Trouble in Bromance Land?

Often enough, I hear of men falling out of friendships with their best buddies, not through elaborately detailed accounts, but in two- or three-word statements like: “We fought,” or “I got pissed,” or “He’s a jerk.” Ask them if they’re going to patch things up, and they reply in the same indifferent manner: “Nah,” or “What for?” or “That’s not my problem.” You can tell the gravity of the situation if all a man does is shrug in response.

I had a couple childhood friends who were neighbors around age eight. They were known as Batman and Robin in our neighborhood. They appeared everywhere together; people who knew them became unsettled if one didn’t show up with the other in tow. I’m not sure if they planned it but they both went off to college abroad, albeit in different states, but still got together for major holidays when their stipend allowed it. Serendipitously, they both ended up working in California. They were members of each other’s wedding party, and even godfathers to the one another’s firstborn. And then, over a regular conversation, one of them annoyed the other in some forgettable way and the other chose to end the friendship. There was no epic blowup. It just… evaporated.

It happened to a close high school friend decades ago too. He was best friends with a teammate in soccer. They liked the same girl, but one graciously gave way to the other. One of them eventually snagged her and she became part of their formidable trio with no rancor from the third wheel. That relationship ended but the two men still remained Maverick and Goose for many years until one of them mentioned to the other at soccer practice, “Your bicycle kick will kill you. You’re arching your back and sweeping your legs up so much that your head ends up dangerously close to the ground. It is on the ground.”

To which the other replied, “You’re saying I’m not good at it?” 

“Well, yeah.”

They never spoke again. 

A middle-aged friend had a similar falling out but this time with several male friends — drinking buddies over several years. They just stopped speaking. He concluded that the friends had sided with his wife from whom he had had an acrimonious separation. Asked if he tried to straighten things out with them he said, predictably, “What for?” 

Over the past week, I have been privy to the unraveling of a three-way male friendship — a long-running camaraderie forged by mutual educational backgrounds and mutual interests. From an outsider’s limited point of view, all three have valid gripes, since feelings, being what they are, are always valid unless mental or emotional instability comes into play. A clash of work ethics and management styles appear to be at the forefront, among other things. The rift seems to be terminal because when asked whether a redemptive discussion is plausible, their options lean heavily on the “letting go and moving on” side. 

Sad. 

Ben Schrank said in a recent New York Times article, “Men no longer know how to fight. Don’t get me wrong — we know how to confront strangers when they cut in line at the butcher’s or block the door on the subway. What we don’t know how to do is have the kind of unpleasant talks that articulate feelings to real friends when those friends ignore our wives at a dinner, or don’t think to call us when we are fired. Instead, we either shrug off the slight or end the friendship.”

Schrank writes about his friend, an anthropology professor, who said, “in most societies, historically, there were few mechanisms besides trade and wife-swapping to repair rifts between men. So after conflict, men split up. This is because the highest premium is placed on a man’s sovereignty, and his ability to be aggressive. Men must be strong to be accepted by society, an expectation that runs counter to the need to get along.”

US president Barrack Obama seems to be known for not being intimate with anyone except his wife and children — something alarming because is there anything creepier than a friendless guy? But in journalist Bob Woodward’s new book, The Prince of Politics, we learn that behind the scenes, Vice President Joe Biden gets the vital deals done. He knows that he must have the awkward talks it takes to keep the US government going. But the guy at the top — namely the president — can’t because of his precious sovereignty. 

So maybe that’s what it is: sovereignty. A man’s most prized possession. More precious than true friends, apparently. 

I wonder if men look with envy upon the tortured friendships that make up the fabric of women’s social lives. Women tangle with close friends over everything, from the minutest of matters to the most complicated issues. We inadvertently hurt each other’s feelings — we are bound to, given how much and how relentlessly we speak. But then, isn’t the sharing of information what keeps people close? Easily and probably unintentionally, a slight could be made and offense could be taken. So we stew and simmer, obsess and vent to other friends. After some time, we engage in that difficult phone call — exploratory and explanatory in nature. A few days later we meet and drink wine and work on gently mending our bond together. Our friendship not only survives, it is also strengthened.

How come men can’t seem to do any of that? It has got to be the “feelings” issue — treacherous if not tedious ground for men. But then they are missing out on the relief and pleasure of voicing out pain and disappointments — the purging, the processing and, ultimately, the resolution, favorable or not. Could it be that they do not have the stomach to hear the other guy’s complaints about them or are they cautious because a face-to-face or a heart-to-heart, male myth tells us, can only be resolved through a slugfest? Second chances are what men are missing in life. Or maybe they simply don’t want them.

Schrank writes: “The idea of calling a mutual friend to vent after I have had an argument with a guy is laughable.” I’ve heard men give many reasons why they don’t bother to mend broken friendships. If there’s a real disagreement, they might say, “I care about him too much to fight with him. So no, I’ll never reach out to him and say all that stuff. What for?”

So does this mean that male friendships are comprised of parts that are irreplaceable — if one part breaks, the rest is tossed out like a broken model airplane? Or better put, are enduring male friendships ultimately unsustainable? 

Don’t they ever miss each other, these men?

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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com.