NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.
You still here? Still sane? Can you handle it? If
you’re reading this, chances you are an adult. Chronologically speaking, at
least. Mentally, who knows? But, if you are a chronological adult, chances are
you’ve heard this two-letter word quite a few times.
NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.
The better question is, how many times have you used
it? How many times in a day? A week? A month?
YOUR LIFE?
Some
people have to deal with it more often than others. We hear it from our
parents, siblings, teachers, employers… everyone. Do we have the right answer?
Do we have the right qualifications? Do you have this brand of toilet paper?
Actors hear it from directors. Writers hear it from
publishers. Doctoral candidates hear it from their departments.
NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.
Males hear it from females.
YES.
Am I being misogynist? In reality, yes, women
ask out men, but how often does that scenario happen? Ladies, when is the last
time you asked a guy out on a date? There is pressure and stigma that goes with
guys who are unable to get a date.
Yes, I
know women have to deal with rejection, and that’s a different story. Rejection
for females is different than it is for men, and since I am not a woman, I
cannot attest to that feeling or the thought process that goes with it. I’m
going to talk about being rejected as a man.
When I was
in sixth grade, I developed a severe crush on a girl in my class. I thought she
was absolutely beautiful, and her personality was amazing. I was smitten. I
invited her to my bar mitzvah simply so I could have the pleasure of holding
her in my arms and dancing with her. I did my best to charm her, get on her
good side, imbed myself in her heart and mind.
Seventh grade.
We took a bus once a week to Central Grammar School in the middle of town for
Industrial Arts. I had been building up the courage all week and had the
support of the other guys in my class. This was it. I knew if I could get her
to go out with me, I’d finally, at long last, be accepted as one of the Cool
Kids. After all, you couldn’t be a nerdy outcast with a girlfriend, right?
“Hey, Do
you want to go out with me?”
The cheers
from my classmates drowned out her response. I was positive the response was
positive.
“No, no
thanks.”
Everything
stopped. My happiness was gone in a heartbeat. My focus was off the rest of the
day.
It was the
first of many. I asked other girls, both in my school as well as a couple
others. My main focus remained this one girl. She was everything I wanted, and
I felt that if I was persistent, I’d win her over. I made her tapes, wrote her
poems and letters. I composed one letter with the help of my mother, who saw
and was aware of my affections for this girl. She edited my work and even
mailed the letter for me. Two days later, a police officer showed up at my
parents’ house with an admonishment from the girl’s parents warning me not to
bother her any more. My folks were flabbergasted and asked why, and the officer
told us her parents had intercepted the letter and found it disturbing. My mom
had the cop read the letter, who shared our confusion once he finished. He even
asked me to write a similar letter for him to his wife. Either way, I got the
hint.
No more
letters.
I was
depressed. Writing was my strong point. Words on paper were much more elegant
than my speaking voice. My parents assured me there was someone out there for
me, I simply had to keep looking and keep trying.
I did so.
All through the remainder of grade school I tried, and one by one the girls in
my class, both at my school and others, turned me down. I attended all the
cheesy 8th-grade make-out parties only to leave quietly after
everyone had paired off. I watched enviously as my friends held and kissed all
the pretty girls, girls who had once and again rejected my affections. The
trend continued in high school as I got to know a wider range of people and
tried my hardest to win some hearts, all to no avail. Those two letters, over
and over again. NO. NO. NO.
I finally
got a yes near the end of sophomore year. She was a friend, we had many friends
in common, she was smart and pretty… we lasted two weeks. She said I was
smothering.
I had a
date during the summer. I gave her my football jacket. Mom made me take it
back, and that was that. There were more shoot downs, including a small handful
at summer camp. A memorable one was a belated rejection. The camp I went to was
in the Berkshire mountains, a sleep-away camp for Jewish kids. I had gone in
1992 and returned in 1993. Camp consisted of two four-week sessions. At the end
of each session was Banquet, a semi-formal dinner, song session and cultural
dancing to celebrate the last night of the session. Traditionally, you could
ask someone to be your date. It was a fairly big deal, like asking someone to
prom.
