Ken Solin

I cringe when I hear this old chestnut because it paints men with way too broad a brush. It demeans us and suggests that we’re shallow and without souls. Unfaithful men keep making the news because they’re famous and everyone likes to watch a train wreck. But that rubbernecking shouldn’t ever be confused with admiration or desire.

In contrast, there are few stories about men who don’t cheat on their wives and work hard on their marriages. Perhaps stories about faithful men lack the salacious pizzazz the media is so addicted to. After working with men for over twenty years, though, I know that the title of this article is dead wrong. Opportunity–or its lack–is not the determining factor in fidelity for most men.

Men are faithful to their wives because they appreciate the richness of being in loving, supportive relationships. Although I have a tight-knit group of men friends who’ve always been there for me and have taught me most of what I know about relationships, my wife is my absolute best friend when I need advice about something other than our marriage. When I ask her opinion about a problem I’m struggling with, she tells me what she believes might work best for me. She doesn’t pause to consider whether or not her advice works for her too–and sometimes it doesn’t. I do the same for her, and our willingness to act selflessly with each other is a strong foundation for trust in our marriage.

We also offer each other unconditional support–a shoulder and compassionate ear in crises, cheer-leading for one anothers hopes and dreams, and sharing disappointments. That dependability has helped build and deepen the intimacy between us.

Intimacy requires the courage to commit to a woman without fear. But when that fear comes up for me, I remember how I felt before I found a woman I could commit to. I remember how empty dating and casual sex felt over time. What I also remember is that the only married men who envied my single-guy sexual exploits were in marriages devoid of intimacy or trust. After I married, I found listening to their extramarital stories sad and boring. Their character as men suddenly seemed a mile wide and an inch deep.

Of course, marriage takes work–hard work–but every relationship in my life that I hold dear involves some amount of work. My relationship with my son takes energy at times, but I never think twice about making the effort because I adore him. My relationships with my friends sometimes falter, and when that occurs, we talk about the problem and work through it because we place the highest value on our friendship. I feel similarly about making the effort with my wife.

I don’t know any man who wouldn’t prefer to be in a loving, satisfying relationship, and that includes the men I know who cheat on their wives. Most married men appreciate the value of shared intimacy, and lying and cheating just don’t figure into that. Being a faithful partner has absolutely nothing to do with opportunity. It’s all about character, integrity, hard work–and acting like a man.

When I first met Armand Castro, more than twenty years ago, I was a wild and wooly, out of control, angry guy who had no close friends and a serial dating addiction. I was in my early forties and he was in his sixties. He must have seen something in me that caused him to want to mentor me. His involvement changed the course of my life forever.

Mountain biking was the first activity we shared. Armand went to the bicycle shop with me to help pick out my first bike, and taught me how to work through the twenty-two gears and navigate the nearby mountain. I was out of shape and he was as strong as a gorilla, but in time, I rode alongside him and we enjoyed many hours riding and talking together.

After work I visited Armand at his home, nearly every afternoon, and we would share some wine and talk about being men. I often stayed for dinner, and while I was a good cook, he taught me to be a better one. There was a constant string of men flowing in and out of Armand’s home, sharing their most recent stories with him. I think we all wanted his approval for how we were living our lives, and we knew we could always depend on him for frankness. That was, in fact, his trademark.

Perhaps the single most valuable lesson I learned from Armand over the years, was that it was safe to trust other men. My father had been a violent brute, and there was no trust between us. Armand was the first man I ever trusted, and it felt good in my soul to finally know the feeling that comes from caring about another man.

Armand frequently became impatient and annoyed with me, but that was his manner, and we joked about it often. On his birthday years ago I gave him a plaque that read: Armand Castro, the founder of judgmental Buddhism. He had the ability to laugh at himself, and even be self-deprecating at times. He never took himself 100% seriously. That was his charm.

It didn’t take long before I realized I loved this older man who had volunteered to put me on a better path. We always hugged, and kissed on the cheek, when we met and when we parted, and I always felt the love behind those hugs. With the exception of my sons, no one was more important to me than Armand.

In time, as often happens, the student rebelled against the teacher. When I did, I felt I needed some space to spread my wings and fly solo. When I moved a short distance away, I brought the lessons I had learned from Armand with me. I hadn’t seen Armand for quite a while before a mutual friend called recently to tell me he was ill. My immediate reaction was to break down and cry. I cried because I was so sad to hear he was ill, but also because I was so grateful to have spent so much time with him.

I visited with my old teacher, Armand, the other day and we sat across from each other holding hands. We cried tears of joy and stared into each other’s eyes. The love that had grown in my heart for my teacher years ago was still there, and as powerful as ever. He was sweet with me and shared his feelings about the old and new me. He spoke in a low whisper, and told me his only complaint about me had been that I didn’t listen very well. He was right, of course, but I assured him I had become a better listener.

I wish that every young man could have a mentor in his life. The lessons that fathers used to pass down to their sons ended at the start of the Industrial Revolution. Boys were left to fend for themselves and become men, and that hasn’t worked out very well. As the father/son relationship has diminished over the years, the need for mentors has grown.

If you’re an older man and you don’t think you still have value in the world, think again. The lessons you can teach a young man will help ensure that his life will move in a better direction. He will never forget those lessons, or the man who took the time to teach them.

Thank you, Armand, from the depths of my soul.

I’m growing increasingly angry at the plethora of male therapists who are leading men’s groups. They are not necessary, and in fact, rob the men in the group of the ability to resolve their own issues and learn how to become better men in the process.

This is a business for therapists, and men’s groups were not meant to be anyone’s source of income. Men’s groups are all about peer work and discovery. Therapists choose who gets into their groups and more. This is criminal in terms of stealing the opportunity for shared experience absent outside influence.

Therapists who lead groups aren’t in the groups, but sit over the group instead. This is antithetical to men’s work. Men’s groups never require leaders. Each man is empowered and equal to every man.

Male therapists don’t know any more about men and manhood than laymen, and they inject a psychological influence into something that doesn’t require it.

If you’re in a men’s group that requires payment, leave immediately, and take the other men with you.

I’m disgusted that therapists who are struggling to make money have found a way to steal it from men who need other men, not them.