Here's my column for the Valentine's Day package at Beliefnet. Last time I
included some comments about the writing process, and a number of you kindly
wrote in to say you found it interesting to read about. I'll add some similar
comments at the end, after the column, for those who are interested in that
kind of thing.
******
FREDERICA MATHEWES-GREEN
Ancient Faith, Modern Life
Flowers for the Fellas
On Valentine's Day, the guys usually get stiffed. Maybe it's time the women
gave men more appreciation -- and some apologies.
It took me about 200 miles to admit that I was wrong. A few hours back up
the road I had been slamming around the house, irritated that I was late
leaving on a solo car trip, disorganized, frustrated, and my complaints were
gradually enlarging to include anything I could think of regarding my poor
husband. I didn't know why it was all his fault, but if you gave me a minute
I'd come up with something.
Of course, the most glaring crime was that he didn't understand me. Of
course, the most salient reason was that I wasn't making sense.
A few hundred miles down the road I was feeling, not just personal guilt, but
a kind of corporate guilt. It’s not just me; a lot of the women I know have
this same genius for being unreasonable. In my opinion, you guys deserve some
thanks for putting up with us, and some apologies, too.
It took me a few decades to come to that conclusion. Back in my college days,
I fiercely held a self-refuting double conviction: first, men and women are
exactly the same; second, men are jerks and women are perfect. Over the
years, married to a guy, raising sons, I learned a few things that modified
that opinion. I learned from raising a daughter, too, and facing things in
that genetic mirror I had comfortably ignored in my own. Here, then, is a
long-overdue valentine, some flowers for the fellas.
First, I'm sorry that we get unreasonable like this when we’re upset. Your
hunch that you can't win in these situations is entirely accurate. It's good
of you to stick with us anyway. I don't think I'd go on making lunch dates
with a girl friend who acted that way.
I appreciate that you think you should protect me. That even if you're a
total stranger, if someone menaced me chances are you’d automatically come to
my aid. Even if it risked your life to do so. I wouldn't do that for you. If
you think about it, that's an extraordinary gift for one gender to give
another. Just saying "Thanks" doesn't seem enough.
I appreciate that most of the names on the war memorials are male. Even if
the armies of the future are as gender-balanced as Noah’s ark, that remains a
significant facet of history. For centuries men presumed it was their job to
die for women; they presumed, in other words, that women’s lives were more
precious than their own. Take another look at “Saving Private Ryan”: all
those extraordinary feats of courage, but not to save Private Ryan’s life; he
was as expendable as any other private. The real purpose of the mission was
his mother. To men of that time it was obvious that no effort would be too
great to spare a mother such terrible grief. For such gallantry I thank you,
my grandmother thanks you, and my great-great-great grandmother thanks you.
I appreciate all the little courtesies that put ladies first. I know that 25
years ago I said I'd punch any guy who tried to open a door for me. I was
wrong. You meant it in kindness, and I was rude not to take it that way.
I think of what life is like in cultures where women are treated as chattel,
denied property rights and freedom, where wife beating is condoned and even
expected. Little chivalries and courtesies train men young to treat women
gently, and when women mock them we set fire to an insurance policy written
strongly in our interest.
I'm sorry for all the harsh jokes about men. A contest in my local paper
invited war-of-the-sexes witticisms, and as I read them over I realized that
the ones aimed at women were all along the lines of “She sure likes
chocolate!” while the ones about men could be summarized, “He’s a big
boorish idiot!” You might notice a difference there, and once you start
noticing it, you see it everywhere. In general, anti-male humor has a bitter,
hostile edge lacking in even the dumbest dumb-blonde jokes. Yet guys repeat
this banter as much as anyone else; in general, they can roll with
self-deprecation a lot better than women can. I think they’re very good
sports.
Along the same lines, do you notice how many TV ads and sitcoms have this
plotline: stupid guy gets his comeuppance from a tough woman? Does anyone
ever see any plot that’s the reverse? Not on my TV. Again, guys are good
sports, good at laughing at themselves, but I think there’s a more serious
cost to all this hilarity. When all we see are dumb daddies, bad daddies, and
absent daddies, there isn’t much for a little boy to aspire to. Movie heroes
still follow the James Bond convention of carefree, commitment-free
womanizing; brave, steadfast family men are few. Yet despite the lack of
appreciation many, many men get up and go to work, then come home to their
families, every day. We would be wise to celebrate it. This invisible heroism
is the backbone of healthy community.
