fatherhood by rohan kaushal vulnerability by drew braaten ehhhhhrmn by drew braaten

I grasped his hand, loosening the tension in my shoulders He remained mute, he just stared A warm softness emanated from him His forehead wrinkled. His f i n g e r s tightened fatherhood by rohan kaushal

Then in my head he said, “Hello, Strange and scary looking being. Who are you? Why am I here?”

Generations before me had done The same task The same ideals pushing them forward Hoping that they were up to it Hearts and minds trembled

In India, Uttar Pradesh My father’s father worked and toiled For his own betterment For those dependent on him

Now it is my turn No longer am I just the Son My role has expanded past f i r s t b o r n and loving brother I am scared of this task

Tiny eyes look into mine Two hearts beat in sync I say “it’s just me and you Just me and you”

My child smiles He doesn’t seem frightened His gaze nevers leave mine and I grasp his hand, the tension leaving my shoulders 52//Experience

ehhhrnnnm by drew braaten

Men aren’t supposed to cry. Yet, on June 11, 2019, I found myself surrounded by a group of soon-to-be senior boys, all sobbing their eyes out. School leaders, star athletes, top students, all brought together by a sudden unleashing of their repressed emotions. vulnerability by drew braaten

This past summer, I was fortunate enough to attend Badger Boys State, a weeklong mock government program in Wisconsin. On the fourth night, I experienced the Man Box, an encounter designed to “discover what healthy manhood is truly about.” The night started with four alumni counselors sharing four unique perspectives on their experiences as a man in America. Each perspective granted me an eye-opening opportunity to think, especially about my emotional front. After seventeen years of simply existing as a male, I was f i n a l l y granted a golden opportunity to understand the basis of healthy masculinity, to be comfortable with being vulnerable.

Once the four speeches were f i n i s h e d, everyone separated into their individual “town” (the small group of boys I lived and worked with for the week). In each town, every young man was given an opportunity to break his own masculine emotional front and speak freely. Heartbreakingly beautiful, for the f i r s t and maybe the last time in my life, my 31 “brothers” and I were able to speak without hesitation. As our once-suppressed stories f l o w e d, uninhibited, I began to understand the immense value of being real.