The Night of the Young Men

Before I begin with the body of this post I just want to mention that I have had several posts in mind for a while. This is the one that has been waiting longest (apart from the series on St. Paul's teaching), but I also want to write more about social nudity as a follow-up to "Naked without Shame," and the visit from Zack has also stirred up some reminiscences that I hope to post about. There is also the series on Theology of the Body. Hopefully, I'll get around to some of it this week.


Speaking of this week, Mark, the "Wandering Pom," expects to be in my area this week, and I'm looking forward to meeting him.


On April 13, I went, as I often do, to Boston for a chamber music concert at the HMA, to be preceded by dinner at the Scollay Square restaurant. As I was walking into the subway station for my ride into Boston, I heard someone speaking behind me. After a few seconds, it occurred to me that he was talking to me, commenting on the appearance of the station. So I replied briefly. He appeared to be in his upper twenties. When we arrived at the turnstile, his fare card was not accepted by the machine, so he went to add money to it. When he arrived back at the turnstile, the signal was given for the train to depart. I briefly held the door open, and the operator delayed, allowing him time to board. He thanked me then started looking for a discarded newspaper to read. I offered him a section of my newspaper, which he accepted with thanks, and returned to me when he reached his stop.

After the concert, as I was on my way back to the subway, I encountered a group of about six men in their late teens or early twenties. After a perfunctory greeting from me, one of them asked if I'd like to see a picture of his girlfriend. He produced his wallet and displayed a photo showing two young women in thong underwear displaying very large backsides. I managed to express that I was impressed. Then one of the others had a question for me: could I tell him how to get to Hahvuhd, because he wanted to pahk his cah in Hahvuhd Yahd. I suggested he go to Pahk Street Station on the "Red Line" and take a train for Hahvuhd. They laughed, and we went our ways.

When I got to the subway station there was a taller man, maybe in his upper twenties, near the spot where I usually board. He was talking on a cell phone and told the other person that he'd arrive in about twenty minutes (which he verified with another nearby passenger) and also said he was "wasted." While we waited he began to talk to me, and when the train arrived he sat next to me. He had been to the Red Sox game that afternoon, which they had won, and apparently he had spent the nearly five hours since then celebrating the victory somewhere where alcoholic beverages are served. Repeatedly, he asked where I was going, told me that he was married and his wife was pregnant with their first child, a daughter they would call Olive, who was due in June (and he showed me a sonogram picture). He also told me several times that his wife, who was coming to pick him up at the station was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he wanted me to meet her. Other passengers started giving me glances of sympathetic amusement. When we got to the station, I debated with myself whether I should actually stay with him and meet his wife (and make sure he found her), but I decided that I really did not want to prolong or deepen the contact, and that even in his condition, he was functioning well enough to be left alone.

On reflection, I found it striking that all these people found me somehow approachable enough to have the interactions with me which they did. I've thought that I often come across as aloof, but maybe I'm wrong about that. But if I have seemed aloof, I'll take all this as a sign that I'm improving.

BTW there was a fairly good-looking new waiter at Scollay Square. He looks a bit like Tommy Kirk, who was a Mouseketeer and appeared in several Disney films 50ish years ago. Unfortunately, he was working in a different section.