Tag Archives: men

I am not for equal rights.

There. I said it. Let the grandstanding, mudslinging, name-calling, et cetera, begin.

Specifically, I do not subscribe to this notion that women are equal to men.

Likewise, men are not equal to women.

If I asked any kid who had a basic grasp of mathematical principles what the word “equal” meant, he could probably explain to me something like “If A = B, then B must also equal A.” Or, A is the same as B. If we’re talking quantities, yes, that’s true. If Annie has 2 apples, and Billy has 2 bananas, then they have an equal number of pieces of fruit.

Are apples the same as bananas? They are fruit, but the similarities end there. Apples are roundish, smooth, usually kind of shiny, and they come in red or green. They crunch when you bite into them. Apples are juicy, and they have a core, and seeds. Bananas are yellow, shaped, well, bananas. Like the letter “C” that someone gave up on.  They’re smooth, but they don’t have the same feel as an apple. Bananas are soft and mushy, a preferred food for babies. There are no seeds inside and even their nutritional values are different from an apple’s.

With those in mind, are apples and bananas equal? There is no doubt that they are both valuable foods, and the world would be a darker place without them. They are both good, but no, they are not equal. Equal in value, perhaps, but in this case, A does not equal B.

So it is with men and women. Men and women have different characteristics. We are built for different things. Modern society would have us believe otherwise, but it’s true. Biologically, right down to our very genes, a man is different from a woman. In the labs, they call this “XY” and “XX”. Male chromosomes are labeled “XY”, female “XX”. When conception happens, no matter what, the mother’s ovum is delivering an “X” chromosome. The father’s sperm will deliver either an “X” or a “Y”, and in that way the sex of the baby is determined. Makes it more than slightly ironic, all those kings who blamed their queens for producing daughters, when it was their sperm that actually made the determination, isn’t it? It’s also why there’s no such thing as “transgendered” or a “sex change”. A man can cut off his penis and testicles and take estrogen, or a woman cut off her breasts and have a penis and testicles built and take testosterone, but there is no changing the genes. What one is born with, one will die with.

Look in the mirror, and take a picture of someone of the opposite sex with you. Doesn’t matter who, although one of a sibling may make these differences more pronounced, but it could be a magazine model. Start with the lines of the face. A man’s lines will be stronger, sharper, especially around the jaw. There may be the shadow of facial hair, the 5:00 shadow, or maybe it’s grown out to a mustache, beard, or goatee. Men generally have a stronger chin, a heavier brow. Society usually dictates that a man’s hair is much shorter, cut above the top of the ears. Women’s faces are softer, more gentle. The curve of the cheek is more rounded, the cheekbones, though visible, not as heavy as a man’s. There is often even a different look to the eyes. Nothing specific, just a notable difference. His eyes will say, “I am a man.” Hers will say, “I am a woman.”

It is not surprising then, that little girls are drawn to play house with dollies, and even lacking a realistic toy doll, will make one out of whatever is available. Laura Ingalls Wilder’s first doll, “Susan”, was a corncob. While they do, their brothers are more likely to be out running and roughhousing in the mud with games like “cops and robbers” and “cowboys and indians” or anything involving soldiers. At an early age, girls are more often drawn to music,  arts and crafts. They gravitate toward activities that are engaging mentally as well as physically – ballet, gymnastics, lyrical, jazz, tap, and modern dance. Boys gravitate toward team sports – football, soccer, baseball, lacrosse.

American classrooms have ignored these basic differences in males and females and made education a living hell for boys. They are expected to sit still, be quiet, and pay attention indoors for long periods of time. In other words, they are expected to act like girls. When they fidget, talk, and generally disrupt the class, they are punished. Even at recess, if they get an outdoor recess, they are discouraged from running, jumping climbing, and playing any of the make-believe games I mentioned above. Again, they are prevented from acting like boys. Modern playgrounds, in the name of accessibility and safety, are all but wrapped in lambs’ wool. There are no trees to climb or dirt to play in. There are no mud puddles to explore. We wonder why so many of our boys are “diagnosed” with ADD and ADHD.

I’m not saying little girls don’t like this, too, or that boys don’t like music and dance. Fathers, for the sake of your sons’ future wives, please understand that women find few things more attractive than a man who can tell one note from another and is able to make his way around the dance floor with a basic working knowledge of things like the waltz, Foxtrot, salsa, et cetera. I know highly respected women in the United States Army, Air Force, and Coast Guard who I would definitely choose first for my “Live Through the Zombie Apocalypse” team.

