I don’t delve too much into the male/female dynamic too much on this blog because I don’t want to be that dude. Plus, it seems that every blog run by a man is offering his two cents on the matter of the Mars vs. Venus goings on between ladies and gentlemen in and around the world. Typically I leave such matters to those bloggers. However there is one thing. As mentioned in a blog not too long ago I come from a family that has generally had a good experience with love. Though I’m not yet married, the relationships that I have been in have generally been healthy and, though ended, I sit on good terms with a number of women that I once called “girlfriend”, “significant other”, etc. Also in my love lifetime, I’ve been cheated on, dumped, and occasionally felt disrespected. It’s happened to the best of us whether you know of it or care to admit it or not. And in this knowing is the main difference between men and women.
When I was in the 5th grade I took a stab at playing little league baseball for the first time; for the most part I stunk to high heaven, I was a good athlete and a great fielder but for some reason I couldn’t hit that ball to save my soul and no matter how well you catch and throw, if you can’t hit you become a pariah among your fellow 11 year old teammates. About 3 games into the season we’re having batting practice and I’m flailing away with the bat, tears are starting to well up in my eyes because my teammates have been counting strikes and they are now up to “Strike 8!” The head coach, a Jamaican cat named Coach Bennett, shook his head and said, “Ay mon, do dis for me, ok? Settle down; take a deep breath, ‘n jus relax, ok?” I wiped my eyes took a practice swing, forgot about the snickering pre-teens behind the backstop and the next pitch I sent a screamer right over the pitcher’s head into center field. The next pitch I turned on was a shot right down the third base line and the next one after that nearly cleared the fence in left center field. Suddenly the laughs had turned to cheers, my teammates high fived me after my practice session and, no, I wasn’t automatically a little league All Star but things were better simply by simplifying things and just hitting “de damn ball”. Now, what does that story about 11 year old redemption have to do with male/female dealings? Glad you asked.
When mess goes wrong you got two choices, only two. You can dwell on it, let it get in your soul and fester and grow into something that looks like bitterness or you can take a deep breath, settle down and get back after it. I won’t paint in broad strokes here and say that all women do the former but it’s a good number. In fact, the number is so big that you’ve let your disenchantment become marketable; women’s (not all of you, just enough) inability to turn the relationship page has made a small fortune for Steve Harvey and Hill Harper. It has provided fodder and dramatic material for any playwright that titles his work in the form of a question (“Why Did I Get Married?” or “Why Am I Not Married?”) or a direct petition to a higher power (Lord, Send Me A Man! or God, Send Me A Man! or Lawd, Why The Men You Send Keep Beating Me?). Women’s (not all of you, just enough) inability to turn the relationship page sends you to your Facebook page to write that pain driven status message that read something like:
“90% of all my fellow beautiful women are being cheated on right now, just open your eyes and see it, girl!”
And if you’re not the one typing that tripe then you probably have someone on your list that does. Women’s (not all of you, just enough) inability to get back in the batter’s box and swing again drives you headlong into the church of All These Men Ain’t Sh*t. Women’s (not all of you, just enough) need to scream to the high heavens created dontdatehimgirl.com where you, too, can friend them on Facebook and tell your own tale of fear and loathing (hyperbole, much?) to the others hurt or pathetic enough to listen.
Men don’t do that.
Admittedly, we probably don’t wallow because we’re usually the ones that do (read: get caught) the majority of the dirt, that’s my word, not on some ol’ win the female crowd for the sake of staying on your good side BS. I’ve done enough dirt in my day to know how we get down sometimes. That said, women are not without fault in the failings of relationships yet the wailing doesn’t prevail as loudly, if at all, from the men that have been wronged. Yes, a man doing so would move him into “punk” category both with his boys and surrounding ladies but it doesn’t make the desire to vent, lash out, and type a Facebook status quoting, “B*tches ain’t Sh*t”, from that great Negro poet Dr. Dre any less strong. The main factor though, other than the fact of a man losing universal respect for crying over love gone wrong, is that there is no win in that game. I think that’s the thing that men get, and one of the main facets that I’ll never understand about women (not all of you, just enough).
Is it just because women, the fairer sex, are the more emotional? Is it because you process your pain differently? What is it that justifies in the task of blanket blaming, that if one does it the other will too, and so will that one, and so will that one over there. I’m sure there’s not one answer or reason why, it’s kinda like that old question about how many licks it takes to get to the center of a blow pop; and even if there is an explanation my male brain probably wouldn’t be able to decipher that area of the Matrix but I figure it is worth a try anyway. But since other men out there are making a fortune trying to help you out I’m gonna offer something for free. Instead of running to your circle, instead of scathing Facebook messages, instead of creating a website, instead of blaming everybody but the right person (in some cases, self) simply settle down, take a deep breath, and relax. That’s for free…you can have it, courtesy of Coach Bennett.
~thanks for reading
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