Hugo Schwyzer

Hugo and Martha

I'm moderately irked at the moment, and this is to be a rambling post.

Downstairs in the kitchen, workmen are fixing the garbage disposal.  They are disturbing HRH Princess Matilde's afternoon nap.  Their indefinite arrival time "between three and seven", forced me to forego my afternoon gym workout and Arroyo run.  I've responded to the lack of exercise by eating more.  Much more.

I've never been a very successful dieter.  I haven't had to diet in years, mind you.  Giving up food was always much harder than simply increasing exercise.  I know how to "do more".  Doing "more" of almost anything comes easy to me.  Doing "less", restricting food or certain behaviors -- that is much harder.   Why not just eat all you want and then run and run and run?  I'd rather do a 50K than practice self-restraint at the dinner table.

I'm often told by admiring folks that running so much must take discipline.  I suppose it does, but in some ways, it's evidence of a lack of discipline.  Though running brings me genuine pleasure, it also serves the crucial dual functions of keeping me trim and burning off the anxiety I've carried with me all my life.  (And yes, that anxiety pre-dates my caffeine consumption!)  When I've been working out regularly, I'm a nicer man to be around.

On a spiritual level, I've always liked messages about going out on "great commissions", "taking up crosses", and that sort of thing.  Even if my enthusiasm eventually flags, doing the Lord's will by staying busy now comes easy to me.  Drawing closer to God by getting still?  Hugo doesn't do that so well.  As my New Agey friends say, I know how to do better than I know how to be.

When I was confirmed as a Catholic in college, I took the name Thomas as my confirmation name.  I chose it for the Doubter, but also for Aquinas, More, and Becket.  (I wrote several papers on Becket in my early grad school years; the Jean Anouilh play, as inaccurate as it is, still moves me incredibly).  Anyhow, if I were to "do it all over again", I think I might seriously consider going with Martha. (How does Hugo Martha Schwyzer work?)  I've always sympathized with her, and like her, been annoyed with and envious of the Marys who can just sit at His feet and be in His presence.

The workmen are finished.  The garbage disposal works!

And I have polished off another bagel with an extraordinary amount of peanut butter.   

Homecoming and its discontents

Jonathan Dresner sent me this link to a story from last Friday's New York Times: Gay Students Force New Look at Homecoming Traditions.

It's remarkable how infrequently Americans bother to think about what "homecoming" means.  I'm not enough of a student of American high school traditions to know the real origins, but I've always assumed that the "homecoming" referred to alumni returning to the campus to relive their "glory days" as college or high school students.  This is certainly how most colleges tend to treat the event -- as a glorious opportunity to hit up the alums for donations.  Anyone out there know the origin of "homecoming"?  When did it first start?  When did it get tied into football? 

When I was in high school, and apparently for at least a couple of generations before, we elected "homecoming kings" and "homecoming queens".  But now, GLBTQ students at high schools and colleges across the country are stirring things up:

At Vanderbilt University in Nashville this month, a gay student who ran for homecoming queen and took his place on the court in drag at a football game caused a huge stir. In October, students at St. Cloud State University in Minnesota elected their first male homecoming queen. That student and the university administrators say they were barraged with hostile telephone calls and e-mail messages from alumni and parents.

Key take-away from that excerpt:  Moran was elected.  He didn't sue his way onto Homecoming court; he seems to have won by convincing a sufficient number of students to vote for him.  That seems the robustly American way to do things.

But the young can be impetuous:

"When the gay community separates from mainstream, it's a way of disappearing into the shadows," he (Moran) said. "I really just wanted to put it in everyone's face. I wanted to make alumni and students recognize that on this campus we have gay students, and as much as the administration wants to keep us in the shadows, off to the side and out of the limelight, I'm not going to stand for it."

Some high schools now hold separate gay proms. But gay students like Mr. Moran say that is not enough. They view homecoming as an opportunity to integrate gay students into a classically heterosexual ritual.

