The Sexes

Yesterday, my girlfriend and I met in town for a late lunch at the brewery. She is also a blogger, and she blogs mostly about love and her relationships with men and, more importantly, her relationship with herself. She has developed a following through her posts, a few of whom have been men who, in time, have reached out in an attempt to develop a relationship with her. You know, dates and such. She was struck by this fact, as she had assumed that most of her readers would be women, trying to sort out their own relationships and place in the world. Why, she asked, did her writing also appeal to men?

            What’s remarkable about her writing is that she does not fault men for being men, despite the heartache she has endured. She is not a man hater or a violent femme. She does not feel that men need to be “put in their place,” or relegated to the sidelines. Nor does she want to kill the patriarchy to make way for the matriarchy. Instead, she celebrates men and loves men for who they are and where they are. In the end, she says, they are no different than women: they are simply trying to do the best they can with what they have, in the society where they live. Essentially, men and women are working toward the same goal, they just have been equipped with different gear. We do not hate our sons when they are born; why should we hate them when they are grown?

            Of course, this topic has the potential to spill into all kinds of slippery territory about social and moral norms, religious influence and the politics of sex and sexual violence.  There is, without a doubt, terrible stuff that happens out there that, to me, seems unequivocally wrong (female circumcision, condoned rape and the stoning to death of women who have been sexually assaulted because of the ensuing shame it brings her family are all top contenders of absolute wrongness); but for this particular post, I am more interested in thinking about men as I have known them to be born in the society in which I live.

            I have borne two sons and, unless I am mistaken, they will likely grow to be heterosexual men. They will attempt to engage in sexual and loving relationships with women and, like most of us, they will probably make all kinds of rookie mistakes and are likely to fumble their way through awkward interactions and exchanges. I have taught them (and will continue to teach them) that, no matter how strong their lust, they cannot pressure a woman into any kind of sexual encounter – be it verbal, emotional or physical pressure. I have also taught them that women are men’s equal and that men are women’s equal. That both sexes deserve a seat at the table and the chance to enjoy respect and prosperity in equal measure. That the earth is no more here for man’s taking than it is for woman’s; instead, people – men and women alike – should act as stewards of the earth and of one another, regardless of what does, or does not, dangle between their legs.

            In my mind, it really ought to be that simple: whether or not you identify as he, she, we or they is completely irrelevant when it comes to how you treat others. All people, regardless of their sex or sexual identity, deserve respect and opportunity in equal measure. We all have hearts and brains, skin and bones. We all have egos and souls. We all want and need to be included. We all crave love and acceptance and belonging. This is why we love our sons when they are born just as purely as we love our daughters – because they are innocent, sentient beings. We do not love them strictly because they are male or female, we love them because they have souls and we love them because they are ours to love.

            So, I applaud my friend for her blameless writing when it comes to examining the typical American relationship between men and women and husbands and wives. And I think her assumption is correct – she has garnered a male audience because she treats men’s foibles with the same even and rational measure as she does women’s. We all make mistakes in how we relate to our partners. Some of those mistakes are born from hard wiring that comes with being a product of our own society, while some of those mistakes are simply our own. Regardless of their germination, to err is to be human and she sees that, just like you and me, the men in her relationships have been human first, and male second.

            I hope that my own writing is equally blameless when it comes to male stereotyping. More importantly, I hope that my own thinking is as blameless as it can be and that, as I walk through my life, I will remember to see people as beings first, and gender-specific second. It’s a challenging missive since our brains, without our consent, automatically categorize input as quickly as possible in an effort to ward off chaos: we identify a chair as a chair, a banana as a banana and a man as a man. But we could also remember that a chair is wood that used to be a tree, a banana is fruit that was once a seed and a man is human that once was stardust. If I can widen my lens whenever I meet a new person – be they male or female – and see them for something more than just their parts, more than just their automatic classification, then perhaps my compassion will bloom. And, in love, compassion seems to be the name of the game.