How I Lost My Balls

What does is mean to be a man?

My entire life I have looked outside myself, from Dad to David Deida, to answer that.

When I was boy I was terribly afraid of being seen as a sissy. I became very competitive in sports partly so nobody would question my masculinity, least of all myself.

But underneath was the belief that I was not good enough, especially as a male.

As a pre-teen and teen, I was plagued by the fear that I was gay, or would be seen as being gay.

Lots of shame running the show.

But by the time I was well into my twenties it was all well buried by busyness and worldly success. I made money doing what I loved. I made CD’s. I had girlfriends. I was hot shit.

Then I spent ten years with a woman who wanted me to be more manly. My childlike qualities turned her off. My wardrobe needed a makeover. She was just more attracted to me when I wore I dark, plain, single-colored grown-up clothes.

Fair enough. I understood. I could use some growing up.

I gave away a lot of my fun, colorful clothes and let her be my image consultant. She helped me look more presentable in the eyes of the world. 

But I was using her eyes to see myself with. And thus giving her my balls. And then she broke up with me, and all the fear and shame I had been keeping at bay for years came to the surface.

For three years now I've been purging, getting to the bottom of it, and just recently coming up for air and enjoying a sense of rebirth and renewal.

Part of that rebirth is asking myself, not a woman or society, what I want to wear, and feeling a delicious freedom of choice about it all.

Recently I was strolling in my neighborhood and saw a colorful backpack left on the sidewalk as a give away. It was anything but masculine, and even looked a lot like my daughters backpack. But I liked it. I wanted it.

Inner voices screamed in my head, “Danger! Too childlike! Too feminine! You will be judged.”

“Shut up,” I said, and took that backpack home. I got rid of my plain dark one, and proceeded to have a  party within me, enjoying a surge of masculine energy as I danced with my pink backpack.

It seemed lining up with what turns me on and having solidarity about it within myself is more essential to my manhood than making sure my presentation fits cultural norms or pleases a particular woman.

Two weeks later on another morning stroll, a shirt caught my eye, also a give away. I had no idea if it was a women’s shirt or uni-sex. It seemed very feminine.

But I had to admit it, I liked it. I wanted it. I felt that knot of fear and tension form a knot in my belly as my shoulds began to try to assert themselves over my heart.

Again, I asserted some masculine medicine over my inner critic."Fuck it, this is my life"! I exclaimed, then picked up the shirt and put it on. I walked further, a bounce in my step, but still some hesitation about the shirt.

I was approaching a radiant woman with joy in her eyes, and I asked for a moment of her time. She took off her music headphones and twinkled her consent. She was attractive. I told her I just picked the shirt I was wearing up from a give-away, and had my doubts about whether it looked good on me. She was delighted to reassure me that it was indeed uni-sex,  and added that she thought I looked very good in it. There was a moment of mutual flirtation and attraction. I breathed that in, and we parted ways.

Something inside me let go, and I went from renting to owning my new shirt, along with a new sense of self.

That night I went to a music party with my new shirt and backpack, feeling more relaxed, playful, and masculine than I had ever felt.

I really don’t care anymore what it means to be a man. I do care about being happy. And if that looks or feels childlike or feminine sometimes, so be it.


I don’t know if David Deida would agree or not, nor do I care, but I think I’ve got my balls back.


Scott Grace has been accused of being a cross between Eckhart Tolle, Robin Williams, John Denver, and Dr. Seuss. He is wanted by authorities worldwide for disturbing the status quo, creating the peace, and defying the law of gravity with levity. The Surgeon General has determined that Scott’s songs, poetry, talks and workshops are hazardous to your misery. They have been known to produce out of control feelings of joy  in four out of five laboratory humans tested. The FBI would very much like your help in apprehending Scott. Please try catching him on the web at www.scottsongs.com, or on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/user/skalechstein

Scott has, without the permission of his inner critic, written a book called, Teach Me How To Love: A True Story That Touches Hearts & Helps With The Laundry!  Many have raved about it on Amazon, and rumor has it that Scott garnished his slew of positive reviews by threatening to tickle anyone who didn’t crow about it.

As a speaker, he has been known to give entire keynotes and talks as The Spiritual Dr. Seuss. Four of his Dr. Seuss-ish performances have had a combined 2.5 million hits on YouTube.

As a stand up comedian in the Bay Area, he has opened up for both Dana Carvey and Robin Williams.

A prolific singer/songwriter/recording artist,  he has created nine CD’s and a DVD of his music.

But what he is most at large for is his Song Portraits, custom made personalized songs that honor people on their birthdays, anniversaries, or for no reason at all.