This is a reprint of a post from March 2005, in which I talk about the kind of guy that I can see making me happy. Not that I know anything about that. But several people pointed out to me at the time that this man — the man described below — is a nearly perfect hybrid of my father and my grandfathers (and all the inherent contradictions therein.)

I guess you could think that was weird, but I don’t. It just means that I grew up being loved, cherished, and in the company of guys who knew which end was up.

Happy Father’s Day, everyone.

For the past two days, I’ve been spending time thinking about subjects like life, death, taxes, artistic calling, and the formation of the Grand Canyon. Apparently, I’ve been pondering so much, I haven’t taken time to write anything here. I get like that sometimes: so full of thoughts, I can’t get them properly onto a page or a screen.

I’ve not yet figured out the cure-all for mental congestion, but I promise that I’ll unclog soon.

But.

Given a choice of the aforementioned five topics on which to meditate further, I think I’d have to choose the Grand Canyon. Because then…at the very least…I’d be thinking deep thoughts.

*ba-boom swish!* (hackneyed attempt at translating drum noise into words)

I like to call jokes like that, “Dad Jokes”. Now, my dad doesn’t always tell these kinds of jokes…he’s more prone to rambling anecdotes (he is a minister, after all) than puns. Every other dad on the planet does, though, as well as a few of my male friends who are far, far too young to be tossing about such chesnuts. Or can you be too young?

I’ve come to the conclusion lately (so I guess something is unclogging), that I tend to be drawn to men who are 80 on the inside. I love old men, but I really love young men who already possess that amazing gravity. Wrinkly souls, I like to call them. The ones who (and they don’t have to be all these things, but at least six…feel free to wrinkle-measure the men in your life):

• wear lace-up leather shoes
• can wink without embarassing themselves
• tip well, and don’t advertise it
• know their way around a hammer and a saw
• don’t fear liver
• can drive in a storm
• take their coffee black and scoff at any java that ends in ‘cino’
• sigh deeply like my grandpa when they sit down in an armchair
• call their significant other, “Darling” or “Dear”
• think most ‘product’ makes them smell “girly”, and don’t want to smell like that because it’s one of their favourite things about actual girls
• wear a white t-shirt well
• can put together IKEA furniture, but would really rather build something of their own
• sing confidently at the right times (even if they are off pitch a little), and never try and sound like eighties rock stars
• love trains
• aren’t scared of a clogged toilet
• take a beautiful photo because they notice the details
• blush at compliments, but give excellent, sincere ones
• feel safe in a dark alley
• know at least two kinds of poker games
• can chop firewood
• tell you they love you only when they mean it
• cut the mold off the cheese instead of throwing it out
• lean on their pool cue like it was the Staff of Moses
• can change their own oil
• like horseradish
• don’t freak out in a crisis
• are comfortable with a child on their shoulders
• cry at weddings, funerals, and a really good joke
• roll their eyes at pants falling off asses, either male or female
• occasionally read the newspaper out loud, but don’t offer an opinion to go with the story…they just shake their heads
• compliment you on your cooking, your dress, your mom’s genes, and your laugh
• have a favourite mug
• will pretend not to be startled by spiders
• make a big deal of shaving
• wear watches with hands
• know how to whistle
• value a woman body, mind and soul more than any frat boy, metrosexual, hipster or perpetual man-child ever will, because they’re not scared of us, trying to steal our mousse, or treating us like objects.

They are, to sum it all up, the kind of guy that an old lady would label a ‘catch’.

And old ladies know their stuff.

Wrinkly souls transcend location, profession, appearance and life circumstances. They possess a ‘je ne sais quoi’ that you cannot miss… and probably an old sweater you wouldn’t mind missing.

So (“sew buttons on your underwear”), that’s it. Here’s to all the wrinkly-souled men in my life. You know who you are. You’re even smiling right now….but you’d never admit it.