A Man is A Man is A Man

This week I have met two men who have straight up admitted to being unfaithful.

Maybe “admit” is the wrong word. In order for one to admit an act, they must first feel shame, guilt or embarrassment. There is some type of acknowledgement that what they have done is wrong and may reflect badly on them and as such they try to cover the truth or go to some length to defend their behavior.

In each separate encounter with both of these men, neither of them showed any signs of remorse about their act, and although it was each one’s first time meeting me, neither of them hesitated when answering my curious questions about their infidelity.

Both men are Sicilian — one from Palermo, the other from Messina; one young, the other old; one single, the other a widower.

It takes a lot to leave me speechless. This guy accomplished that in one second with one word.

“Do you have a girlfriend,” I asked him.

“Yes.”

I did not even know what to say. Just like that, “yes” no doubt, no problem, with out blinking, normale. How do you respond when someone tells the truth, even if the truth is a bit ugly?

“Apprezzarmi,” he said.

The rest of the conversation consisted of him trying to convince me that I should appreciate him for telling the truth. As if he just performed an act of nobility that deserves respect and admiration.

The other man, even though wrinkles gathered around his light blue eyes, which at times reflected his deep sorrow over the loss of his wife, had a commanding presence and a sex appeal that left no doubt in my mind he had his share of women during his 70+ years of life, yet those adventures did not change his deep affection for his wife.

He advised me not to get married because in the end, once the person dies, you are alone and in awful pain missing them. He met his wife when he was 18.

“She lived across the street from me. We would see each other from the window. But you know, I had other girls,” he said.

He recounted his younger years with pride and content.

“But then, after you got married . . .” I interjected hoping he would finish the sentence.

“Also, when I was married. This is how I was made,” he said.

I have no doubt that he truly loved his wife and enjoyed his life with her. At the same time, I am trying to understand how this is possible, that a man can be capable of loving only one woman while sharing himself with other women.

The only answer I am left with is the one that both men indirectly told me: “I am a man and this is how God made me.”