Masculinity, mentorship, and why our boys need men who show up.
I went into Seven Days in June expecting a love story. And sure, it’s that. But what stuck with me—maybe even more than the romance—was the theme of mentorship. Especially men mentoring boys. It’s subtle, tucked between steamy chapters and hilarious banter, but it’s there. And it matters.
Shane, the main male character, gives a lot of his time (and heart) to helping young boys like Ty. It’s not a storyline that shouts. It’s not loud or performative. But it’s powerful. Because what Shane offers those boys? Time. Stability. Attention. The kind of presence that says I see you. The kind of presence that can shift a life.
And lately, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Mentorship Fills More Than One Gap
At first glance, it seems like Shane is helping the kids. He is. But as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that mentorship is also healing him. It gives him purpose. It softens him. It pulls him out of his own pain and lets him show up for someone else—someone who reminds him a little too much of himself.
It made me wonder:
When we mentor others, do we also mentor the parts of ourselves that were once lost, too?
Because that’s how it felt reading Shane. Like his emotional investment in these boys, especially Ty, wasn’t just selfless—it was soul-saving.
What Does Mentorship Actually Look Like?
Sometimes, we picture mentorship as a grand, life-changing intervention. But in Shane’s case, it was simple things. Talking about random stuff—like Roblox. Even when he had no idea what the game was about, he showed interest. Not in the game, but in the connection.
There’s this great quote in the book:
“Shane couldn’t care less about Roblox. He just cared that Ty was talking.”
That’s mentorship. Not performance. Not ego. Just presence. Shane never tried to control the boys. He never used harsh language. Even when he was upset, he filtered himself. He talked to kids about what mattered to them. He gave space. And when he said no, it meant no—kind but firm.
He met these kids where they were. Learned their language. Read between their silences. That’s what real mentorship looks like: respecting their world and earning a place inside it.
But What Happens When Things Fall Apart?
Without giving anything away—there’s a turning point in the novel that leaves Shane shattered. He stops mentoring. Pulls away. It’s heartbreaking but understandable.
Because here’s the truth: when you care deeply, you also hurt deeply.
It raises a difficult question:
Should we stop showing up just because the outcome wasn’t what we hoped for?
The answer, I think, is no. Mentorship is not about control. We can offer support, guidance, love—but we can’t dictate someone’s choices. That’s not failure. That’s life.
We need to give ourselves permission to show up without carrying the outcome on our backs.
Where’s the Line Between Mentor and… Something More?
Ty, like many kids, didn’t just see Shane as a mentor. He saw him as something more. A father figure. A savior. A man who could fill a void. And with that came expectations—huge ones.
Shane became his emergency contact, his safe place, his everything. That’s a beautiful burden, but a burden nonetheless.
Where’s the line?
Where is the line between mentorship and self-sacrifice?
How involved is too involved? And is that even the right question?
Because isn’t that what mentorship is supposed to be? Not casual. Not transactional. But invested.
Still, Shane’s own life suffered. No social life. No space to just be. So another important reminder:
You can show up for others, but you need to show up for yourself too.
Masculinity Is Not the Opposite of Softness
There’s a line I almost wrote and deleted:
“Boys need masculine energy that nurtures rather than dominates.”
But I stopped because I didn’t want that to be misunderstood as “feminine energy.” It’s not. What I mean is: masculinity itself can be nurturing. Strong. Present. Steady.
The problem isn’t masculinity—it’s the distorted version we’re often taught.
And isn’t it telling that mentorship begins with men?
Because let’s be honest:
We need men in mentorship. Not just in name, but in action.
Boys need to see men who show care without control, who lead with consistency, and who teach that real strength isn’t about domination—it’s about self-mastery and accountability.
I’m reminded of a podcast episode I recently listened to: The Diary of a CEO featuring two guests discussing The Report of the Lost Boys. One of them said something like, “Boys don’t need more criticism. They need more presence.” Another talked about how he mentors teenage boys—guiding them, helping them set standards, own their emotions, and take control of their lives.
That’s what masculinity can be:
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Decisive
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Disciplined
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Emotionally aware
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In control of finances, body, and mind
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A protector, not a punisher
That’s what Shane modeled in his own quiet way. He wasn’t soft because he was weak. He was soft because he was strong.
If you’re curious, here’s the episode I’m referring to: The Diary of a CEO – The Lost Boys
Real Talk: Men Who Mentor Are… Kind of Hot?
I don’t know about you, but to me?
Men who mentor boys are kind of hot.
The emotional availability?
The consistency?
The “I’ll drop everything to listen to this kid talk about his day” energy?
Yeah. That’s attractive.
Show up for boys.
Model strength, softness, discipline, and presence.
Because boys are watching. And the world needs more men they can safely look up to.
Want to keep the conversation going?
→ Have you ever had a mentor?
→ Do you think boys today have enough positive male role models?
→ Should we be doing more to support men who mentor?
Let me know what you think in the comments.