Batching It

At Ikea. He stayed in the corner for 15 minutes. We don't know why.

My greatgrandma - and idol - Frankie used to call it "batching it"...when the man of the house was without his mate, feminine gender assumed, for any length of time.  It was meant to be a description of both a desperate, anarchic, yet temporary period, where dishes sat hardening in the sink while the man wondered helplessly through his third martini just what was he supposed to do?   As a boy I always felt strangely oppressed by that term, because even then I knew I didn't need a wife to run my life.

Later on as I shed some of those defensive layers of gay pride and as I understood what it meant to be in a long term, committed relationship (not with a woman, but still...) "batching it" made sense in a whole new way.  Frankie was talking about a sympathy people have for men who are missing their other piece.  It's an assumption not of helplessness or uncontrollable urges, but of a husband's sensitivity to his mate and his need to be needed.  For the men I know, it's almost always true.

My friends who have gotten in the most trouble in their relationships have been with people who didn't need them, or at least pretended they didn't.  I've been there myself.  Men seem to be hard wired to be needed; we want to be strong, to provide, to shovel and chop things - or at least to know the best pumpkin ravioli in Short Hills.  Otherwise we're not just helpless, we're hopeless, and nothing is less attractive than a helpless hopeless - and "confirmed" -  bachelor.

Benji and I are batching it for a few days this week.  Papi is on a business trip to somewhere not-fun, and my my parents are due to arrive tomorrow.  Batching it means something real to me now  missing my other half, realizing how much better life is with him, feeling a little adrift.  I can understand it as a man, this strange phrase my great grandmother made a point of teaching me as a kid. Maybe, and it wouldn't be surprising given how easily she welcomed my first boyfriend, she was telling me that I needed to be loved, and that nothing beat being needed, however and by whomever.

Is there any wonder why I became a dad?