A while ago I was having some of these thoughts while driving my two sons to
school. They're different from each other–one is intense, the other
tranquil–but even in boyhood showed some of the classic traits of manliness:
strength, patience, gentleness. It was their simple straightforwardness,
though, that appeared increasingly sterling to me as my daughter launched
into teen years that uncomfortably resembled my own. As I drove, I was
feeling guilty that some day they were bound to fall into the hands of women
as unreasonable as we were. How does any guy prepare for that bewildering
experience?
"Why is it that guys like girls, anyway?" I asked. "You know, when you grow
up you’re not going to get lots of candy and flowers from girls who hope
you’ll like them. When you get engaged, that diamond ring usually goes just
one way. Your wife isn’t going to assume it’s her job to go downstairs and
investigate when there’s a noise in the middle of the night. Most people
presume that a woman should have the choice of staying home with the kids or
going to work, but not a lot think the guy should.
"What's more, girls are just complicated. Sometimes they get upset and say
things they don't even mean, and then get mad at you for not understanding
them. Believe me, I know. So why do guys keep liking them?”
The voice of the younger one came piping from the back seat. "Mom!" he
exclaimed. "It's ‘cause they're babes!"
It’s a good thing, too--I guess. But is that really all guys ask, when they
give so much, and we can make things so tough for them? Hmmmm. Guess it’s a
good thing they’re idiots.
***************
It probably won't come as a huge surprise that this column stirred up some
controversy at Beliefnet. Now, most of the time my columns get published
pretty much as is, with just minor polish-editing. But the published version
above is very different from the original I turned in; though the structure
is the same, nearly every paragraph needed significant rethinking and
re-expression.
What had happened was that I had been thinking these thoughts for ten years
or more, and in mental repetition they had taken on familiar, pat phrasing in
my mind. What's more, I had come to think of these points as just about
obvious--that anyone who read them could do nothing but agree (though perhaps
grudgingly). A good thing happened, however, which is that some of the
Beliefnet staffers took strong exception to some of my points and challenged
them forcefully. My editor (generally sympathetic to me) passed these
comments along, and I saw that I just had not expressed myself as well as I
should have. I had gotten lazy on the topic and these notions had become
almost routine. The complaints were good and specific, and I was able to go
through step by step and strengthen my argument, by using examples, by
clarifying that I meant this and not that, and so forth. I think the result
is a much better column, and one that I hope is more convincing, too.
Writers typically bridle at editing, but I find it nearly always helpful. I
know that my own assessment of my writing is likely to be skewed, as it was
with the original of this column which, in retrospect, seems lazy. The editor
is like your best friend that tells you your slip is showing. The editor is
your ideal reader, someone who is intelligent, reads closely, is interested
in your point, and wants you to succeed in making it. In a coin toss, I'll
give my editor's opinion an edge over my own. This is usually rewarded. Not
that I haven't had some harrowing experiences here and there, and had to
rescue pieces that were being mutated beyond recognition. (The paranoiod idea
that the editor is trying to *suppress* your opinion is almost never true.
You wouldn't have gotten the assignment if that were so.) Occasionally there
are editors that I learn just to stay away from. But in general I believe in
the goodwill of editors, and am grateful for their skill.
As to the writing process--yep, it's a true story. I had to make a 12-hour
car trip alone a month ago and was leaving at 5 pm instead of noon, and just
getting generally crazy. Halfway through North Carolina I started to rethink
things, and over the next few hours reluctantly saw how dumb I'd been. The
next morning I scribbled notes on a legal pad as I drove; because I was
pulling old material out of my mental warehouse, just a few words here and
there was enough of a cue. It only took me an hour or so to write the first
version. Initially the tone was uneven--at some points it was cute-funny and
at some points very serious. That needed ironing to straighten out. The
rewrite went quickly too, thanks to good specific criticism.
A couple of times I've been able to say some of these things in speeches and
I'm always struck by how touched men seem to be; they so seldom get this kind
of affirmation. Well, you deserve it, guys, and I hope you all get the
flowers and candy you deserve on Valentines' day.
*******************************
Frederica Mathewes-Green
www.frederica.com
