He-Man Woman-Hater's Club

A few weeks ago, I was sitting at Mass minding my own business when the priest, a priest whom I have always liked, decided that “Catholic marriages would be so happy if you women could stop being bitches for five hot minutes” was a good theme for a homily. I am exaggerating, of course, but only slightly. He scolded us, all of the Catholic married women sitting quietly in our pews, for never letting things go, for throwing things in our husbands’ faces that happened years ago. “Maybe he forgot to pay a bill,” he said, by way of example. “Or maybe he forgot a birthday. Or maybe he cheated. Love is forgiving - if he’s doing his best, you should forgive him and move on.” 

Yes, let’s do that shall we? Let’s be more forgiving. And let’s agree that a married man who is having sex with another woman is “doing his best.” Let’s also agree that forgetting a birthday or forgetting to take out the trash are offenses of exactly the same magnitude as infidelity; and that we women, bitches that we are, will react in exactly the same way to all three. And let’s further agree that it is the women, and only the women, who make mistakes in a marriage. The men always do their best and their best should always be good enough. Got it. Thanks, Father. 

*****

I was just about over this routine Sunday morning misogyny, and then my news feeds started to fill up with stories about an NFL kicker named Harrison Butker, who was the commencement speaker at a small Catholic college. 

First of all, I won’t make fun of this guy's name (although my gosh silver platter amirite?) but I will make fun of his smug pious Catholic punchable bearded millennial face. What is it with young traddy men and their glossy beards? Are you emulating Jesus? Because I'm pretty sure that He didn't spend much time grooming and trimming His beard, nor cutting and styling His hair. 

But really, Mr. Butker, that's none of my business. It's your face. You grow whatever you want on it. And that applies to everything else in your life that doesn't hurt anyone else. You want a million kids? Great. Enjoy, and I wish nothing but good health and happiness for as many children as you have. Mrs. Butker wants to stay at home and take care of you and the children, and forgo a paycheck and a career? Good for her. As long as she is happy and the children are well cared for, then I applaud her decision and wish her only the best. I know many brilliant SAHMs. I was one myself for a short while. 

The whole “you do you” thing breaks down for me a bit in your public utterances about what women other than your wife should do, and how people other than yourself should live. Let’s discuss, shall we? 

*****

First, though, a quick digression. Who decided that a person who kicks a ball for a living is qualified to speak at a college commencement? I understand that Mr. Butker is among the very best at this particular job, but it IS a very particular job, with skills that don’t really translate to any other endeavor of life. What is it that conservatives on the Fox News always like to say? “Stick to dribbling?” Let’s adapt that advice for Harrison Butker. Stick to kicking.

And let’s further digress. Who at Benedictine College, an apparently very religious Catholic institution, decided that a representative of the NFL was the best person to speak to Catholic life and morality? Is anyone at Benedictine familiar with the National Football League’s relationship with organized professional gambling? Is the learned administration of that institution aware that domestic violence and scantily clad cheerleaders are the NFL’s main exports vis a vis women? Is there NO ONE ELSE who could come speak to your graduates? 

But fine, let’s assume, for the sake of discussion, that the very selection of Harrison Butker was not problematic in and of itself. Let’s assume that it’s perfectly reasonable to invite a guy who kicks a ball for a living (nothing else - no throwing, no catching, no running - just kicking) and who represents a famously greedy and corrupt organization to address the graduates of Benedictine College, a college whose student population is over half female. Would it not then be reasonable to expect Mr. Butker to deliver a simple commencement speech, which is supposed to be about the graduates and their accomplishments and their futures, and not about the speaker and his stupid hot takes on a “woman’s vocation?” 

*****

This is the part that really bothers me most; or rather, it would bother me most if I was in that audience as a graduate or a parent. That speech was disrespectful and downright rude. Instead of allowing these young women five damn seconds to enjoy their accomplishments and their moment in the sun, this MF-er saw his opportunity to record a Newsmax audition tape, and he went all in. Watch the video and you can just see how proud of himself he is, out there owning the libs. “Bouta go viral in five, four, three, two, one...the feminists are going to lose their minds.” Yes the speech was misogynist and homophobic and hateful but it was also predictable, boring, and tiresome. And rude - just plain rude. 

*****

I almost hate to post this now, a week later. This bearded little ball-kicker has dominated the discourse for days, and he’s had just about enough attention, as far as I’m concerned. We are now in the backlash to the backlash stage, with the usual suspects screaming as loudly as they can about this tiny tiny tiny little man’s “First Amendment rights” as though the First Amendment is some guarantee that the world owes you a platform for all of your dumb-ass opinions and as though anyone who disagrees with you and says so is somehow infringing on your freedom. 

And at this point, what else is there to say? OK, just a few more things. First of all, wife and mother is a vocation, but so is husband and father. Why is it that only a husband and father can “fulfill his vocation” while also using his God-given talents and making money and generally contributing to the life of the world, and a wife and mother can’t? 

And one other question for Mr. Butker: Did Mrs. Butker’s life really only begin when she married you? Because I thought it began at conception. 

*****

I’m a Catholic - a faithful, believing, Rosary-praying, Mass-going Catholic. And I know that Jesus loves women. I just wish that Catholic men did, too. 

Kierkegaardian

Do you know what today’s high temperature was? 26. It’s January, of course, so it’s supposed to be cold, but is it supposed to be that cold? I didn’t leave the house today, and I’m not going to if I can help it. 

