Why do Men Still Open the Car Door for Women?

In today’s modern age, where epic battles for gender equality are raging, we should be surprised to see a man open the door of a car for a woman. This “gentlemen’s” habit seems to have endured and continues to be quite popular, but why? Why do men still do it and why do even the most ardent supporters of feminism still allow the practice, is beyond me.

While this may seem like a silly endeavor, I am genuinely curious. I went to YouTube in search of opinions and was surprised by the amount of thoughts on this subject. But first, I felt that I needed to see the correct way to open a car door for a female guest. Let’s build a good foundation for our topic.

Now that I understand the mechanics, I wanted to know why we still do it. Men seem to have abandoned most acts of chivalry, so why not this one. We no longer put our coats over a puddle, light her cigarette or pull the chair out and seat her at a restaurant; but we still seem to open doors.

Men of all stripes will do it, even the most misogynist of males.  It’s baffling.  Bill Burr, a stand-up comedian, feels he has discovered the “real reason” that men “tolerate” women. His answer lies at 1:09. (language!).

While he and Freud may agree on the root cause of what motivates men, I’m not sure that just the simple act of opening a car door will yield the results he wants.  I need another perspective.  This guy seems focused on “pretty girls” but goes to great lengths anyway, to explain his position on the subject. He’s long winded, so just watch long enough to see that he’s an ass and move on. I wish I could edit YouTube…

Ok, he really seems to have some latent ax to grind.  What about Chivalry? Is it “ok”? Let’s look elsewhere.

Apparently it’s Ok according to the two hosts.  But how do you do it? Lost in darkness, I found a guide..

Chivalry is great but what about the “car door” opening thing?  I still have questions though:

  1. Why are men the only ones who do it?
  2. If the woman is driving the car, is it proper for the man to open the driver door for her and then trot over to the passenger side and hop in?
  3. Has anyone ever seen #2 happen?
  4. Is it ok for a woman to open the car door for a man who is her passenger?
  5. Has anyone ever seen #4 happen?

The only conclusion that I can come to is this:

  1. Only men open the car door.
  2. Men only do it when they are the driver of the vehicle.

But why?

  1. It’s an easy, efficient and inexpensive way to impress a woman.
  2. Men are lazy and cheap, see #1
  3. It say’s “this is my car, I’m the captain and I’m in control”
  4. Men have fragile ego’s, see #3
  5. Men can do this operation without talking.
  6. Men consistently say the wrong thing and land themselves in trouble, see #5

So, why do we open the car door for a woman, especially someone we love? It’s about the only thing that we can do without screwing up (as you don’t slam her leg in the door) and we desperately need as many points in the win column as possible. Why do women still allow it? My guess…for the fun of it, everyone likes to feel special once in a while. As for me, I open the door simply because I love to show her (Lilly) how special she is to me.

 

 

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Divine Inspiration?

It’s been a tough couple of days. I feel adrift which is an odd feeling for me as I usually stay “my version” of focused. I don’t believe that positive words or statements solve problems, although they may bring a needed momentary distraction. A motivational speaker would hang himself in frustration trying to “lift me up”.

I am a fixer; identify said problem, create solution and then work the problem. But not today. I’m a bit farther down the rabbit hole than usual. I have too many questions that I can’t quite answer and that brings frustration. I am not at peace and I’m not sure why.  Today, I need solutions.

I once asked the pastor of a church why he felt the bible had the answers to life’s questions. He replied, “because it’s divinely inspired”. I was about ten years old at the time and that answer has always bothered me. It bothers me more today as I could really use a book with all of “the answers”. I would love the bible to be the answer to my problem but divine inspiration sounds too broad a qualification to rely on the writers word alone.

What is it to be Divinely Inspired?  The dictionary defines it as “a concept of a supernatural force, typically a deity, causing a person or people to experience a creative desire”. That sounds simple enough. Perhaps if I was divinely inspired, I could focus and make the hard decisions necessary to bring clarity to my world.

Wait a minute, sixty-six “books” all by different authors who were divinely inspired?  What about Dante, Milton or even Joseph Smith. They all wrote of heaven and hell. The argument could be made that they too were divinely inspired.  Inferno, Paradise Lost and the Book of Mormon, respectively, all contain the writer or writer’s version of  heaven/hell, what’s considered right or wrong and offer suggestions on how to bring your life back into alignment.

