SEXIST PIG-DOG

 

My typical cosmic convergence o thought this week, of quantum karma coincidence, involved woman’s liberation.  I was watching a show on Shania Twain who was a phenomenal country-pop star in the late 90’s because she told It like it was.  Nonetheless, she was hounded for her good looks that compounded her talent in the age of visual music videos and showstopping, bare midriff dance numbers at her concerts.  The question was, could she be taken seriously as a musician with such good looks and how do you separate the two.  That was her advantage and that was her challenge.  

Latter that week I joined my wife watching the end of ‘Thelma and Louise’ and I noticed that as the movie went along, the ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ type runaway outlaws became more brazen and got rid of the frilly housewife clothes and bras and chucked their lipstick and cigarettes out the window in favor of natural dirt on heir faces, wind in their hair and guns in their waistbands.  Their liberation was visible, visceral all the way to the end when they refused to go back to the way they were.  The week before we watched “9 o 5” for Dolly and the hyperbolic times of sexist bosses was hammered home in a funny but nostalgic way, even though they resorted to violence towards men in the end to solve it.

I finally came to a realization that the burden of being a woman, even in our modern times, is real and something they have to deal with every day.  Our cultures conscious or unconscious sexist oppression is sometimes quiet but constant and the affects are unrelenting.  I realize it is almost like being black or brown in America or being gay or Trans.   

I was out with a gay friend on the east side of New York one night, to see how the other half lived, and the conversation was all about being gay.  Granted we were in gay bars and gay accessories and appliance stores.  Finally, I told him that I didn’t care who he loved or how he loved them, I didn’t need to talk about it all night.  It was then that he told me that being gay had dominated his life and it was something he had to deal with every day with family, friends, foes and workmates.  It was all consuming.  How could he talk about hockey or holidays when his world was one track.  It’s kind of like people who went to Harvard, who talk about it all the time because it was good, hard, fun and all consuming.  Or being  Christian, Jewish, Muslim, black or brown or a Jet fan; all consuming.  It is who you are.  You have to be something.

At a dinner party the next night I noticed that all the women, when meeting, say something complimentary about each other’s look, outfit, hair or appearance.  They are very supportive.  Guys will only say something if it is derogatory, funny or bluntly true.  We are not very supportive, interesting or funny, for that matter.  That is why I usually speak to the women at parties, they are more interesting and well spoken, they talk about feelings and fantasy’s, desires and direction and they don’t just talk about football, tires or lawn care.  The women also look, smell and listen so much better. 

         I had our all too familiar argument with a family law (divorce attorney) woman friend who insists that everything good is female and everything bad is male.  I stressed that I know hundreds, maybe thousands of men who are good people who try to be kind and take care of their fellow human beings.  The women in my field of engineering are welcomed as a refreshing change in the male dominated occupation and are usually more disciplined and determined and successful.  Perhaps in her line of law, my friend sees the bottom of human emotions and behavior, usually by men.  I insisted that I never feel completive or threatened by women but welcome their engagement and alternative point of view, supplementary skill set and complementary attitudes in our real-world interactions.  

        Well, we went at it and my wife joined in with some across the table finger pointing while the others slunk down in their chairs, smartly refusing to not get involved.  I was on my own.  Once we were finished, we made up, with a hug in the kitchen, like we usually do, and I apologized to the host for ‘ruining your party’ like Forest Gump.  Then there was the ride home in silence with my wife.  I was in the doghouse, I was a sexist pig-dog once again.

I realized I was experiencing reverse sexism where I was being reduced to a negative stereotype that was neither true nor complimentary.  That made me mad.  That made me sad.  That made me defend my sex generally and specifically and resent the person denigrating us.  It made me wonder why she thought that way.  Was it her family, father, friends or culture that she worked in.  How could I change or convince her that it was not accurate, by my words, actions or abilities.  We are all imperfect but that should not be the focus.  We are mostly kind and genuinely care for other people, despite their sex, religion, race, preferences and identity.  I hope.  A least we should try.  I vowed to try a little harder to be a better man, a better person, a better husband, a better friend.  Will you.