By John Mark Cayer
*PSA* This article is not concerned with the dating culture specifically, although many of these issues are related to the faults of our dating culture, but is concerned with Franciscan masculine-feminine relations in general. *PSA*
I wish I were a simple man. I wish that I could look uncritically at the world around me and live my life how I’ve been told to by my father. I am not a simple man. My mind runs very quickly and is vastly critical about everything I come into contact with. Faults are easy to see and are in sharp contradistinction to the virtues that should be there. This makes looking at the relationships between men and women on campus vastly infuriating.
I see three men. I will call them the douche, the friend, and the superior. All three have been terrible for the women in their life. All three have misplaced a piece of their masculinity in the face of women. All three must come to task.
The douche is found with his bros. Conversation rarely dives deeper than a Friday night party or a sun shower puddle. Yet he and his bros are strong, and vibrant, and wild. He is reminiscent of a wild dog who is unchained and untamed. He is a like a candle which draws moths to his light then burns them with his heat. I wish that women were not like these moths. Drawn to the promise of strength and protection, the douche leaves his women forgotten, unprotected, and abused. By him women shall be harmed.
The friend is found with the women. He is custodian of all the feminine secrets. He swims through the womanly world like a fish. Estrogen is the air that he breathes and the food he consumes. He knows where to tread lightly and where to dig deep. The women find him safe. He will never harm them. Never draw them towards his burning light. Never treat them as a commodity to be thrown away. Never infringe their delicate sensibilities. Yet he will never protect them. He will never carry his cross. He will never satisfy their need for masculine love, for he does not know what it means to be a man to himself much less to another. He is a sheep in lions clothing. Imparted with all the power and vitality of the masculine strength, he has made himself a eunuch for fear of his brothers. By him women shall be left undefended.
The superior is found atop the hill, above all those below him. His mind is quick, his arm is strong, his face is set like flint. The pinnacle of manhood his shadow stretches far, shading all his friends and foes and most of all his loves. The women in his life are treated like they are queens. Given anything and everything that they could ever dream. Yet never would he consider, and never will they forget, that the superior looks down on her because he is the best. His actions do not show this truth, but it bleeds into her heart. His eyes whisper her inferiority and she begins to see it. Not because it’s truly there but because he’s made her believe it. By him women are made lesser.
The douche is strong and burning, and burns those who draw near. The friend is soft and comforting, but his brothers find him queer. The superior is doing everything but leaves the crucial part, for all his chivalric action he refuses her his heart.
All men fit in all of these, but the men on campus most of all. We harm our gorgeous sisters, or use them as our shields, or treat them as a lesser being not worthy of being seen.
These are the faults I see, and I say them so that they can be corrected. I’m guilty of all three of these, but the addict is the best person to tell you to quit.