Falling every November, 19^th, this  day gives me an opportunity to celebrate my masculinity, honour the patriarchy and let my robust heterosexuality roar. It’s a day that I mindfully live to it’s full, manly potential.

This is the journal of my celebration:

November, 19, 2015

6:20 am

Fed the baby and told him stories of manliness.

9:00 am

Had healthy breakfast of granola and a smoothie, as I have a variety of health issues. Told a story about eating bacon to my wife Rachelle while she and the baby played with a “found” rattle (childproof pill container of my anti-anxiety medication) on the yoga matt.

9:30 am

Began to think of myself as somebody named John Steele instead of Michael Murray.

9:45 am

Took Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund, for a walk around the block. Felt good to be out in nature, hunting with my animal. Met two other Miniature Dachshunds, both wearing argyle sweaters. Their owner told me their names were Simon and Garfunkle and to watch out for Garfunkle as he was “crabby.”

10:00 am

Played online poker under the name of John Steele and watched a variety of hockey fights and leaked celebrity sex tapes.

11:30 am

Read “The Littlest Acorn of them All” to my son and then put him down for a nap.

11:45 am

Made my wife a smoothie as she was headed out to a series of womanly afternoon appointments.

12:00 pm

Sampugita, our friend’s nanny, came over to look after the baby. I asked her many questions about her personal life and what dating was like for a young woman in a foreign country. Told her about a few of the sports I used to play. Tennis, in particular.

12:30 pm

Told Sampugita to make me lunch.

12:45 pm

Got text from my wife Rachelle, telling me that making lunch for me was not one of Sampugita’s responsibilities, and that there was left-over quinoa in the fridge.

I AM SURROUNDED BY FEMINAZIS!!!

1:00 pm

Went outside and threw rocks at the stop signs. A few of the kids from the Frat House down the street joined in and for a brief, shining moment, we were a beautiful Northern European tribal pack fighting the enemy. Hail Odin!

1:15 pm

Went home and played with my electric train set while listening to Gordon Lightfoot and slow drinking Jack and Coke.

3:30 pm

Posted my feelings, under the name of John Steele, on a men’s group message board.

4:30 pm

Watched Mike Tyson knock-out videos from the 1980’s, noticing that the boxers all had perfect, gleaming bodies, sweat-slick, they were tangles of beautiful male ferocity under the hot lights.

5:00 pm

Stumbled upon a video called “Johnny Rapid Goes Bareback.” Watched it while finishing my bottle of Jack. More posting on men’s message board under the name of John Steele. And then a little more.

6:00 pm

John Steele then went for a very long, confusing walk alone.

The Ottawa that I remember is a sincerely, and wonderfully decent place. The average person, somebody who might work modestly within a cautious and secure bureaucracy, was friendly, wholesome and responsible– the kind of person you hoped might live beside you.

There’s a lot of planning in Ottawa. Nothing happens without forethought in the city, and sometimes it feels as if life doesn’t happen in real time, exactly, but in a kind of cushioned, protected time. Parliament, in spite of being perched on a cliff and its jagged Gothic flourishes has always felt about as accessible and threatening as a Keg restaurant. There was just nothing menacing or intimidating about the place. It was like the Block Parent on the street, the home of a kindly couple that never had children and would always protect you when the local bully tried to steal your toque.

You felt safe, even welcomed there, like you might even get fed some Kraft Dinner before heading on your way. In fact, Parliament was so homey that a colony of cats actually lived there for years.

And to watch the city experience something as merciless and bloody-minded as the shootings, something that existed at such a terrifying remove from our comprehension and control, was unbearably sad. The rules by which Ottawa lived, that had come to subconsciously frame my psychological landscape, did not apply. The world that I imagined existing when I grew up likely never really did, and now, from the distance of middle age, I can see it receding quickly.

