Author's Note: I am
not eligible
to win this contest--just entered it for fun. I do hope you enjoy this entry and I welcome feedback. -SK
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I love men. I love the way they move—their straight, tall spines and the way their eyes check out the perimeters of any new room they enter. I love the way they will protect anything smaller and more vulnerable than themselves. I love how generous and kind they are at heart. I love their focus and direction, how they can spend hours figuring out how it all works, endlessly fascinated. And yes, I love that they can lift the heavy stuff, start lawn mowers, open jars, and kill spiders.
I have grown up in a culture that doesn't give up the love to men very much. From bumbling dads like Bill Cosby who feed kids chocolate cake for breakfast to the comical but idiotic-like Homer Simpson or Everybody Loves Raymond, the images of men in our culture have served to show them as silly and superfluous.
My daughter, now fifteen, has an even less clear definition of the masculine to go on. She is entering a world of dating where men are "metrosexual" or "ubersexual"—perfectly coiffed, buff, hairless men who can go head-to-head with her in deciding on wedding favors and colors for the curtains. It makes my head spin.
To me, one of the best things about men is how different they are from women. It is, admittedly, one of the most frustrating things about them, too. I can understand the world's constant pressure to create a gender neutral ground where we can all communicate in the same language, instead of trying to speak two versions of alien to each other. On the other hand, if you take all the masculine out of the masculine and all the feminine out of the feminine, you no longer have anything to attract the other. Neutral things have no charge, no spark.
As a woman, I love and revel in the differences between the sexes, physical and otherwise. I know too many women, though, who hate men. I don't even know if they know they hate men, but the way they talk about men—their husbands, brothers, fathers—is so demeaning and castrating that it makes me cringe to hear it. I know, because I used to talk about and think about men this way, too, at a certain point in my life.
In my marriages, one failed, and one a work in progress, I have discovered a few things about really appreciating the men in my life. I learned it by trial-and-error and by making a lot of mistakes. I'm still by no means perfect—I often lapse in my appreciation of the opposite sex—but I always come back to it now, and remember how much I really do love men. They are amazing, and so deserving of feminine recognition.
And the secret is—are you ready for this?—they live for it. In fact, if a man isn't being appreciated by the feminine, eventually, he just disappears. Sometimes, he literally leaves, and sometimes he just checks out of the relationship somehow. He craves appreciation, acknowledgment and respect. Now, let me be clear. I'm not talking about approval. That sets up a power dynamic, more like a mommy approving (or disapproving) of a son. That's not what he wants.
I'm talking about appreciation, an open expression of heartfelt gratitude. It's so simple. He carries in the groceries. You say thank you. He fixes the dishwasher. You listen to all the ins and outs of his trial and error method, ooo-ing and ahh-ing in all the right places, and in the end, you kiss him and thank him for your amazing new working convenient and time-saving appliance.
It sounds contrived, but I'm not saying you should do it in an insincere way. In fact, he'll know if you're not really appreciative. And frankly, aren't you truly glad that he's strong enough to carry in the groceries? Aren't you glad you don't have to wash dishes by hand? And beyond that, aren't you grateful that he's willing to do something so generous for you?