Men Don't Eat Cake in Front of Each Other

Mary and Me Looking Out to the Sea

Several years ago, Mary and I were in San Diego with our friend Greg for a technology convention. During the day, he and I would spend our time wandering around convention halls filled with audio systems, video displays, and enough technology to keep us entertained for hours. Mary, being considerably smarter than us, would spend her days exploring San Diego instead. Every evening we'd compare notes and it was usually pretty clear who had the better day.

One night after the show, the three of us found ourselves walking along Coronado Beach as the sun was beginning to set. If you've never been there, it's one of those places that almost looks fake. The sky turns colors that don't seem possible, the ocean stretches forever, and the whole scene feels like it was created specifically for postcards. I've always said California (or any tourist destination with a body of water) has a different sun than Chicago. I can't prove it, but I'm sticking with the theory.

As we walked along the beach, Greg decided this was the perfect opportunity to get a nice photograph of Mary and me. He stepped back with his phone, pointed us toward the ocean, and told us to stand there looking out at the horizon.

Without discussing it, planning it, or even making eye contact, Mary and I immediately put our hands over our eyes and started searching the water. Not casually looking. Searching. The kind of searching that suggests someone has misplaced an aircraft carrier and we're trying to help locate it.

"Do you see it?" I asked.

"I think it's over there," Mary replied.

We pointed at random locations. We squinted harder. We shifted positions. We scanned the Pacific Ocean with the seriousness of two people who had been given an important assignment and were determined not to fail.

After enough years together, some things require no discussion. Greg wanted a thoughtful, romantic photograph. Mary and I somehow arrived at the exact same idea at exactly the same moment. Looking back, that may have been the most accurate picture of our marriage that could possibly have been taken.

Meanwhile, Greg's patience was evaporating. Every time he tried to reset the shot, we found a new way to make fun of it. Finally, he lowered the phone, looked at both of us, and said something that still makes me laugh.

"Will you two just act like you love each other?"

The Picture Greg Wanted

So we did. We stopped fooling around, put our arms around each other, turned toward the ocean, and gave Greg the picture he wanted. Years later, both photos still exist. One shows us pretending to search the horizon for something important. The other shows us standing together looking out at the sunset.

The truth is that both photographs are completely accurate.

Mary and I love each other very much. We've raised three children together. We've built a wonderful family. We've survived good years, difficult years with family losses, professional victories, professional disappointments, surgeries, worries, celebrations, and all the other things that eventually find their way into a long marriage. We've spent enough years together that we can often predict what the other person is about to say before they say it.

What Greg didn't realize that night is that making fun of him was part of the affection. The joke was the affection. The shared laugh was the affection. The fact that we both reacted exactly the same way was the affection.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about that over the last few years because the older I get, the more I realize that many of us learned some strange rules growing up.

Years ago, I was standing at a birthday party near the cake after we had sung Happy Birthday to a friend's kid. The cake was being cut, people were talking, kids were running around the yard, and a guy standing next to me leaned over and said, completely seriously, "Men don't eat cake in front of each other."

I remember staring at him. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. To this day, I still don't. The strange thing is that I also knew exactly what he meant.

A couple of other guys nearby nodded their heads as though this was a well-established principle that had been passed down through generations. Nobody laughed. Nobody asked for clarification. Apparently there existed some unwritten male code regarding public cake consumption, and I had somehow missed the meeting.

The more I've thought about it, the more I think that guy wasn't talking about cake at all. He was talking about all the unwritten rules men carry around. Don't be too sentimental. Don't say too much. Don't make things awkward. Don't ask the hard question. Don't tell people what they mean to you. Don't let anybody catch you caring too much about something. Don't tell your spouse what your worrying about.

For most of my life, I followed a lot of those rules without ever questioning them. Then a few years ago, something started changing. I began hugging the guys.

At first it was the traditional sideways bro hug where one shoulder briefly bumps into another shoulder and both parties immediately pretend it never happened. Over time, though, it became an actual hug. Not every time and not with everybody. I'm not wandering around Chicago embracing random people at traffic lights. But when I see a friend I genuinely care about, I hug him.

The surprising part is that nobody seems uncomfortable. In fact, I think most guys appreciate it.

Saying "I love you" is still harder. One of my friends always says, "Love you, brother." Not "I love you." Just enough words to get the point across while still leaving a little room for male dignity. Every time he says it, I know exactly what he means.

The thing is, I feel the same way.

I love my wife.

I love my kids.

I love my brother.

I love my friends.

I love the breakfast guys.

I love the Greenland Sharks.

I love the people who have shown up for me again and again throughout my life.

For years, I assumed they probably knew that. Maybe they did. But the older I get, the less interested I am in following rules that don't make any sense. Life is too short to leave important things unsaid simply because somebody, somewhere, once decided that men don't eat cake in front of each other.

So when I look at those two photos from Coronado Beach, I still laugh. In the first one, Mary and I are making fun WITH Greg. In the second one, Greg finally gets the picture he wanted.

Looking back, I don't think either photo is more honest than the other.

One shows how we've always expressed affection.

The other shows what I've finally learned not to be afraid of.

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About Greenland Sharks

Greenland Sharks is a Chicago men's group who value friendship, experiences, and the long swim. Just a crew that shows up. No speeches. No name tags. No nonsense.

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