I'm moderately sympathetic to his cause.  On the other hand, I wince at his choice of words: I really just wanted to put it in everyone's face. Like so many college students, Mr. Moran has confused an authentic struggle for social justice with the narcissistic desire to tweak the sensibilities of those whom he sees as stodgy and tradition-bound.  This seems to be as much about getting attention as it is about genuinely creating societal change.   Those two are not mutually exclusive, but the "in everyone's face" remark does damn all to advance the cause of GLBTQ inclusion.  Indeed, it seems designed to invite a hostile response.

Obviously, it has drawn just that:

At St. Cloud State in Minnesota, tensions were running high among parents and alumni last month, and an online chat room run by the local newspaper, The St. Cloud Times, was flooded with venomous reaction to the selection of Fue Khang, 22, a male senior, as homecoming queen.

"We believe that the homecoming queen should be a female and that Fue should hand over the homecoming crown," said Kim Ferber, 43, whose daughter was a candidate for homecoming queen at St. Cloud and who recently circulated a petition in town to reverse the decision, gathering 500 signatures. "The town is humiliated."

Mrs. Ferber said she thought the homecoming controversy was reminiscent of the debate over same-sex marriage.

"It's like, what's next?" she said. "We've got to draw the line."

Again, Mrs. Ferber, the students pick the Homecoming Court, not the town. He doesn't seem to have been imposed by judicial fiat.  (And is there any outrage like that of a small-town mother whose daughter lost a position on Homecoming court to an apparently Asian gay man?  I can only imagine the devastation in the Ferber household.  Don't you like how she projects her personal humiliation on to the entire community?)   

On the one hand, it's clear that this is a sign of progress.  The fact that students in St. Cloud are willing to elect a gay male as homecoming queen surely is evidence of some progress, though it may reflect contempt for tradition as much as it does a desire for full inclusion.  The fact that Moran and Khang were not physically attacked is also a clear sign that we've come quite a way.  But on the other hand, I worry that a young generation of gay and lesbian activists may be misdirecting their time and their energy.  In the current political climate, is changing Homecoming rituals the single best use of the young queer community's resources?  One hopes not.

On the other hand, I wonder about the parallels with the widespread acceptance of African-American Homecomings and Proms.  A little searching on the Internet reveals that black homecomings are very common in the Midwest and the South at both the college and the university level.  Schools in the South regularly nominate both black and white Homecoming Kings and Queens.  (See this outraged Ward Connerly editorial on the subject.)  Indeed, it is the African-American community that has fought longest and hardest for these separate rituals, rituals that honor and celebrate unique and valid cultural differences.  Rather than have the occasional "token" gay or lesbian student elected to Homecoming Courts, wouldn't it make more sense to work to create a parallel celebration which would fully celebrate queer identity?

My instincts tell me that these are bigger issues elsewhere in the country than they are in California.  My high school had a homecoming court, but it was considered a bit vulgar to be overly interested in being elected to it.  Pasadena City College elects a homecoming court (with the election monitored by the local League of Women Voters, of all things), but voter turnout is usually less than 1000 students on a campus of almost 30,000.  In Pasadena, we have other things to be passionate about, like the Rose Queen.  (I've long wanted to post about the Tournament of Roses and its influence in this, my adopted home town -- but if there's one sacred cow around here that I honor and fear, it's the Name of the Rose.)

What does Christmas mean, anyway?

In an email regarding my previous post, my fellow Cliopatriarch Jonathan Dresner writes:

Is it at all ironic that your favorite Christmas music was produced by a Jew conducting a choir of a sect some people don't see as Christian?

Well, Jonathan has a point.  I haven't posted much about Mormons (though again, I commend the blogs of Russell Fox and Feminist Mormon Housewives.)  I do tend to be enthusiastically welcoming to the missionaries who come to my door.  I remember a few years ago, not long after I came to Christ, two earnest young "elders" appeared at my townhouse door.  I invited them in, offered them orange juice, and had a nice discussion with them.  It was brief, but I felt very compelled to tell them that though I was quite happy in my church, I did want them to know that I thought that they (Mormons) were Christians, and I apologized on behalf of evangelicals everywhere who had told them otherwise.  They were very nice.  Not long thereafter, two young women ("sisters")  in long dresses appeared at the door.  I offered them bottled water,and repeated my little spiel.  They nodded politely and moved on.  I felt very inclusive.