The eruption of violence, in a city that had always seemed frozen in time and almost magically apart from the real world, was a blunt and pitiless assault on the myths that have sheltered and nourished me over the years. It was like watching somebody whom had always protected me and I loved, getting beaten up and being powerless to intercede. A kind of chaos, emerging from a vast and dark pool, had descended on the ordered and good, and the sadness I felt about watching that was deep and heavy in the bones—the echoing gunfire amidst Gothic arches and limestone columns, a sound not soon to be forgotten.

The girl working the cash was young and seemed excited by her job, exuding a manner that suggested she brought a great rush of enthusiasm and competence to everything she did. Cheery, even encouraging, she practically told me the story of each item I was buying, health and optimism radiating from her like sunlight.

On Dupont, a lovely, young Indian woman in Lycra yoga gear was doing some modest stretches against the steps near a restaurant. It wasn’t accidentally beautiful, there was some intent to her actions, but it was close. However, every time a man walked down the sidewalk she tensed up and became anxious, just waiting for something unpleasant to happen, for some guy to say something that was going to ruin her fragile day.

And as she did some calf stretches, a young woman proudly walked past her. She was swinging her arms and there was a spring in her step. She was feeling good, like a world-beater, and she was wearing a vivid, bright red t-shirt that said, “This is my Jesus year,” animated by her faith, an unknowable courage seemed to be guiding her through the day.

This writing business isn’t working out for me. I type slowly, my grammar is atrocious, I’m getting dimmer and more confused as I age, and of course, there’s no money to be made. The best thing for me, instead of just growing more bitter, unsuccessful and out of touch, is to simply step away from the industry as gracefully as possible and throw my passions into something else.

I’m going to become a doula.

As fate would have it, some good friends of mine are expecting a baby in about six months, and one night over dinner they commented that I have a knack for always making those around me feel really comfortable and at ease and that they hoped they could get a doula that was as good at that as me. Right then and there I volunteered to be their doula and they jumped at the chance.

In preparation for my new role, in which it will be my job to assist Tina before, during, or after childbirth, as well as her partner Raoul, (by providing physical assistance, and emotional support), I have been studying online, reading various pamphlets and sending encouraging emails. What follows are some of the emails I have sent the expectant couple:

Tina:

I just wanted to check in, making sure that you were eating properly and getting all of the required nutrients. Remember, eggs and bone marrow make a great breakfast for mother’s-to-be!

You’re doing great and don’t worry about your new neck fat, the odd’s are in your favour that it’s not thyroid cancer!

Namaste,

Michael Murray, Doula

“IF I CAN DREAM IT, I CAN ACHIEVE IT.”

Tina:

You’re probably feeling pretty low now, but take solace in the fact that you were once beautiful and that many (some) men like big women. And in answer to your question, I have done quite a bit of research and the general consensus is that the pain associated with giving birth is really quite extreme. You’re going to make a great mother!! (Also, no, I do not know what doula means, but I will find out!!)

Namaste,

Michael Murray, Doula

“EVERYTHING HAS BEAUTY, BUT NOT EVERYONE CAN SEE.”

Tina:

STAY AWAY FROM GREEN TEA AT ALL COSTS!!!! IT COULD DAMAGE THE BABY’S DNA AND CREATE MUTATIONS IN THE CHILD!! (Hope it’s not too late!)

Namaste,

Michael Murray, Doula

“TRY TO BE LIKE THE TURTLE—COMFORTABLE IN YOUR OWN SHELL.”

Raoul:

As your family’s doula, it’s not just my job  to tend to the needs of your wife Tina, but to yours, too. I know this is a very stressful time for you, especially with you trying to build a rocking cradle before the baby is born, and you probably have a lot of questions about what your new life is going to be like, whether things in the bedroom with your wife will ever be the same (no) or if you’ll be exhausted all the time (yes). In order to ameliorate these anxieties, I am going to schedule one-on-one therapy sessions each week at The House of Lancaster in Parkdale (There are new, more generous rules on touching). Here, we will discuss matters of new parenting and hopefully take your mind off your worries. (The expense of these field trips will be embedded in my bill to you and Tina every two weeks.)

Namaste,

Michael Murray, Doula

“FALL SEVEN TIMES AND STAND UP EIGHT.”