I heard an interesting story from a very gifted story teller, who shall remain anonymous. The topic came up of a curious and increasingly unusual -albeit fascinating- creature. Any observer of the typical male conversation will notice immediately the spontaneous "yups" and other various grunts and sounds of affirmation on a seemingly silent topic. Of course the exception remains with some topics; sports, cars, work, and to a lesser extent religion and politics. But there is a time, a very special and ritualistic like time at that, in which another topic comes up. I always end up in a trance, as if a child mesmerized by a new toy, a sponge to absorb all the information as possible. There are others like me, we sit there fighting the temptation to lay flat on our bellies with our heads on hands in anticipation of the sage like wisdom to come flowing like a river to our ears.

You've probably guessed by now. Women. The word itself, if delivered with the correct tone and body language, will communicate volumes alone to which the only possible response is, "enough said". Although absolutely ignorant on the topic, I do try my best to offer to the conversation. But it is more along the lines of attempting to describe the color blue to a blind man. However, there are men who may never be experts on the topic, have had years of experience first hand with these wonderfully mysterious anomalies. It is these men who seem to dominate these conversations. And it was one of these men who told me this story:

"When I was 15, I really noticed my first woman. It was as if seeing a long term friend who suddenly appeared a stranger to you. I found myself in a world of amazement and wonder yet at the same time had a strong instinct, as if divinely delivered, to tread lightly. In this new world, nothing was as it seemed. And with what seemed like countless hours of frustration and boundless confusion, I sought insight into the matter. So naturally I inquired as to my friends findings, although I was sorely disappointed. It seemed as though everyone considered themselves experts on the matter but what with all the contradictory and perhaps improvised information, I left even more confused then ever. So I broke down. I asked my father. I recall the conversation, 'Dad... tell me about woman...'. It is hard to recall exactly what he was doing, but he instantly stopped cold in his tracks, like time had stopped dead. He looked at me with an expression I have never seen before and will never see again. He lead me to my parents bedroom, and glanced around nervously to insure we were not followed, or being watched. He opened an old shoe box under his bed. And then produced a small book. The book seemed new, fresh from the store even. Though when held it told it's age. The material was a fine leather. It appeared hand crafted, and had been well handled, like an old baseball met. The pages were gold trimmed that shimmered beautifully even in the dull light. On the cover was title, however no author. The title I still have never forgotten. It was as pristinely visible in the same golden fashion as the pages. It read: "All I know about woman and fishing." My soul was awakened, here in my hands was without a doubt the ages of wisdom of many men on the two most improvised topic, and with a twisted mixture of reward and frustration, in the world of men. To master them both, and at such a young age, it would have been like words from God himself... but once again and to a much greater extent than before, I was disappointment when I in my haste opened the book... all my hope of a resolve to these great mysteries, these wretchedly haunting questions that have utterly consumed my every thought. Were all at once ripped from my hands, as it seemed... all the pages were empty."

... to be continued.