When it seems like whatever decision you make will reinforce a male stereotype or break a male-centric taboo, what’s a man to do?
_______
A few things you should know about me:
1. I spend my days working in schools promoting community-building and non-violence.
2. I much prefer seclusion in nature to crowds of beach-goers.
3. I believe in what Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Victor Frankl is famous for saying, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.”
4. I’m not always very good at living by Victor Frankl’s words.
And so this Memorial Day weekend, I shied away from throngs of sun-seeking beach-goers in favor of a trip to the Pine Barrens and Wharton State Forest in New Jersey. My wife and I have always backpacked in the past. Hike miles to a secluded spot, set up camp for the night, and depart the next day. So that we might ease our preparation and our hiking load, this time we booked a drive-in camp site for Saturday evening.
Our map, obviously not to scale, showed relatively large distances between camp sites, but as we navigated the sandy path past tent upon tent, we learned the reality. We would spend the night a literal stone’s throw away, on each side, from other campers. No worries, though. Each camp site we passed was a model of serenity. Couples sitting in chairs reading books. Children quietly braiding one another’s hair. A family sitting down to lunch.
◊♦◊
Remember in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation when Cousin Eddie arrives unannounced in his RV? Remember the utter confusion and desperation on Clark’s face? My expression was similar to Clark’s as we rounded the corner and witnessed our would-be neighbors for the evening. Twelve people total–nine adults and three children–all of which (children excluded) were already, at 3:00, three sheets to the wind. Several in the group had the loud, guffawing-style laugh that permeates closed car windows and scatters woodland creatures.
As we parked and began unloading, Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls” blared from the group’s pick up truck. Mind you, I love classic rock, Queen included, but the hummingbird I saw dash away from the flower by our car as the music kicked in surely knew as well this wasn’t what a trip to Mother Nature was all about.
I’ll save the maddening details of the next few hours. Already the group had broken the Wharton State Forest rules regarding alcohol consumption and number of individuals allowed on one site, but I was willing to overlook this if the 10:00pm-8:00am quiet hours rule was respected. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be writing this article if it had.
◊♦◊
This is where the snags and snares of male decision making thwarted me at every turn. It seemed like each potential decision would either reinforce a male stereotype or break a male-centric taboo.
|
As shouts echoed, music blared, and bottles clinked well past midnight, my wife and I popped in earplugs and ducked within our sleeping backs to drown out the cacophony. It was only when one of the men broke out the bongos–yes bongos–and started drumming along to Lynyrd Skynrd that my mind began running through my options.
This is where the snags and snares of male decision making thwarted me at every turn. It seemed like each potential decision would either reinforce a male stereotype or break a male-centric taboo. It was time I try and harness my Victor Frankyl.
Option #1: Violence
I won’t deny this was my first thought, however fleeting. When our base needs (i.e. sleep) are threatened, our base instincts kick in. My mind strayed to my knife in the tent pocket. Perhaps a casual stroll over to the group while sharpening the knife would send the message. Or a barrage of sticks and nature’s detritus thrown in their direction. Again, for so many reasons, not a viable option. Ethics stopped me. Potential hypocrisy stopped me. The children in their camp stopped me. The stereotypical violent male image stopped me. Plus, and quite importantly, my wife informed me that she doesn’t do conjugal visits.
Result: Option #1 implausible
◊♦◊
Option #2: Revenge
Again, a fleeting thought, and related to violence, but nevertheless an option that crossed my mind. Perhaps I would wait until the wee hours of the morning when their reflexes would be completely paralyzed by alcohol and slash their tires. Maybe I would wait for the moment they passed out and honk the car horn loud and long. But here again, the stereotypical man seeks revenge. He lashes out for vengeance and justice while neglecting the collateral damage that may occur. Revenge would get me nowhere.