In 1993 I
asked a girl in my unit to go with me. Again, she was nice, very pretty, and I
figured what the hell. And she said yes. I was thrilled. I had gotten a pretty
girl to say yes to a date with me. I wrote home to my parents, who were equally
excited. They wanted pictures. I told them I’d get some. The day of the
banquet, maybe two hours before the event (I had showered and shaved, so it had
to be soon before), one of the girl’s friends came across Olim Hill and
informed me the girl would not be attending Banquet with me. You see, there as
a guy she liked, and I had beaten him to the punch in asking her to go. She
didn’t want me to feel bad, so she had said yes. But now she was afraid of how
HE would feel, so she was leaving me alone so she could go with him. I was
stunned. Shocked. I was humiliated. I politely asked the friend to relay the
question “How does leaving me abandoned an hour before Banquet not make me feel
bad?” and went to my bunk. The girl came by herself to apologize and explain,
and I didn’t want to hear it. My unit heads came by and asked me to come to the
dining hall. I refused, explaining: “It’s humiliating, to have someone say yes
and then to shoot you down after everyone in the world knows you’d be going
with someone. Why face those looks by showing up alone?” They told me the girl
felt “really bad” about it, and I didn’t care. “I don’t imagine it’s any worse
than what I feel, and she shouldn’t have said yes in the first place. This is
worse.” I’m friends with this girl on Facebook now. I wonder if she even
remembers this event. I sure do.
The next
yes was at my first job. I was working at Miami Subs Grill in the parking lot
of the Post Mall. I was a line cook, she was a cashier. We flirted, she gave me
her number, we went out, I was elated. We lasted a year and a half, during
which time she gradually patronized and degraded me. In our last three months
we broke up three times. First me, then her, and finally me again. My first
real girlfriend, and I broke up with HER. The feeling of rejection was still
there, though. Somewhere along the line she had stopped returning my
affections, and to me, that was unacceptable.
Rejection
had become a part of my life. I barely even bothered because I felt it was
futile. I stopped asking girls out because I knew, knew, knew they would turn
me down, so why bother? I don’t remember them all. Not every one of them. There
are too many. Some, for some reason, are forever etched in my memory. I don’t
know why. I don’t know why that incident at camp sticks the way it does. I
don’t know why the girl I dated for three months college is so vivid. Maybe
it’s because she says she dated me to make a friend of mine jealous. There’s
the girl who broke up with me over IM after I had moved back to Connecticut.
There’s the abusive relationship I was in for two years and managed to escape.
All these
experiences are a part of me. It has been a long time since any of it has
happened. I’ve moved past them, but I never forget them. They’re always there.
As a young man, as a boy, you’re expected to do and be certain things. We’re
led to believe that by doing certain things, performing certain acts, we will
assert our masculinity and win over the female.
Is that
misogynist? Is that thought, “winning the female,” misogynist? Is it an
outdated concept? From children, it’s what we’re taught to do, that primal
aspect of masculinity: flowers, candy, poems, cards, sweetness, love, and
affection, all these things will show the female that we deserve and are worthy
of their attention. See that word?
WORTHY.
A lot of people forget that part. WORTHY. Most
people focus on the DESERVE and forget the WORTHY. We are taught from very
early on that we are to earn the affection and attention of the fairer sex,
that is it up to them choose us based on these feats. We are told that showing
how affectionate and attentive we are to them is how we get them into our
lives.
So, are we
innately misogynist? What are the little girls taught when they’re at the same
age? Are they told to win us over with gifts and tokens and shows of affection?
Or to simply “let the boys fawn over you and take your pick?” Because I’ll be
honest with you, that’s what it feels like most of the time. It is ingrained in
us from a very early age, mostly by our peers, that if we cannot win the
princess, we are failures as men. We are raised to believe that if we cannot
provide for and care for “our women” that we are failures as men. We are raised
to believe that we are to be the breadwinners, the providers, the hunters AND
the gatherers. Are women considered chattel? We are raised from very early to
believe that love and affection are prizes to be won by the best and strongest.
Not only does the media perpetuate this, but yes, THE WOMEN perpetuate this.
Again, how
often do you ask US out? Let the pressure be put on YOU. Here’s an example: BIG
BANG THEORY. Penny and Leonard are not longer dating, but they decide to hang
out: go the movies, hit a bar. She still expects him to buy the tickets and the
popcorn, she still expects him to spring for snacks and drinks at the bar. How
often are the tables turned? It happens, I know it does, but let’s be honest:
when you go on a date with a guy, who asks who? Who opens the door and pulls
out the chair? Who pays for the meal, the event? Who picks up who in whose car?
Let us consider these facts. Is it misogynist, and if so, whose fault is it?
Our parents? Their parents before then? Or is it our own fault for continuing
it?
