You Poor Thing

You poor thing.




That’s what someone recently replied after I had shared a small piece of something that I have been dealing with personally. You poor thing.



Naturally I was taken aback. It was somewhat of a struggle for me to remain quiet and not give life to the thoughts that immediately began to roil about in my head. I am probably the least of the poor things you would ever come across in this life. An understatement if there ever was.



My mother had very definite ideas about what things impressionable young ladies should see and hear. Her agenda in raising me was directed toward shaping me into a serious person. She did not glorify screen actresses. She downplayed beauty as an asset citing common sense as a more desirable attribute. She didn’t exactly tell me how to think but she made it perfectly clear as to how I shouldn’t.



I suppose as a result, growing up, I didn’t like the weak women I saw depicted in film or on TV. I was attracted to heroines. I liked the women who figuratively “kick ass”. Once I saw Wrangler Jane on the TV series, F Troop I immediately fell in love. A woman who could shoot a rifle, ride a horse and look good? My kind of woman! I also wanted to be Lt. Uhura on the TV series Star Trek. It didn’t matter that Captain James T. Kirk went around kissing every other female on the show… Uhura was on the bridge and helped run the Enterprise! She didn’t need to kiss the captain to get there either.



It’s not that I was a tomboy but I never much cared for super feminine women who needed rescuing…. by a man. I became annoyed observing women on TV and film who always seemed to fall down helplessly, generally while getting chased by an attacker, appearing as if suddenly they forgot how to stay upright. Wide-eyed and blinking, chest heaving and ready to meet peril, waiting for a man to come along and save the day. They got on my nerves. Of course there are the ones who had to drape themselves over a man while they dissolved into tears, helpless and needy, fearfully expecting salvation. Pathetic. The worst of the lot, to me, were those hapless fools seemingly looking for a rescue, basically tripping over any man in the vicinity who might provide one. Horrid stereotypes, I know, but they were common in the late 1960s. Sadly, some still remain.



It’s not that I don’t like men or like to be assisted or helped out by a man when help is needed. I rather enjoy men. I adore chivalry and appreciate masculine gestures of respect and the kindnesses a man can extend to a woman. I just need them to be sincere gestures born from humanity and not superiority. There needs to be a certain symmetry in the gesture without the slightest suggestion of an expectation other than my thanks.



Nothing more, nothing less.

Indeed