Result: Option #2 implausible
◊♦◊
Which brings up a male-centric taboo I was hesitant to break at that moment–snitching. The rhyme “snitches get stitches” swirls around male culture. Did I really want a group of inebriated men to know I had snitched on them?
|
Option #3: Call the Park Ranger
When we checked in at the camp site office, we were given a number, manned 24 hours by park rangers, to call in case of emergency or annoying neighbors. A viable option certainly had it not been that our cell phones had no service. To make the call would have required driving from the park. A conspicuous move at 2:00 in the morning. The group would have known it was us. Which brings up a male-centric taboo I was hesitant to break at that moment–snitching. The rhyme “snitches get stitches” swirls around male culture. Did I really want a group of inebriated men to know I had snitched on them? Moreover, as the stereotypical protector, did I want to put my wife in danger?
Result: Option #3 possible, but not practical
◊♦◊
Option #4: Man-to-Man Conversation
It’s what I tell my students. Take the time to discuss your problems when you feel you are in a safe environment to do so. It’s the option I would have taken had alcohol not been involved. Just like I wouldn’t advise a mistreated student to approach his aggressor and his group of friends to “talk it out”, I wasn’t willing to do the same, alone, with a group of inebriated men. It wouldn’t have been a man-t0-man conversation. It would have come across as a lecture. I also felt pressure of men not poking their noses in other men’s business. Who was I to tell them they were wrong?
Result: Option #4 possible, but rife with danger
◊♦◊
Option #5: Send My Wife to Talk With Them
Perhaps they’d listen to a female perspective. My wife is a diplomatic and kind individual. But the oft-repeated taboo swam in my head, “You’re going to send your wife to do a “man’s business?” Then the next taboo, “You’re the protector. You’re sending her, alone, into a group of drunken men? What are you, a sissy?” Then the stereotype of men and alcohol, “They’ll leer at her. Pinch and grab. Call her sexually explicit names. How can you allow your wife to go through something like that?”
Result: Option #5 impossible and rife with danger
◊♦◊
If I did all the talking, wouldn’t I just be reinforcing the male stereotype that only the man has something useful to say?
|
Option #6: Go With My Wife to Face the Group
For reasons stated above, this presented problems. In addition, by addressing them with my wife, while I would see it as a symbol of solidarity, my mind shouted the taboo, “Your wife is fighting your battles for you?” If I did all the talking, wouldn’t I just be reinforcing the male stereotype that only the man has something useful to say?
Result: Potion #6 possible, but rife with danger
◊♦◊
Option #7: Do nothing
Here is where the greatest conflict played out. The phrase is “men of action.” Passivity and deference is scowled upon by male society. To sit in the tent and do nothing–to fail to act–would be cowardice. Could I call myself a man if I allowed this to happen all evening?
Result: Option #7, what I ended up doing for the moment
◊♦◊
I reached over and took my wife’s hand. And that was the most manly decision I’d made all weekend.
|
I awoke the next morning after only two hours of sleep. My wife arose shortly after. When I asked how she slept, she told me she slept through the entire night and questioned whether I had my earplugs in correctly. Turns out I stewed over these options alone all night, but for the sake of my wife, it also turns out I made the right choice. We packed our things, swore under our breath at their camp site as we drove away, and I called the park ranger when we returned to cell coverage. Hopefully, that notification saved other campers some misery the following night.
I shut my eyes as my wife drove home. Sleep crept in fast, but only as the faint male refrain sounded in my mind, “You’re the man. Shouldn’t you be driving?”
I reached over and took my wife’s hand. And that was the most manly decision I’d made all weekend.
_____
Image credit: snigl3t/flickr
This reminded me of another article that talked about the shoulder devil that men have.
Me: “I feel really down right now, I don’t know what to do”
Shoulder Devil: “Have you tried… VIOLENCE?”
Me: “No shoulder devil, shut up.”
Me: “Man, I’m so hungry!”
Shoulder Devil: “have you tried… VIOLENCE?”
Me: “shoulder devil that’s not even food!”
That one still cracks me up.
I’ve told it to some of my friends. I have to say, men find it funnier than women. lol