what happens as I age or if I get sick?

These are honestly the questions that ran through my mind as I limped along with my Honda push mower today.

Who knew that mowing the lawn was also an existential crisis in the making?

I don’t have all the answers, but something in me tells me there is more to my worth than my willingness to push past my piriformis.

Although my hip challenged my manhood, there is a deeper voice that assures me that I am valuable whether I tackle the lawn or not.

I have a wife who loves me in spite of my lying hips. I have children who offer me love and affection, even though they are adults now and walking their own paths. I have grandchildren that smile playfully when they see their grandpa.

And honestly, And honestly, I know that I have a God who has shown me love and reminded me of my value again and again.

My hip? Well…….my hip disagrees. He insists that I’m unlovable and not much of a man unless I mow that lawn today…….but as we all know by know…….

Hips DO lie.