I was in the shower this morning thinking of where to find answers; the Bible, Plato or even “Hey Siri”, when I decided to write of my internal conflict. Was it divinely inspired? I did think of God, multiple times, but it’s probably a stretch to say that it was divine. I’m suddenly feeling very alone in this world as it seems that the answers to life’s problems are actually the written thoughts of men and women of history who have a questionable pedigree for offering advice to future generations. In other words, if you’re a “religious” person, I imagine that you are divinely inspired every day.

So for the future’s sake, please watch what you write as today’s snippet’s of wisdom may become a chapter in tomorrow’s Bible.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that most of the answers to our questions lie within the passage of time and not within the written muses of man.

 

 

There is no good day to say goodbye

I dislike the moment of goodbye
Especially on Tuesday’s

SELRES_5b631c89-024a-41ee-a548-0e19e352c973SELRES_4c67bf53-f784-42ec-8004-e078cb4fd2fdSELRES_5b631c89-024a-41ee-a548-0e19e352c973As what once was physical, is now a memory
Thursday is no better than any other day

The time spent together, remembered as through a rear view mirror

Saturday is the worst for goodbye
Looking back on the warmth of friends

No one ever leaves on a Wednesday

A voice on the phone now replaces the human presence
Friday’s are reserved for hello’s

Promises made to see you very soon
Sunday’s then, for breakfast fare

To say hello, you must have first said goodbye
that leaves Monday, as the day to go
For to say goodbye, you must have first said hello

 

Is the price of an opinion too high?

When someone offers an opinion, they are essentially “putting in their two-cents”.

If someone wants to know what you think, they might say “a penny for your thoughts”.

These idiomatic expressions both suggest that the value of an opinion isn’t worth much monetarily.  I believe that the value is even less if that opinion is offered by the news media and/or the panel of “experts” that they love to assemble.

I prefer to define the word “opinion” using this analogy: When one seeks an opinion, they are usually looking for an accomplice.  In other words, they really don’t care what you think, they just want you to agree with their position so they’ll feel better.

Is two-cents too high a price to pay for free speech? Of course not, but two-cents is two-cents more than I would ever be willing to pay to sit for 5 minutes and endure the constant barrage of opinions being offered by the media.

Everyone seems to have an opinion…and a motive. Maybe if we closed our mouths, opened our ears and turned off the TV, we might just…who knows? But that’s just my two-cents.

Here are a few thoughts from a gentleman speaking to George Strait in the movie “Pure Country”.  It’s short and he is right on point.

So I had this idea…

I woke up this morning feeling ambitious.  I had an idea about a new business. I grabbed my glasses, sweats, a shirt, my bunny slippers and headed downstairs.

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I settled in and quickly realized that my glasses were so dirty that I really couldn’t see. Oily skin, the bane of all glasses wearers.

I better take a shower first, clean these stupid glasses and get my mojo together before I let the creative juices flow on my business idea.

Then I had another idea; I’m sick and tired of washing glasses and trying to get the dust and oils off.  What would happen if I just left the damn things on when I washed my hair? Who’s the Thinker now!

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Well, it kinda worked, they are cleaner.  Not so sure this was a good idea though, don’t want to look like an idiot.

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And…I still had to wipe them off and clean them anyway. Oh well, lesson learned. Back to the drawing board.

The Traveler’s End (Borrowed from Travelinggump.com)

The Traveler’s End
O’ weary traveler, aged and too weak, lies resting in the grass and soon falls asleep.

He dreams of past travels, his path lies ahead, but is blocked by an Angel, who’s voice speaks of dread.

He opens his eyes, his journey complete, for he has seen his fate and soon starts to weep.

Resting nearby, She’s saddened to see, that the traveler has learned, what is now to be.

His adventures have ended and time will not wait, for St. Peter is standing, holding open the gate.

Heaven hath decreed and called out his name, She learns that Death’s been sent, to take him away.

Though the hourglass has spoken as no sand remains, the soul of the traveler, owns her heart just the same.

She cries out to heaven, for here he must stay, but the Angels refused, crossed their arms and looked away.

As Death drew near, aware of her plight, he cautions her gently, not to resist Heavens might.

Softly she spoke, as that is her way and begged Death to leave, without much delay.

Death paused for moment, unsure what to say, then bows to her warmly and leaves, on his way.

But Heaven was watching and reminded him his task and also that pleasing Mother Nature, is not what was asked.

Now the traveler was at peace and all that remained, was for Death to guide him back, to that Heavenly domain.

Impatience was growing, within the Celestial reign and Death was reminded, to look once again.

