Liking Women

I’ve been looking at some photos in the ol’ computer photo files and I came across one that sparked a marvelous flood of memories… not just of the time spent with good company, but also the memory of the “the look”.

The first time I got the look was about two-and-a-half years ago. I was spending the day with the Scotts* at the biopark — a combination of the botanical garden, aquarium, and zoo. So, there we were walking through the parks: three women, two teenagers, two little ones, and me. Among us, only one had a Y chromosome…and that I kept in my pocket for safe keeping.

Anyway, at one point we passed a guy with a woman and three girls, and he gave me a look that said, “Whoa, I have it bad, but look at you. My hat’s off.”

Not so much pity, but a tacit expression of brotherhood meant to be shared among the long-beleaguered and outnumbered. I knew it was well-intentioned, but the attempt at bonding missed its mark. Obviously he thought Mary was my wife and the younger femmes a result of our pairing. To long readers of my postings, it’s clear that those thoughts would be inaccurate. But even more, the expression itself was misguided for much the same reason that most men seem to have problems with the distaff half of our species.

Heterosexual men share a common bond: we love women. That’s sort of built into the system. But there’s this additional thing that further splits this group of man in two. A minority, some would say a small minority, do more than love the women in our lives, we actually like them.

I first truly realized that I liked women back in high school when a passel of fellow male tennis team members were loaded into a car and we were off to a meet. On the way we passed a very attractive young woman who was walking on the sidewalk. Every one of the other guys in the car whooped it up, ogled, and generally carried on in much the way you would expect of car load of teenage boys to carry on. Me, I was pretty much embarrassed by the display. It was making the woman one thing, a sexual desire, instead of showing any kind of respect you would think you would extend to any random human being.

Looking back, it was clear that I had been raised in an atmosphere that looked askance at this sort of silliness. Perhaps it was being raised in a mixed household — my mom being of Spanish (what is now commonly thought of as Hispanic) stock, while my dad is more mid-western Central European. There was a lot of opportunity for conflict about the differences, but both sides embraced the other. One thing was clear though, it was the matriarchs on both sides that ruled. No one, not man or beast, crossed either one of my grandmas.

Growing up, I thought nothing was wrong when girls joined in the play…though there were a few boys, here and there, that did. It wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that I realized that I’d always liked having the company of women not because of something prurient (well, not usually…I’m only human), but because I’ve simply liked the gender.

When I’m in stores, I think it speaks so well of certain men that when they buy some tampons or pads they don’t look like it’s a court-mandated sentence. Instead of looking like people might think they are whipped or that the products might be for their own personal use, they instead look like men who are happy and proud that they have women in their lives…instead of being the scurvy wannabes throwing them condescending glances (or worse…laughing outright). To those mockers: guys, grow up.

Unfortunately, there is also another segment of men who not only don’t like women, they will actually abuse them. I’ve seen that over and over again within my extended family. Even when the abuse isn’t physical, it is clear that a large segment of the male gender really loathes women. This cycle of pain is one of the hardest things for me to understand about our species.

There’s a somewhat less odious group of men I see a fair amount of. These are the sorts that just want to have man-children that they can teach sports to, and cars, and tools, and ahrrrr ahrrrr ahrrrr. The universe, having a sense of humor, seems to delight in giving these men only girl children. Oh, how wondrous it would be if they saw the light, but all too often the men wallow in their bad luck. As a result, they aren’t enthusiastic fathers. What an opportunity they miss to understand and learn to like half of our species.

The flip side are those fathers who have been a welcome surprise to me. You didn’t see it too much in public before the WNBA, but the league has offered a venue for fathers to take their daughters out and actually have a good time instead of looking like spending time with their girl-children is the parenting equivalent to buying a box of tampons. You look around WNBA crowds and you see men, surrounded by females of all ages, who obviously LIKE the company they are keeping.

We are lucky men, indeed.