Anyhow, this post is actually in response to this comment from Zuzu:

You mentioned that you observe Advent now that you're a Christian, yet you also mention celebrating Christmas a certain way as a child, which makes me think that you were raised Christian.

This is a particular usage that I've been hearing, or at least noticing, in the past several years, one which I find perplexing. After all, I was raised Catholic; I thought we were the Famous Original (Original Famous?) Christians. And yet I hear from people I presume are evangelicals that "You're not Christian because you're Catholic."

My mother bequeathed to me a passion for all things Christmas.   My mother is also a firm non-believer.  (She read Bertrand Russell in college and that did it.)  For us, Christmas was about lights, about carols, about gifts, about chocolate, and of course, the tree.  I was raised to be passionate about Christmas trees. I still am passionate about Christmas trees.

As a child and indeed, even as a Christian adult, "Christmas" is the tree.  We are a "Douglas fir with small white non-blinking lights" family.  In my childhood, one knew of families with noble firs and colored lights (or, worst of all, flocked trees), but it was understood that they were Not Our Kind of People (NOKOP).   One of my cousins actually married a woman from a colored light family, and this was considered far more controversial than a mere interracial union.

My mother's Christmas tree is a veritable work of art, with well over 1000 ornaments and seven or eight strands of lights.  My own efforts have been more modest in recent years, but as my mother ages, her trees get smaller and mine get larger.  (Amateur psychologists, hold your fire.)  I had five strands of lights last year, and might go for six in 2004.    My trees are usually about 6'5" to 7'0", though I may soon attempt taller.  Though I have found none, I still hope to have chinchilla-themed Christmas ornaments; if anyone has seen such on the 'net, let me know!

Christmas in my father's family revolves around the Feast of St. Nicolas on December 6 ("Nicolo", as Austrians call it.)  This involves presents, food,  small devils and a miniature bishop.  When my parents married, "Nicolo" became part of our Christmas life.

I'm not going to get into the tiresome "Catholic/Christian" argument.  I'm always amazed by how many folks see these as an authentic dyad.  In my ancient history classes, we always do remedial work around the issue.  Tangentially, one of my students once asked me if "catholic" had anything do with "alcoholic"; she had looked at the last five letters and were convinced that a relationship had to exist.  Addicted to cats, perhaps?

Advent and apologies

Yesterday was the first Sunday in Advent.  Since becoming a Christian, I have tried to delay thinking about Christmas until Advent.  As a child, I began to make Christmas wish lists around Labor Day weekend, and by Halloween was humming Christmas carols.  I have a favorite Christmas CD -- the Leonard Bernstein "Joy of Christmas" with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  My goal this year was to refrain from playing it before the first Sunday of Advent; alas, I fell short of the mark.  On my long drive up to Northern California on Wednesday last week, I popped it into the CD player.  I listened to "Joy to the World" (my favorite) at least sixteen times between the Grapevine and Harris Ranch.  (By the way, many of my Pasadena friends have another way of marking the coming of the season: the moment at which the first bleachers begin to be erected for the Rose Parade.  That usually begins at least a week BEFORE Thanksgiving.)

In any event, John of New Zealand has kindly sent me this link to the Archbishop of Canterbury's Advent message.  In the aftermath of the Windsor Report (which dealt with the repercussions of the decision of the Episcopal Church USA to elevate the openly gay Gene Robinson as bishop of New Hampshire), there has been much discussion about regret, apology, and repentance.  The Report called for the bishops of ECUSA to acknowledge to the rest of the Anglican Communion the hurt that had been caused by the election of Gene Robinson and by the growing practice of performing same-sex blessings.  On the other hand, the Report stopped short of demanding actual repentance from those who support these progressive developments.  The language of the Report went too far for some liberals, and not nearly far enough for many traditionalists.  In that sense, it was a fine Anglican document!

Here are some highlights from Archbishop Williams' letter:

...in the Church we can never call on others to repent without ourselves acknowledging that we too in all sorts of ways are sinners in need of grace. If only the Church's renewal were always a matter of other people's repentance!