Death peered into the darkness, but no traveler was seen, as She had blinded his eyes, by a deft use of rain.

He had others to tend and soon he was gone, as many souls still need passage, to the land lying beyond.

She went to the traveler and protected him from sight, as the angels were curious where he had gone to that night.

Mother nature is strong and incredibly wise, She keeps what she wants, from all prying eyes.

Though never thought fickle or a thief in the night, Mother Nature surprised Heaven, by cunning and might.

The Angels then wisely, after searching all night, chose to not turn this folly, into a Celestial fight.

What virtue has he, to earn such a right, to be hidden from Heaven at this very time?

He was gentle to her, our Mother you see, kind with her home, as true traveler’s should be. He basked in her beauty and never once did stray, always “smelling the roses” as he traveled each day.

In sunlight they wander, though the Angels do stare, Mother Nature and the traveler, walk the earth, hand in hand.

As twilight comes and the sun yields to night, their two souls join as one, turning darkness to light.

He now sleeps within her bosom, eternally at home, resting ‘neath his name, carved in white marbled stone.

The Dilemma of the Modern Family

The word “family” is defined by Google as “a group consisting of parents and children living together in the same household”.  That broad definition seems appropriately vague, considering the modern family dynamic of today.  So, which is “better”; two adults who create “biological” children, raising them together in a genetically matched family or a mish-mash of DNA brought together by two adults, forming a genetic melting pot of a family.  I believe that both arrangements can have positive outcomes and that one is no better than the other.

Throughout our history, families were considered to be “broken” if the parents divorced, suggesting that the children, who were now from a “broken home”, had a significantly higher chance of failure in what ever life threw at them.

Many studies on the effects of divorce and the family have been commissioned and published, mostly by religious groups, with the results influencing generations of parents to continue a “bad” marriage, usually to the detriment of the children. Of the parents who did divorce, many of their children were led to believe that they were now somewhat different, less-than or flawed as human beings.  These myopic conclusions have been used by elements of our society, mostly to further an agenda or religious belief that supports their position on an issue.

Society, as a whole, allows this stigma to continue by labeling children as either this or that based on the parents choice of family structure, forgetting that the child rarely has a choice in the matter.  The first step is to stop with the traditional religious dogma that suggests that divorce is against God’s will and accept that divorce, while hopefully not a couples first choice, is a reality and is going to continue to be an option, regardless of the church’s position. In addition, I believe that this “pressure” adds to a child’s feelings of shame; as if he or she needed more things to feel bad about.

I am the product of a “broken home”.  My mother and father divorced when I was an infant, each remarried, had children and the “new” parents brought with them, additional children.  Suddenly, I have half-sisters, a step-brother, step-parents, step-grandparents and so on.  Growing up, they were all I knew.  The “step” title seemed to only appear when I wanted to create distance from someone who had irritated me. Unfortunately, the world made sure to draw the distinction and was never remiss at reminding me that despite my parent’s failures, I could make it in life if I didn’t make the same “mistakes” and followed a more traditional and usually biblical path. Oddly, I didn’t feel that I had a problem. My “other” father lived two hours away and there I had a brother, sister, and another mother.  At worst, I would describe this dynamic as “messy”.

But this was my life. I had friends whose parents were not divorced and they seemed to have a life similar to mine. Initially, I remember being jealous that everyone in their house had the same last name.  Other than that, we all grew up, graduated high school and went about our lives.  It was then that I realized an important point.  It wasn’t the divorce, blended or non-blended, step this or that; it was the parents.  I noticed that how you turned out had very little to do with your parents’ marital status, but was more accurately reflected in how you were parented.  It didn’t seem to matter whether you had one parent or two.  It was in how they, the parent, filled their role. In my large circle of friends, some had deceased parents, divorced parents, a single parent, two parents, either mixed or biological.  Some were even raised by extended family members.

Whether you turned out, whatever that means, seems to have been based on three things: 1. The influence of the adults in your life, 2. the choices that you made and 3. a bit of good luck. I hoped I would do well as a parent and an adult, only time would tell.

Then at 20, wondering what kind of parent I would be was no longer academic, it was suddenly very real. What kind of husband would I be? It is said that we are the sum of our life’s experiences and at this time, I didn’t add up to much. I thought of all of my parents and what I had learned up to this point.  Each parent stopped being part of the “parenting group” and became an individual.  Jack, Rod, Kit and Helen were my role models and I would pick and choose the positives of each hoping to become the best parent that I could.  It was then I realized that I was alone and that ultimately, I would be responsible for my own behavior, as upon closer inspection, I really didn’t want to follow any of them, especially Jack and Rod.  I realized that I didn’t know Helen very well and that Kit (my mother) had been the most influential person in my life but didn’t appear to have enjoyed being a parent in the way that I wanted to be for my children. (Two points: 1. I was a “mouthy” teenager and 2. Her childhood was less than ideal). Regardless of whether she enjoyed it or not and because of her efforts, I turned out and have done quite well.

