he would suddenly lay into the whole notion of a men’s group with vicious eloquence, although his arguments were contradictory. That’s Robert Bly machismo bullshit, he’d claim, having heard mocking summaries of Iron John around the house, but when his dad said calmly, You’ve got that wrong, this is, as you know, a group of pro-feminist friends, he’d accuse them of being a bunch of emasculated yuppies who thought floating platitudes about fatherhood made them enlightened. You guys probably should go perform improvised masculine rituals in the woods.