Oh, I like that.  Frankly, I think public repentance ought to be the admission price to any theological discussion.   For that matter, it ought to be the admission price for any family argument!  If we could begin by saying to each other, "Here's how I have wronged you", we'd be well on our way.

...staying together as a Communion is bound to be costly for us all. To be in the Church at all obliges us to try and discern the difficult balance between independence and responsibility to each other, and to face the dangers of causing others to stumble (Mark 9.42, Rom.14). How can we be true to our consciences, yet aware that the Church as the whole Body needs to reflect and decide - not just ourselves and our friends? The only thing that will ultimately keep us together is a recognition in each other of the same love and longing for the same Lord and his appearing.

How do we do that? Not primarily through public words and statements. We know each other's hearts as believers only when we share each other's prayer. In the months ahead, please do not forget this. Be aware of others praying with you across the world. Take the opportunities that may arise of sharing directly in prayer wherever you can. Let us use the various links of the Communion for this good purpose. Do not forget the good things we have shared as a Communion. Do not think that repentance is always something others are called to, but acknowledge the failings we all share, sinful and struggling disciples as we are.

Well, let me offer my own repentance.  One of the many reasons I left the Mennonites and came back to the Episcopal Church was because I wanted to take part in the ongoing struggle.  I wanted to be part of the movement for full inclusion for non-celibate gays and lesbians in the life of the church.  I believed -- and still do believe -- that God does do a "new thing" every now and again.  He did it with women's rights, He did it with the abolition of slavery, and He may well be doing it with gays and lesbians.  I wanted my time and my money at All Saints Pasadena because I believe in that struggle.

My faith informs my politics, not the other way around.  But I am aware that we in the progressive church often become so certain that we are implementing God's will that we become dismissive, even contemptuous, of our more cautious and conservative brothers and sisters.   When conservatives say to us "We can't go there with you", we -- myself very much included -- have been tempted to say, "Fine, then the hell with you.  We'll go alone, and leave you to your bigotry."  Self-righteous anger feels SOOO good!  And yet that kind of smug certainty is a dubious luxury that a Christian can never afford.

I have been to same-sex blessings and cried with joy.  I have watched gay and lesbian couples at All Saints adopt and raise wonderful, healthy children.  (Several of my youth group kids come from such families.)  I am, in my own heart, as certain as certain can be that they are living their lives in accordance with God's plan.  But I also know that the human heart lies!  I know that my heart is subject to emotion, and to the influences of the culture in which I have been raised.   And I do think it possible that I may be mistaken.

I repent of my impatience.  I want progress NOW (heck, I want it yesterday!)  That impatience has led me to be dismissive of those who urge more respect for tradition and more respect for reflection.  This advent, I will be praying for patience and discernment for myself and for my church.

I also repent of my self-righteousness.  On this issue above all else, for countless reasons, I am so utterly convinced that I am in the right!  In this Advent season, I will be praying my least favorite prayer, and one I know I need to pray regularly:

God, show me what I don't want to see.  Show me where I remain in the wrong, and grant me the courage to admit it.  Help me to take positive action to make amends for those wrongs of which I become aware.

I don't like that prayer much, possibly because it is a particularly effective one!

I want to see the Anglican Communion survive.  Not at any cost, because the actual Communion -- unlike the body of Christ -- is a human creation that has a finite time of usefulness.  But if we live in to the spirit of prayer and repentance to which Rowan Williams calls us, those of us who have reason to call ourselves "Anglican" may yet find reason to stay together.  That would, I think, be a good and happy thing.

Home and tired and profoundly overfed

We're home from a happy Thanksgiving with the family in Northern California.   We had two turkeys this year: a traditional oven-roasted bird and a fine example of what is clearly the latest rage, a deep-fried turkey.  (Two of my more distant relations by marriage set up an outdoor deep-fryer, complete with its own propane unit.  It was a very exciting process, but call me dull for preferring the traditional  roasted white meat.)

We had 30 for Thanksgiving dinner; Democrats slightly outnumbering Republicans, Cal alums heavily outnumbering Stanford grads.  Our discussion of politics was brief and remarkably civil.  Those who had supported the president were gracious in victory, while the passage of three weeks had done much to soothe the disappointment of those who had supported the senator from Massachusetts.  Our discussion of Cal football was more robust, and the two elderly Stanford alumni at our gathering were gently but firmly ribbed.

