Women: A Man’s Journey

I still remember the moment I was standing with some friends, I must have been about 13, listening to them talk about women in a deeply sexual way and deciding that in order to fit in, I would do the same.

I hated it.

When I was seven, my sister was born. I was both thrilled and pissed. My mom gave me a few choices of names, and I chose Marissa. No longer the center of attention, but I was so happy to give it up to this little ball of tears and snot. I watched her closely and cared deeply about everything she did.

“She is yours to protect,” people would tell me. “Never let boys be mean.”

I was the first person to see her roll over. It was amazing. This little human doing something I had done a billion times, but I was the first to ever see her do it. My sister rolled over on her own.

About a week later, I saw my first boob. I was eight. I had no idea why it was important that I saw a boob, but “it was the first of many, if you play women right.” I was told.

Then my sister Natalia was born. I was as smitten the moment she looked at me. I knew, that along with Marissa, I had a new job. Keeping them safe and happy. And that solidified the moment Natalia smiled at me, even if my mom said it was only gas.

At ten I was running around school playing some stupid game. As I slid into the safe hill, I popped up to see a girl, and 8th grade girl, standing in front of me. “Want to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance?” she asked.

My first thought was to my friends. What would they think? I am so confused by women at this point — ok, still — I didn’t know what to say.

“No way!” came out of my mouth, and I ran away with the words “It’s ok, he is just a stupid boy,” ringing out in my ears.

The next few years were a blur of watching TV and movies, finding my first Playboy hidden in the automotive section of the local CVS, and seeing my friends start to find women attractive and date.

And then that day.

“Look at Susan, I would fuck her so hard!”

“Yeah, Jenny sucked my dick like it was candy.”

Those words…those words made me uncomfortable. But, to be included, I joined in, often easily finding the lies that made my friends smile and laugh.

I’ve never understood the fascination that men have with sex. It not like it can’t be an enjoyable experience, but it just seems that are so many other ways to derive pleasure from life that making it a focus, causes one to miss out on so much. Maybe its the logic in my brain, or the difficulty I have in truly connecting with most people, but it just seems…well, weird.

Not being so deeply focused on having sex has caused me to question my sexuality. Am I not obsessed with sex because I am gay? I know that I am not, but if I am not a “man’s man,” then what is the alternative? Certainly I have been called gay many times for not objectifying women.

My sisters are both mothers now (well Natalia soon to be), and I think about my two nephews, Matan and Raphael, and how they are going deal with the world. They have a strong family around them, but so did I. Will they be presented with the same option one day? To fit in they had to do wrong? What about Natalia’s child. If it’s a girl, how am I going to feel about men saying things about her as I once did?

Here is the thing. What made Trump’s comments bad was not the glorification of sexual abuse (although that was pretty bad), is that he didn’t understand *why* it was so bad.

It is clear that from the stories that have come out and the interviews on Howard Stern clearly show someone who has always believed women exist as objects, not people. That he was acting appropriately, because that’s how he has always done…and no one, including the women in his life and those that he treated so badly, has told him it was wrong.

Many men expect their brethren to glorify and objectify women. It’s what “real men” do. While it is easy to say that is no longer true, the actuality is that is still is perpetrated as “boys will be boys.” We can hope it changes and many of us have grown up to realize that is wrong.

Thank god the father’s among us do a great job of teaching their boys to do right. I don’t envy the teaching of understanding of what is right and where the line because the nuances are often difficult to explain. “So, you want me to tell you that you look nice in that dress, but I have to say it in the right way at the right time?”

I honestly worry every time I compliment a woman on her looks or fashion that I am offending. So I don’t. But I love how things look on people. And yes, I worry when I tell a man the same that it’ll be seen as inappropriate.

Being friends with women is even more difficult. It’s easy to say that it’s easy to just be friends, but it’s not for me. I worry constantly. Even worse are wives and girlfriends. I feel I need permission, or at least an ok. Because I just don’t want anyone to feel weird.

Every single one of us, male or female, at some point in their life had to choose between doing right, or fitting in with the crowd.

I chose wrong. I knew it then, and I know it now. It’s incredibly difficult to know that part of you is (was?) a monster, even if you recognize the feeling.

I am not the only one who ever was faced with that choice, and it is paramount for all of us to show compassion in righting thinking and actions. My hope is that my generation was the last one to be, well, Trumpian.

Be vocally honest. Be internally truthful. Be remorseful, but mostly just choose right.