This had, in my opinion, cemented my belief in that it doesn’t matter whether you are raised in a “traditional family” or a “blended family”, it’s the people who surround you who make the difference.  Staying together “for the children” or because the “bible says so”, do not make parents better people anymore than a captain who goes down with his ship, makes him a better captain.  Dead is dead, either in the physical sense or the marital one. I have also learned that your children do know the difference and if you are delusional enough to think that you have fooled them on your success at staying together for them, you’ll certainly learn later when they choose their path at parenting and use your relationship as an example of the kind they want to avoid.

In addition, your adult children are the measure of your success or failure.  They know all and are not fooled, ever, by any efforts to hide who or what you are.  No one will ever know you better or love you more, despite your misgivings.

A step further, since it doesn’t seem to matter how your family unit is biologically constructed, I suggest to you that with decent parenting, a child can actually become more enriched from a blended family structure. Let that soak in. To purists of a traditional family structure, this idea is akin to choking down a brick. This is not to say that traditional is bad, it just has limits. Imagine a blended family that has a racially diverse makeup.  The advantages are obvious.

After our first child, we had two more and then divorced. I married Lilly, who already had two daughters and now there were seven of us; three daughters, two sons and us, the parents.  That was a long time ago and the story continues happily. The story did not begin that way though.  Does the end justify the means? Only our children can answer that question.  In the beginning, there was chaos and many suffered.  To me, this is where the traditional family scores the most points.  But only here.

As the marriages came apart, the children suffered in ways that only time will truly reveal.  When my parents divorced, I was an infant and I have no memory of the event.  Our children weren’t so fortunate.  The “other” parents suffered tremendously.  They, for the most part, didn’t choose this new path, although their behavior ultimately had a part in its creation, and they were dragged along for the ride.

Anger, frustration, jealousy and sadness were thrust upon them and I regret being a part of it’s cause.  The children, who had a front row seat to the carnage, were forced to make choices and accept that they had very little, if any, control of their environment or future. It was bad and there we were. It was time to parent and all four of us, to different degrees, did just that.

I remembered the blended family that I was raised in.  Lilly remembered hers.  To me the core was simple.  No one is a “step” anything. I now had five children, they were all mine and I promised Lilly that I would never treat them otherwise. We would provide a home which was rich is the celebration of the normal.  Lilly made sure of that.  Holidays, birthdays and family trips were big events and life began again.  The “other” parents (I honestly don’t know how to address them here) participated and remained an active part of the children’s lives, making significant contributions when and where they felt it necessary.

The seven of us grew stronger as a family.  Each child is different and special in their own way.  They meshed incredibly well and see each other as brother and sister.  Our family gatherings are a celebration to the diversity of the gene pool, to success, where failure was possible and a reminder of the path that was taken.  The failures of four adults has been turned into the success of five wonderful children.  Lemonade from lemons.

So which is better? I have known no other way, nor has Lilly.  Our children have and they will judge which, if they choose.  If the initial divorce carnage could be eliminated, I feel the blended family offers more variety of life than traditional. I like to think of it as either being raised in a small town or a large city; the opportunities for growth and learning can be greater in one, more so than the other.

When I started this article, my intention was to argue that the blended family was actually “better” for the overall development of a child.  Unfortunately, while writing this, I was forced to remember the pain which made this story possible. There are no easy answers to marriage, parenting or life. It appears that the only solution, without the pain is, well…polygamy.  I’m quite certain that this “solution” won’t fly with Lilly.

The antiquated “broken home” label needs to be eliminated. We are all broken in some way. Blended families represent “a celebration of diversity” and this description more accurately reflects the aspirations of today’s Modern Family.

 

 

A Well Traveled Path They Walk

 O’ dear wanderer’s beware, for Love and Happiness make for the most dreadful of companions.

Together, quite a tempting pair, Love, alluring and desirous, who only when caught within her grasp, coyly refuses to be possessed.

While Happiness dances joyfully, upon the keen edge of a blade, waiting patiently for Love’s cruel fancy to once again, set them free.