I’m reading Fear and Trembling for no reason other than I hadn’t read it before and I felt that I should. I seldom read philosophy. When I do, I read passively. I let my eyes slide over the words and then I wait for my brain to absorb them. 

Fear and Trembling is about faith, the faith of Abraham, willing to sacrifice his only son to please the Lord. I don’t know very much about Kierkegaard, so I don’t know why he wrote about Abraham, nor why he was preoccupied with the problem of faith, nor why he wrote under the pseudonym Johannes de Silentio. I picture him writing alone in an attic or a sparsely furnished study, trying to keep warm during the icy Copenhagen winter with night falling at 3 pm or so. It’s a very Scandinavian book. 

*****

It’s Wednesday now, one day later and ten to twelve degrees warmer, at least for now. Things are looking up. I’m still reading Kierkegaard, a little bit at a time, and I think it’s getting through to me, a little bit at a time. My brain is thawing now. That’s probably it. 

I’m thinking a lot about resignation in the Kierkegaardian sense. I’m probably getting this completely wrong but who cares because this isn’t a philosophy final, but my understanding is that resignation is a stepping stone on the way to true faith. To be resigned to your fate, to the path that God has chosen for you, even if it is nowhere near the path you want to be on, even if God demands that you sacrifice that which is most precious to you, is NOT to convince yourself that you no longer want whatever it is that God is taking away from you. If you train yourself not to desire whatever you have lost or cannot attain, then there’s no real sacrifice other than the initial sacrifice of loss. True sacrifice is to willingly give up what you most want or love, and to continue to want and love that thing, cheerfully. That kind of freely given sacrifice is essential to being resigned and ultimately, to being faithful. 

*****

It’s Thursday now, and temperatures remain tolerable for a second straight day. If you were looking for a weather report for a day that is now in the past, you came to exactly the right place. 

Last night, I read Kierkegaard on the topic of greatness. I was going to pull a quote from the book but I’ll paraphrase instead. I don’t know that he is limiting greatness to this one characteristic, but he does say that the great have one thing in common: they act without knowing ahead of time what the outcome will be. 

Deceptively simple, no? Using Mary the Mother of God as an example of greatness, Kierkegaard explains that Mary’s greatness lies not in her pre-ordination as the Blessed Mother, nor in her Immaculate Conception (look that up if you’re not Catholic, because it’s not the same as the Virgin Birth). Her greatness lies instead in her willingness as a young teenage girl to obey God with no promise of protection, and no assurances whatsoever that things would turn out OK. As Kierkegaard points out, the Angel Gabriel announced the Lord’s will to Mary and she readily complied, but Gabriel didn’t tell her what else to expect, and he didn’t communicate on the Lord’s behalf to Mary’s friends and neighbors. No one went around knocking on doors explaining that Mary’s premarital pregnancy was the Lord’s doing, and that they should give her a pass. Except for St. Joseph, the poor girl was on her own. 

*****

Do you know what I did? I bought ANOTHER handbag. Madness. Sheer madness. It’s now in the box in which it came, labeled for return shipping. I wish that I could claim that I was returning it because I recognized the sheer ridiculousness and self-indulgence of me buying yet another handbag, but that’s not true. I’m returning it because I just don’t like it as much as I thought I would. It is not the handbag of my dreams, as I had hoped it would be. 

So that’s January so far. I’m reading about detachment and resignation and great faith and self-sacrifice, but I’m also buying stupid things that I don’t need with money that I don’t have. Well, that’s not really true. I do have the money, and I always pay for everything I buy with actual money, and not with credit. But I have a child in college and another one soon to start. I need to buy a car. And I’m getting old. I should be saving money so that I don’t spend my dotage in poverty. I must do better. I MUST do better. 

****"

"DIVERS! LET'S GOOOO! Sorry."

It's 9:10 on Saturday morning, and we're here at the MLK Indoor Swim Center, waiting for the dive meet to begin. Our swim and dive coach has a loud voice in any circumstance, but the echo in the swim center makes it that much louder, especially for the two unsuspecting Clarksburg parents who were standing right behind him at the scorers' table, minding their own business, waiting to sign in and collect their stopwatches. 

I'm a stroke and turn judge today. I would do this job anyway, because I am certified and because so many other people really hate doing it. And now thanks to the Omicron surge, volunteering is the only way I can watch the meet. Mere idle spectators are not allowed to be in the swim center, and we’re not technologically sophisticated enough to live stream the thing. My younger son is nearing the end of his swimming career, which means that our family is almost done with swimming altogether, and I don't want to miss a meet. So I'm here with my clipboard and my name tag and my white polo shirt, ready to officiate. 

*****

Even the natatorium was cold yesterday. I brought a cardigan, and I wore pants rather than shorts with my white polo shirt. This was the right call, but in the end, the pants and shoes and socks didn’t do much good. A stroke and turn judge has to stand right in the splash zone to see the turns and finishes; and at the end of the meet, as always, I was damp from the waist down. . A Clarksburg boy who came in for a strong finish in the 100 fly, splashing me from nearly head to toe, said “sorry!” as he waited in the water for the rest of the swimmers to finish. 

“No worries,” I said. “If you don’t want to get wet, you shouldn’t hang around at a swimming pool, amirite?”

“True,” he said. “Very fair.” 

And that’s me. Truthful and fair as possible. I approached the building exit, fearful and trembling at the idea of walking out into the 20 degree cold in wet clothes. And it was just as horrible as I feared it would be. That was my pain and suffering for the day. That was my sacrifice. That was the thing that somebody had to do, so why not me? We do what we can.