Earlier today I was skype chatting with my bosom buddy, Leah, and I commented to her that we were being a little bit “Sex and the City” with our topics. SATC has long been a beloved show for my girlfriends and I (and occasionally guy friends who aren’t too scared to admit the show is well written, quite witty, and well performed), as it is a show that does well to represent what life is about. Sex. Well, more specifically, relationships. Rob Bell, the author of “Sex God,” describes a person who is extremely in tune with themselves, others, and the Sacred, as an extremely sexual person indeed. He cited Mother Theresa being one of the most sexual people in our modern times, even though she was celibate. One of my best guy friends gave me a very high compliment one day when we were cruising in his truck. As we listened to Christina Aguilera belt her diva voice (our not so guilty pleasure!), he told me I was one of the most sexual people he knows. I thought, of course he was teasing me and my joking manner, especially as he let out his own self satisfied chuckle at my big eyes and wrinkled forehead. Of course the lower half of my face was less confused as it displayed my typical response to most things in life, bemused laughter. His mirth filled blue eyes did eventually grow a bit serious, as he explained to me my ability to be in loving relationship with people is what he meant. I don’t know about the MOST sexual but he definitely affirmed my need to actively know and care for people.
I don’t know if "knowing people" makes me an expert in men. Seeing as my dear SATC characters were roaring into their 40’s still a bit mystified by the male world, I have no illusions that I am somehow wise beyond my years. But I’m going to attempt my first blog dedicated to the topic. Should be interesting, aye? (One of my favorite things about “Aussie speak” is there ending to a question/comment with aye….like a much more attractive Minnesotan/Canadian “eh.”)
I took a class in uni that focused on women’s lives. My two guy best friends took it with me. They were two of three or four guys in the entire class of 25. Brave souls. Or extremely well played, depending on how you look at it. I remember part of our discussions centered on understanding how we, as women, defined ourselves and navigated the world we lived in. We discovered the largest chunk of it came from our men. Whether right or wrong, consciously or subconsciously, firsthand or second, we have come to know ourselves through the looking glass of our male counterparts. So what do our guys tell us?
When I was about four, I had this beautiful ruffly green Christmas tree dress. I couldn’t wait to show Santa. I swirled my dress proudly in my white stocking, black patent leather shoe clad feet. I knew I was pretty purely because girls in lovely green Christmas tree dresses had to be so. When it came time to sit on Santa’s lap, I froze up. I was a shy, unsure little girl, and the red suited man before me LOOMED so large and foreign, not at all jolly. My dad picked me up to deposit me on this strange man’s lap. Mid drop, something inside of me said this isn’t right. Don’t make me. So, I did the logical little girl thing. I clung to my father’s neck with all my might. My father tried to reassure me. He tried to undo my iron arms. He tried to tickle me and make me laugh. I turned off my tickle sensors, that is how determined I was to not let him go. So, my dad did an amazing big daddy act. He sat on Santa’s lap himself, with me in his arms. I’m pretty sure I still thought it was trick and didn’t come out too far from my hiding but Santa at least got to see my ruffly green Christmas tree dress. Someone had taken a Polaroid picture of my dad, in his army duds, holding his frightened daughter while sitting most absurdly on Santa’s legs. My dad and Santa had very amused grins on their faces. For years, I had that picture thumb tacked above my bed. Every time I looked at it I knew I had been a silly little girl, not brave at all. But I knew I was a silly little girl that was worth protecting. I was worth my daddy’s time, effort, and dignity, to show a jolly old elf his pretty girl’s dress.
Of course no amount of a father’s protective powers (unless of course you are completely locked away from media and modern society) can keep other messages from popping into a girl’s psyche. We see and hear the women on T.V., magazines, on the Internet. Playgrounds became battles of popularity, with image and looks playing a large part in hierarchy and taunting. Little girls begin to measure their importance on how they look. They listen to the voices all around. I can remember thinking in kindergarten that I was too fat. KINDERGARTEN! And I know for a fact that I’m not the only female I’ve talked to who has be aware of their body in that way at such a young age. I would like to say I have no scars from my school age years but I do, even with having my big daddy around. There are the scars of my adolescence and adulthood too. The scars of trying to work out my identity among the voices. The transforming scars of when I have been broken by those I loved, a common human sorrow.
In our women’s class one day we talked about how even small, backhanded comments from our guy friends about how a random woman looks or her value can send us to the bathroom to evaluate ourselves. My two good guy friends couldn’t believe it. Our conversation on this topic continued long after class that day. They had no idea that even commenting on how hot a model on a commercial looks could affect the women in their lives. Even their fiercely independent, self confident, well educated, girl friends and girlfriends were not able to shake off these toxic thoughts all the time.