What I am saying is that men and women are different. In a culture that is so wrapped up in diversity, we have forgotten that one, extremely important difference. In the name of “equality”, we have forgotten “compliment”.

Men and women are not equal.

Men and women are two halves of a whole.

A yin and a yang.

The Rhett to her Scarlett.

The Leia to his Han.

 

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The Real War on Women, or Part of It

The Democrat party would have us believing that there is a vast conspiracy by Republican, white men to take women out of public life, put them in a burka-like covering, chain them to the kitchen stove and reduce them to a baby-producing machine.

Hardly.

I will not argue that there isn’t a misogynistic battle that many women are fighting each day though, and it has zero to do with the above. Women are and have been breaking glass ceilings left, right, and center. Truly, how many of you knew that the first self-made female millionaire in this country was black? Not only was she black (and her name was Madame C. J. Walker) but she was the first child in her family born free – 1867, in Louisiana. I’m sure she had to fight for what she earned, and women today owe a lot to women like her. i think it’s safe to say that battle is pretty well won. Women really can be anything they like…

…unless they want to be like the women in the magazines in the grocery store. Or in advertisements at the mall. That’s where one of the real battlegrounds of the “war on women” is fought. Women will starve, pluck, dye, paint, and go under the knife in an attempt to look like Cindy Crawford. Cindy Crawford, who once said that even she wished she looked like Cindy Crawford. That ought hint at something.

There is hope. Never was I more amazed than the day I had the following exchange with my brother. (Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Or innocent. Forget it. I changed the names.) I wrote up the following on Facebook and thought it to be worth sharing here, as well.

Little Brother, I’m going to apologize right now, because I’m probably going to embarrass the hell out of you. But you shouldn’t be. I’m freaking proud of you, baby brother. I don’t know where you learned what you did, but I think it’s important and I’m going to share it.

I almost didn’t, because I know he’s going to blush. Then I thought about it, and thought about it, and decided to share it anyway, because NOT sharing it is the reason women usually feel the way they do. They DON’T hear it. It’s the reason I do, a lot of the time, despite what others tell me. This isn’t the most eloquent or funny thing I’ve ever written, but there’s a whole lot of truth behind it.

We were standing in the kitchen, and he was chugging down either a pre- or post- workout protein shake. I asked him to go to the store with me, and he declined, asking why I even needed to go to the grocery store when I could have that sort of deliciousness instead (my point exactly) as he flexed his biceps. If you have not seen Little Brother lately, his biceps are about as big as my thighs. Somehow, the conversation deviated onto women working out. Little Brother has two jobs, both in very, very male-dominated fields. He relayed the following:

“One of the ladies at work not too long ago asked a bunch of the guys if we thought she was fat. We thought she was out of her mind. She’s curvy. Like, normal curvy. Pretty curvy. Don’t women realize guys like curves? Or rather, guys like women, however the hell you’re shaped and we think you’re sexy? Photoshop is ridiculous.”

I almost fell over.

From the time we’re what, five? we’re told that if we’re not thin enough, if we’re not skinny enough, if our hair isn’t straight enough, if it’s not curly enough, if our thighs touch, if our stomachs aren’t flat enough, if our boobs aren’t big enough, if our boobs are too big, if our eyes aren’t blue enough, if we don’t do this and we do too much of that, then we’re not GOOD enough. We’re not worthy of love. We’re not pretty. No one will want to be with us. Be friends with us. We won’t succeed academically or in the workplace. If we want to be mothers, we fail. If we want to have careers, we fail. If we don’t carry this brand of purse or wear that high of a heel, we fail. If we wear glasses, we fail. We wear contacts, we fail. Spend the day in a tshirt and yoga pants? Fail. Prefer to read scifi over British Lit? Fail. Prefer British Lit over 12th Century Arctic Woman’s Studies? Fail. Like cat videos? Fail. Don’t like cat videos? Fail. Vegan? Fail. Carnivore? Double fail.

My brother, my 24-year old brother, a freakin’ cop who hauls grain and loves zombies and American history and bailed my arse out at the theatre more times than I can count, has seen through all that.

In this particular battlefield, we are our own worst enemies. Maybe it’s time we take a look around and realize that men are not the bad guys, but our allies, and that the ones we know – the ones that count – very well might just like us just the way we are. Warts, unshaved legs, flip-flops, and all.

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