So last night I was sitting on my porch reading Save the Males. I was sitting on my porch because within four minutes of arriving home I was locked out. I had been in the house, mind you, with my very own set of keys, which remained inside, as I went back out… Never mind, it’s not a good story.

Back to Save the Males—I sat loudly guffawing as I read. People passed by, looking up as the neighbourhood was punctuated by my loud laughter. The author, Kathleen Parker is very funny. And funny people can say unpopular things.

Though for the life of me, I’ll never understand why what she is saying is “controversial.” Yes, I am out of touch—the zeitgeist of political correctism seems to be passing me by. Yes, yes, I’m learning when to self-censor. (Andrea enters chi-chi-la-la cocktail party. Old friend asks—so what are you up to these days? Ah, glad you asked: I am spearheading an effort to prove abortion is not a woman’s right! And you? Smile. Keep Smiling—“hold, hold”—as in the Gladiator ring.)

Here’s a quote that made me laugh:

At the same time that men have been ridiculed in the public square, the importance of fatherhood has been diminished, along with other traditionally male roles of father, protector, and provider, which are increasingly viewed as regressive manifestations of an outmoded patriarchy. The exemplar of the modern male is the hairless, metrosexualized man and decorator boys who turn heterosexual slobs into perfumed ponies. All of which is fine as long as we can dwell happily in the Kingdom of Starbucks, munching our biscotti and debating whether nature or nurture determines gender identity. But in the dangerous world in which we really live, it might be nice to have a few guys around who aren’t trying to juggle pedicures and highlights.

Now in my experience, women want men to be their protector and yes, provider. It is on pain of death that they will vocalize said desires. I have no problem doing so, (see previous anecdote from the cocktail party circuit) but I’ve been told “I’m different” perhaps even “special.” I’m also a woman who came dangerously close to calling 911—uttering the words “now is not my time to die”—on a family of raccoons. (My home is my castle. Correction: I rent. My apartment is their castle—and in any case I’m not allowed to have a shotgun. I wouldn’t know how to use it anyway, and that is where A Man would come in handy. It could hang over the doorway, as with Pa in Little House in the Big Woods—the books, please, not the TV series.)

What I relate to in the snippet of Save the Males above is the notion that we are living in dangerous times, and policy writers, assorted authors, lawyers and economists—well, when push comes to shove I hope they rise to the occasion, and I don’t mean by penning a strongly-worded letter. (“Dear Freedom Fighter, I understand that you may not have been given every opportunity in life, and that the decadent West has been needling you for a very long time. However, when the explosion occurred, many in my town experienced a severe drop in self esteem…”)

I will conclude by saying this Long Weekend, I plan on reading more of Save the Males—and one or two of them will even be around to fire up the BBQ. Of the criticisms this site has received one that bothers me more than others is that we are anti-male: Please, it just ain’t so. We are ProWomanProLife, so that you, my strong male friends, will not go extinct like the whales, and that when it comes to sex, love and babies you will not be told It’s None of Your Business. Most of you, I remain convinced, are aware that sex might involve a baby and that this is your domain too—your responsibility, your pride, your joy—to love and protect these kids and your women in the way that was always intended. 

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Brigitte adds: A) I like men, too. Real ones, I mean. I find perfumed ponies sub-optimal – fer crying out loud I don’t need a guy with worse mood swings and emotional issues than I have, and if I needed someone to help me with my gown shopping, I’d call a real gay friend, not some wimpy metrosexual type. B) I enjoy the confidence my martial arts training has given me. I don’t need a protector, but hey, if hubby (who also has a second-degree black belt) feels like doing what needs doing should someone be so dumb as to try attacking us, I won’t mind. C) I also looooove not having to fire up the BBQ.