The Great Unmasking
There are moments on a river when the water itself seems to grow quieter. Not because it has stopped moving, but because the day’s excitement has drifted downstream and everyone has begun listening to something deeper.
One such evening we pulled our rafts onto a broad gravel bar after another long day threading our way through rapids. The mountains were already casting long shadows across the valley and the first stars were beginning to appear above the dark outlines of the pines. Someone coaxed a small fire into life while another filled billy cans from the river. Before long the familiar sounds of camp settled around us; quiet conversation, the clatter of mugs and the comforting crackle of burning timber.
The boys had changed since the first day.
Not dramatically. Rivers rarely work that way. They change people much as they shape stone, quietly and almost unnoticed until, one day, you realise something has become smoother than it once was.
Even so, many still wore the masks they had arrived with.
One boy hid behind jokes; another behind anger; some rarely spoke at all while several rarely stopped talking.
It struck me that although every mask looked different, they all served much the same purpose. They protected something more tender that had learned, somewhere along the journey of growing up, that it was safer not to be seen.
As I looked around the fire, I found myself wondering when boys first discover the need for masks. Surely it isn’t something they are born knowing.
No little fellow proudly announces that he hopes one day to become emotionally distant or afraid of kindness. Somewhere along the way they simply notice what earns approval and what attracts ridicule. Slowly, almost without realising it, they begin sanding away parts of themselves until they fit the shape expected of them.
The river had been quietly teaching something rather different. It had shown these boys that strength and gentleness were perfectly capable of travelling in the same raft. The strongest guide among us was usually the first to help someone carry a heavy barrel.
The finest paddlers patiently encouraged those who struggled. Even the river itself possessed a curious mixture of power and grace. It could carve canyons through solid rock yet carry a single autumn leaf without tearing it apart. Perhaps real strength had never been what many of us imagined.
That evening I picked up a piece of driftwood lying beside the fire and held it across my face.
“What can you see now?” I asked. “Not much,” one of the boys laughed. I lowered the stick.
“That’s the trouble with masks,” I said quietly. “They don’t only hide us from other people. After a while they begin hiding us from ourselves.”
The fire settled into glowing embers. Nobody hurried to fill the silence.
Then one of the quieter boys spoke. “I reckon I started pretending in primary school.”
Heads nodded around the circle. Another admitted he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Someone else confessed he was exhausted from always acting tough. Then Ben, the loudest boy in the group, surprised us all.
“When I was little,” he said, staring into the coals, “I used to rescue birds.” He smiled to himself. “If I found one that couldn’t fly, I’d take it home and Mum and I would look after it.”
Nobody laughed; in fact nobody needed to. For a few moments the tough young bloke who had spent days hiding behind humour quietly disappeared, and in his place sat the little boy he had once been.
As I watched him staring into the fire, it occurred to me that becoming a good man is rarely about acquiring something new. It is more often the gentle, courageous work of shedding the layers that never really belonged to us; the pretending, the posturing, the armour and the mask. Then, almost without noticing, we find ourselves face to face with the little boy who once rescued wounded birds and wondered why anyone would harm them. Perhaps that is the greatest unmasking of all.
The Rip Off
It’s a true test of courage when we rip off our masks,
for most boys and men, it’s still a big ask,
but the masks only hide what’s buried inside,
when you find your really real man you’ll be more satisfied.
Males face lifelong pressure to front up as man,
strutting around as if they have life in hand,
but the cost is enormous though seldom accounted,
it’s a bloke’s big hurdle that must be surmounted.
Use the qualities often linked with being a man,
courage, reflection, and shaping a plan,
take a deep breath, start the great unmasking,
you will find your real self, it was there for the asking.
You were probably quite young when they taught you this stuff,
to disrespect women, act confident, act tuff,
while these man box rules didn’t mesh with your heart,
if you wore the great mask, you were not set apart,
You were trained to support the patriarchy,
give blind obedience to the hierarchy,
to put others down was a learned behaviour,
when you rip off the mask it can be your saviour.
Because males without masks they don’t go to war,
they don’t kill the planet, such things they abhor.
They care for the people, they’re filled with compassion,
they embrace their own lives with vigour and passion.
Dear mates as I leave you there’s one thing I ask,
do the right thing man and lose that damn mask.