Thursday, March 14, 2019

Let’s Hear It For The [Men]!


There have been several great men in my life.
The first was my junior- and senior-year English teacher, Dr. Poff. He was the one who opened my eyes to the ways in which society should be improved. He challenged me to work constantly and diligently, not only on my writing (a gift that has given me the beloved career I have today), but also my critical thinking skills. He taught me how to question and attempt to see through bullshit, always. He also acted as a parent-alternative. To say my own family was dysfunctional would be an understatement. Physical, emotional, and sexual abuse ran rampant, with women and girls serving as the victims of such injustices. My biological father was a narcissist. My stepfather was a manipulative sexual predator with massive debt and a substance abuse problem, and my mom was his willfully blind cheerleader, who chose to blame her children for his abuse. Getting away from them was a goal I sought early on in my life.
I babysat Poff’s kids while he and his wife, Stephanie (whom I also adored) would attend foreign film festivals and visit alternative lifestyle conventions. He invited me into a family that was both eccentric and welcoming, and they made sure that I knew that I was a worthwhile person in their lives. It was exactly the safe haven of weirdos I needed in such a desperate and lonely time in my teenage development. A significant reason I am the educator I am today is attributed to the kindness of the Poff-Taylor clan, and I am very grateful and indebted to them.
The second was my friend Peter. I met him a few years later, when I worked at his hair salon. He immediately became my surrogate big brother—having me over to watch bad movies when I was upset over yet another boy, teasing me and calling me Wiener Dog for my awkwardness, and just being a great friend with whom I could confide whenever I needed. He also saved my life, literally. I attempted suicide at age 21. Had Peter not found my near-lifeless body after a frantic search for my apartment in Huntington Beach, I would be dead today. I am still haunted, and I still feel vestiges of shame, for having put someone I care about so much through such deep horror. Peter, being the wonderful person he is, has forgiven me, and I will spend the rest of my life thanking him.  Luckily, he still laughs at my dumb jokes—which haven’t changed much in almost twenty years—and he still laughs at my awkwardness, which also hasn't changed.
The last one is Marc. Marc has been my friend for the better part of two decades. He and I have a deep kinship. We both share a dark sense of humor that arises from overcoming excessive trauma. We both support each other completely, no matter where we are in terms of our life’s development. Marc is the person I message when I have the dumbest shit in the world to say, or when I need to talk about the stuff I can’t talk to anyone else about. He knows my deepest secrets, and he pushes me to be the best version of myself that I can be. If everyone had a Marc in their lives, this world would be a much better place.
So, what separates these men from the emotionally stunted sad boys, who take quite personally all of my critiques on systemic, ideological gender practices? Why, as a feminist—someone who, supposedly, to people who don’t know any better, “hates men”—would three of the most important people in my life be men? It’s because of who they are as people. All three have worked very hard—not only on their own emotional development, but on being an engaged part of my life. All three actually listen to me, and have made serious efforts to understand me when it could have been so easy to write me off and dehumanize me, as so many others have done. All three, like me, are not perfect. We’ve had tough conversations, big friendship fights, all the usual things that come with caring about another person for a long time. But they have persisted. They do the difficult work, flex their sometimes paper-thin patience, and provide the immense amount of care it takes to sustain a family, which is what they are to me.
There are many other men whom I feel similarly about. I don’t hate men. I hate patriarchy. I hate privilege. I hate toxic masculinity that is taught to so many people, to their ultimate detriment. And, from what I gather, the men I choose to have in my life aren’t fond of those things, either.

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