One of the deficits we experience is a lack of reliable and helpful rites of passage. People can't really tell when they have grown up or aged to a given point, and there is little by way of a circle of support or encouragement available to most of us in times of life transition. I am generally kind of bitter and disgruntled about this...I think these and other gaps in cultural function are behind much of the psychological malaise we are so apt to over-medicate.
I have just such a life transition coming up, and in thinking ahead to it I was having some trouble moving forward. My intuition pointed to a need for some community affirmation and support; I knew there was not a ready-made process for it, but I could feel the need.
But in a way the culture is less to blame for this time. I can't imagine any longstanding traditional culture having crafted a rite of passage for voluntary sterilization, A.K.A vasectomy.
That's right, dear reader, I am scheduled for the ol' snippy-snip! Big move, but it is time. We are both quite clear that our last child is our last child. No trouble with that decision. But we were having a dickens of a time deciding which method to pursue. More specifically, I was having a dickens of a time swallowing the notion of a vasectomy for myself. But it took some plumbing of the depths to figure out why. The procedure itself? Fearsome in its way, but in the end no big deal. The risks? Pretty tame for the vast majority. The benefits? Real and clear. Sooo...duh, right?
Wrong, apparently. It took a while to realize that it was a grief process and a life transition for myself that I was contending with. Maybe I'm the only one (so far I haven't encountered anyone else), but I feel kind of sentimental about my intact reproductive system. All I have to do is look at these three wonderful beings (our kids) that live and grow here with us to get all internally weepy about it at any moment. To me the fertility process is a source of wonderment and meaning. One of the great privileges of my life has been to choose procreation: to take the trove of traits stored in my gonads and mix them with my partner's own set to bring the wealth of our human genetic history forward into the next generation. Is that not enough to astound the mind? Your average mink or heron does this without probably much awareness of the implications..can procreation for them even be thought of as a choice? But I am a human, so I did choose it, with all the awareness and appreciation I could muster, and I am very grateful.
The other side of that coin is that humans can also imagine the implications of procreation when wisdom would suggest holding off, and so are faced with a different kind of choice. The animal in me recoils at the thought of purposely altering my body, permanently, so as to prevent any further pregnancies. What self-respecting life form would ever make such a choice? Even for humans, this notion is relatively new. Prevention of pregnancy through various means is not new...many traditional cultures had ways of establishing spacing and procreation patterns that helped them craft a way of life commensurate with their setting. But destroying one's fertility? That's another matter.
Bit of a dilemma. Logically, the choice was clear. Emotionally, it daunted me. I decided I needed some help convincing myself that the time was really upon me. I didn't want to go into the procedure unready. I needed a ritual. I told Janelle in one of our conversations on the topic that what I felt like I wanted was to be able to go the village elders and tell them I thought I was ready to be sterilized, and for them to say, "Oh, what makes you think so?" Then, having thoroughly questioned me and heard my justification, they would say, "Well, maybe you're right, I suppose it is time. We'll notify the medicine woman and the musicians, and you tell your family to prepare their blessing. We'll bring the special costume and ceremonial mask to the meeting hut the first day of next week. Everyone else will gather for the ceremony and feast at sundown, but you show up an hour earlier for a cleansing bath."
Barring that, we threw a little party. I sent out an email invite to a few selected-for-the-purpose male friends with "Vasectomy Party" in the subject line. With characteristic wit my friend Tim replied-to-all, "Another great party concept by Jason Myers-Benner." This called to mind images of a Tupperware-like gathering where deep discounts on quality vasectomies would be available to party-goers, with a urologist on premises and all normal waiting periods waived. I reassured the fellows that there would be no sales pressure.What we did have in mind was a simple discussion/support circle, some snacks, and a little ping-pong, time permitting. I came up with a bit of subject matter that suited my needs as best I could discern them, and waited for the RSVPs. To my surprise, this was one of the more popular gatherings I have called. I think we ended up with over a 75 percent affirmative response rate among locals. My interpretation of it was that other guys were eager for a chance to talk about the subject.
The gathering itself and the nature of the discussion corroborated the hunch. Simply put, it was great. Just what I needed, or as close as it was going to get. Guys shared their experience of and wisdom around vasectomy, others their own misgivings or ignorance...a good time was had by all. The snacks, provided by Janelle with some loosely themed on symbolism and visual form related to male genitalia, were gratefully consumed, and the ping-pong session hit the spot. In the end, maybe just scheduling something and getting people to show up met the biggest part of the need, and I was lucky enough that it was a meaningful and affirming time, to boot!So, DIY ritual? Sort of. And it seems to have worked. I am looking towards the vasectomy date with a calm confidence as my dominant mode.
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