I overate with compusive abandon.  Perhaps that ought to be a subject for a future post.

Since 1989, when I first started grad school at UCLA, I've always driven home from Thanksgiving on the Saturday following the holiday.  Of course, I always take I-5.  Today, we left the Ranch at 10:30 and did not arrive home until just past 7:00PM -- by far the longest and most exhausting trip I've done on this route.  I suppose a little research could tell me just how many more people there are in California in 2004 than there were when I first began to drive the I-5 route sixteen Thanksgivings ago.

Some pictures folllow.  No, no pics of my lovely fiancee, but some of me and the family and the foliage.

Here I am with persimmons; my cousin Scott and his boys (note the empty plate)...

and here with my cousin Jay:

Thanksgiving Thursday Short Poem -- Robert Hershon

I'm typing this on Monday, arranging to have it published on Thursday.  My mother sent it to me; I loved it instantly.   I've never heard of Robert Hershon before, but this somehow seems right for Thanksgiving.

SENTIMENTAL MOMENT OR WHY DID THE BAGUETTE CROSS THE ROAD?
 
Don't fill up on bread
I said absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge

My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?

What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand

Tuesday links, and off for the holiday

Well, folks, though I may be checking in for comments from time to time, this will be my last post before the Thanksgiving holiday.  I've already "preloaded" a short poem to go up Thanksgiving morning, but I may not post again until next Monday.  Tomorrow, I drive up to Northern California for a large holiday gathering with the family; my fiancee flies up Thursday morning to join me.  For the tenth consecutive year, I am cancelling my classes the day before the holiday.  (Matilde has some excellent chinnie sitters lined up.)

A few recommendations for reading:

At Nerve, of all places, an interesting piece on bridging the pro-life/pro-choice political divide.

Camassia has a fine post on "family as idol."

Russell posts on musicals, and needs some recommendations.  (Me? I'm a "South Pacific" fan.)

David Morrison, a man with whom I disagree profoundly and for whom my admiration is equally deep, has a long and powerful post on gays, celibacy, and his own struggles with the nasty folks at the New Oxford Review.

At Feminist Mormon Housewives, the ultimate Feminist Mormon Lady List.  I am now a "gentile in the know".

And check out thisgirl on faking it, Mumcat on getting ready for Advent, Scott on Christ the King, and the American Family Association's discovery of homosexuality in the Shark's Tale movie.  I kid you not.

This morning, we had "all-female day" in my women's history class.  The men are asked not to come, and it's just Hugo and the female students, talking and sharing stories.  Next Tuesday, we reverse; the males and I meet for a morning and chat.  These are always good sessions.

I talked about Islam at 10:25; and at 1:00, we'll move into the early stages of World War One and the Armenian Genocide.  Then off to the bank, the gym, and a run.

A very happy Thanksgiving to all!

Pat-downs, search terms, tampons

Today's New York Times has this piece on the growing problem of "pat-down" searches of female passengers by security screeners at the nation's airports:

In dozens of interviews, women across the country say they were humiliated by the searches, often done in view of other passengers, and many said they had sharply reduced their air travel as a result.

The new security policies on body searches were put into practice in mid-September, after a terrorist attack in Russia a few weeks before that destroyed two planes, killing 90 people. Two Chechen women were thought to have carried nonmetallic explosives onto the planes, officials said. It is not known whether the explosives were hidden in the women's clothing, or whether the women merely boarded unimpeded, carrying the explosives.

But the Transportation Security Administration in the United States, already worried that metal detectors could not pick up nonmetallic explosives, issued new regulations requiring airport screeners to conduct more frequent and more intense secondary searches and pat-downs.

The agency, part of the Department of Homeland Security, declined to break down the percentage of searches conducted by gender, but a spokeswoman said it did not treat women differently from men under the policy. While some men have complained about the groping nature of the searches, women object the most. Several women interviewed said that male colleagues had scoffed at their complaints, saying that a physical pat-down was a small price to pay for security.