It was about this time that my guy friends really seemed to grow into their “big daddy” protectiveness. Spencer never missed a chance to hold a door open or take time to understand my stories and my opinions. Tyler watched over me while we traveled abroad. Matt found time for many small acts of kindness, such as when he went with me to the in pound lot when my stolen car was found stripped to its wires. Wade and Brent are my “dates” when I had none to escort me, as I was an extension of their beloved girl friends, now wives. It was from them and other important men (Chris and Chris, Nathan, Richie, Jake, Adam, Brian, Doug, Ben, my brothers....and the least goes on), that I was able to regain the little girl who knew she was pretty in her Christmas dress, the little girl who is worth it. My girl friends are essential to my understanding of the world and emotional support but my guy friends are essential to my courage and internal hearth of beauty.
Once again, I was on the ferry leaving Manly behind, when the two older gentlemen I was sitting next to lost their cell phone. I helped them find it and we began chatting a bit. Sometimes I forget how much my accent gives me away, because before I knew it I had two champions on my side for the rest of my hour and half journey. It turned out the two men, Ron and Victor, were heading to Seven Hills, one stop off from my own destination of Blacktown. Ron gathered me maps of places I should go and helped me get a train ticket (neither of which I needed help with but the thing is guys, no matter how old, like this whole taking care of the lady bit. Why would I want to rob them of something that makes them feel so good?). They told me about their lives and their wives and answered my sometimes too “blonde” questions. They made suggestions on where I should park the next time I took the train. Victor had a bad back that made him a bit cranky all the time. Ron good-naturedly picked on Vic's moods. So, I defended Victor back, joshing Ron a tinge. When I was saying goodbye to my two gentleman escorts, Victor looked me straight in the eyes and said I was an absolutely lovely lady. He was telling me I was worth it.
I left the trains for the warmth of my good guy friend, Riaaz. Sydney had been pouring rain all weekend and although I was planning on walking to his house from the station with my trusty umbrella, Riaaz would hear none of it. He had gotten minimal sleep the last couple of days and nights because his security job has him up until the sun awakes and his work out, as well as social/family life, keep him busy during the day. I was getting ready for a birthday party at his house right smack dab in the middle of his precious sleeping hours. And now he was picking me up. Once more, he gave me his room to get ready in and fed me delicious food. Riaaz smiled at my girly need to spin in my party dress and complimented my carefully applied eye makeup. He tells me I’m beautiful often, sometimes in words but usually just by being my champion.
Before my ferry trip that day, I had been visiting my Kiwi friend, Andrew, in Manly. Some of you might remember him as my pilot friend from my Outback days. He came to Sydney for a holiday and to reunite with me and our other Outback friend, Amelia. Andrew treated me to a three course, menu changes every two days, fancy meal at a Darling Harbor restaurant called Café 22. Presumably, the Mama Mia casts like to hang out there as well. Andrew never misses a beat to be the generous benefactor in our activities together. He wouldn’t even let me pay for my fourth visit to Max Brenner in a week! He’s always going out of his way to make sure I’m comfortable and looked after. He’s planning on flying around the world in a six seater plan and wants me to come along to write about it. He’s an avid reader of my blog. He tells me I’m beautiful often, sometimes in words but usually by being one of my biggest fans.
So Max Brenner coffee in hand, I remember thinking how wonderful it is to have so many amazing men in my life. And how do you graduate to “man” status might one ask? Well, here’s a test I use. If I reach out to put my arm through a guy’s arm (this coming from years of doing it to my father, partly to keep from stacking over my own feet and partly because my legs are so short I could never keep up otherwise) and the guy automatically shifts his arm into a “L,” you know they are at man status. The “L” is all about knowing how to stabilize and guide. After mentoring high school boys, I had seen many a limp arm.
I was explaining this to Kreton as he walked me to my car after we had Max Brenner number one for the week. Of course, he was using the manly "L." Kreton is another example of a gentleman and dear friend in my life. After I had been picked up by Riaaz from the train station, Riaaz told me Kreton had requested I call him to work out plans for the evening. Kreton is always smaking sure I’m in the know with plans and making sure I know where to go (since I have no concept of the streets around here yet). He picks me up or has me follow him. He walks me to my car. He makes sure if I get separated from the group in a large crowd, that I’m not lost for long. He knows I need positive touch and gives me hugs like he means them. He tells me I’m beautiful often, sometimes in words but usually by being one of my most considerate fellows.
Men. I could write another three pages on how dense they can be at times. But for now, I’m soaking in all the ways they have blessed me of late. So to all of my males, keep inspiring the women in your life. It means more than you know, says the little girl spinning and twirling about in her green Christmas tree dress.
P.S. Happy Birthday, Daddy. Love, Your Joy
