Every year for more than a decade I've gone with some good male friends to the music festival. Women are not invited, but they do prepare a picnic for our trip. The better the food, the more likely we are to continue our annual tradition and give them peace at least one week out of the year.

　　When we're not eating, we sit around in circles and talk about manly stuff: women, mostly. After years of this special journey I have figured out women are different from us, especially when it comes to how we communicate. Women don't need to manufacture reasons to chat, but guys need excuses like outings or organized events.

　　And I've noticed that when women are in groups there can be several conversations going on at once. When men are in a group, one man talks, and everybody else listens. It's like bluegrass jamming in a way; one musician plays the lead, and the rest try to follow.

　　I've had more heartfelt conversations with other men at the festival than I've had at any other time in my life, partly because there are no women there, and partly because we're all a little drunk. It was males bonding over whatever parts we still had left. The festival is also the only place I've ever cried in front of other men.

　　As the years have slipped by, some in our group have lost parents and grandparents, some have divorced, and others have changed careers, not always on purpose. It seems that every year something distressing has happened to at least one member of our crew, and the rest of us are there to listen and offer support.

　　I hope that this column can offer some comfort to women: if your man heads out on a bowling or poker night with the guys, be happy. Chances are good he's not fleeing you and the kids, but he's running toward the conversations he can only have with other men, and he'll come home the better for it.