Fine lines

Ebony, May, 1995 by Laura B. Randolph

The most compelling question of my adolescence was, "Is he cute?" When calculating a guy's desirability quotient, my girlfriends and I agreed: Appearance was the crucial consideration.

Smart, sweet and sincere were all nice qualities. Nice, but not terribly important and certainly not critical. The fact is, on the he's-gotta-have-it list, nothing came close to looks. If the truth be known, when I was in high school, how my girlfriends and I answered the cute question very often (okay, always) determined his desirability and our availability.

Admittedly, this was, as my mother would say, "shallow in the extreme." We're talking real shallow. Kiddie pool. Puddle on the sidewalk. But it actually sounds a lot harsher than it really is. That's because passing the "cute test"--being "fine" in the eyes of a teenage girl when I was one--wasn't exactly difficult. It still isn't, or so I'm told by all the mothers I know with teenage daughters.

As I recall, a teenage boy was routinely granted cute status if he: a) was reasonably attractive and, b) wasn't unreasonably uncool (think Steve Urkel). And, if by some incredibly lucky twist of fate, he was cool, reasonably attractive and could drive and dance, he was automatically elevated to the highest, most exalted level of cute: fine.

It was during a recent bridal shower, as I stood in the middle of a room full of thirtysomething Black women dispensing wedding night gifts and wedded life advice, that I realized how much a woman's idea of what makes a man desirable changes with age.

There is an old adage that says: men love the women they are attracted to; women are attracted to the men they love. After a lot of consideration and a lot of conversations, I have decided that, yes, there is a fundamental truth in this maxim.

The oldest Sister at the shower--a woman who has been happily married to the same man for 26 years--was cheered by every woman in the room when she remarked: "After your 20s, cute doesn't get it anymore. After your 20s, what makes a man worth wanting, having and keeping has nothing to do with the physical; it's something so much larger, something so much greater and deeper than anything visual."

Now that I am on the other side of 30, I know exactly what she means. In my 20s, I wanted a man who was easy to look at. I still do. But the difference between then and now is this: More than anything else, I want a man who is easy to love. In other words, I want the kind of man who, in the parlance of Black women--sister-speak--is known as a G.B. A good brother.

A good brother...

* is substance not flash.

* is there for the long haul, not just the moment.

* is passionate about his work and his woman and never neglects one for the other.

* is too proud to beg.

* isn't too proud to cry.

* is self-assured without being self-absorbed.

* can talk the talk and walk the walk.

* can bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan.

* can keep a promise, a secret and a job.

* can tell the difference between a rhinestone and a diamond--in jewelry and people.

* treats women as equals.

* knows how to make conversation as well as love.

* takes care of his children by choice, not force.

* takes smart chances but avoids stupid risks.

* will compromise his viewpoint but not his values.

* never says yes when he should say no, never says no when he should say yes and has the wisdom to know the difference.

It takes a more experienced, more perceptive eye than the eye of a 16-year-old girl to tell the difference between Mr. Right and Mr. Right Now. There is often a fine line between The Good Brother and The Good-For-Nothing Brother, as any sister who has ever mistaken one for the other can tell you.

When you're a teenager, that fine line is the shortest distance between two points--you and the cutest boy in the class. But, as you celebrate the first, second, third, fourth or fifth anniversary of your 30th birthday, you come to see that fine line for what it is: A tightrope. A razor thin demarcation between happily-ever-after and never more.

The former destination, of course, is never guaranteed. Never. Not even when the person you've chosen to walk the tightrope with you is a Good Brother. But, with him, at least you can be sure you're making the journey with someone who will help you keep your balance, someone who will be there to catch you if the rope starts to sway or you start to fall--someone who wants to see you bloom, not bleed.

And if he isn't as fine as Denzel, well, that's just fine.