I'm not qualified to blog about security procedures at airports.  To put it mildly, I find all of these security procedures tiresome.  I don't mind the pat-downs; I mind the time involved.  (And after being physically pawed and searched by teenage soldiers a few times on remote roads in rural Colombia last summer, I have a new outlook on  "pat-downs"!)

But it's very different for a man to be patted down than it is for a woman.  Whether in LAX or on a highway in Cesar Department, I'm quite confident that the man who is running his hands over my body has no sexual agenda in doing so.  My chest is not considered a "private area", and so a man's hands roaming across my upper body does not provoke discomfort.  For women, the situation is obviously radically different, as the anecdotes in the Times article attest.

I have to be mindful of my own protectiveness.  If my fiancee, or my mother, or one of my sisters were to be asked to partially disrobe at an airport (as is happening more regularly, according to the Times), I would be angry.  Though Russia's recent experience with female Chechen suicide bombers makes it clear that women can be a threat, I frankly believe that our nation's security needs to be balanced by a respect for human -- particularly female --dignity.  I am aware that this may come across as less-than-enlightened, but honestly, I'm willing to take the risk that the lady next to me on the plane may have a bomb in her bra rather than subject her and others to humiliating searches.

I have female friends who are Muslim and wear hijab; I have other female friends who practice orthodox Jewish standards of modesty.  I cannot imagine how they are expected to get through these newly intensified screening procedures.  (The article makes clear that women who insist on being screened by other women, rather than the more available male screeners, often risk missing their flight).  And yes, I think that their right to fly unmolested outweighs the security need to closely inspect their persons.

Okay, so it's not the biggest issue in the world, but it has me mildly irked.  On the other hand, it's time for fun with search terms!  Today, folks have used the following to find me:

faux bisexuality  (and I was so sure I made up that phrase!  Darn.)

people hugging  (this is a query?  Do they want pictures?  A "how-to" guide?)

pussy different languages (a cat is still a cat, brother)

athletic amennorhea (I could say, stop working out and eat a burger, but that wouldn't be kind)

But lord, they're gay (My kingdom for a context!)

women's magazines influence metrosexuality (Perhaps they do, but some of us don't need that kind of encouragement)

gay mennonites (I know a few, but I'm not telling!)

And of all things, in today's women's history class, we'll be delving into the history of the tampon, its use among different ethnic groups in America, and its connection to the sexual revolution of the 60s.  If there is demand, I shall post on the subject...

Monday afternoon notes -- and a response to Jeff

First of all, let me urge you to order yourself a copy of the SoulSisters' first 'zine: The Soulsisters Guide to a Very Merry Christmas.   Jen Lemen (whose writing I love) and her friend Patience are the sisters, and my copy of their Christmas 'zine arrived on Saturday.  It's simply terrific -- rich and warm and good.  Order your copy here.  Like really good fruitcake, only better.  (Hugo, for the record, loves fruitcake.  But not fruitcake with rum in it.)

Speaking of alcohol, I can't help but think that fan-player violence of the sort that we saw in Detroit last week could be prevented if all stadiums and arenas (and their surrounding parking lots) were declared alcohol-free zones.   For the record, I don't drink.  (Used to, don't anymore, it's part of my private story that I don't blog about).  But even when I did consume, I hated drunk fans at football games.   I have no problem loving sports while sober -- anyone who needs beer or spirits to enjoy the event doesn't deserve to be at the game.  I don't smoke (though I used to), but I am clear on this much: beer breath and profanity bother me far more than cigarette smoke. If we could only do for alcohol what we've managed to do for cigarettes in this country, I'd be at the ball game more often.

Though I generally don't let nastiness get to me, I thought I'd touch on what Jeff wrote in the comments below my previous post:

It must be hell to hate one's own sex so much.

Let me respond at length and in love.

Dear Jeff:

I spend my days with young men whom I love very, very much.  Every week, my friend, I try to talk to three kinds of men:  older men (father figures, and my Dad himself) from whom I can learn; men my own age (brother figures, and when we can reach each other, my dear brother himself); men younger than me (especially teenagers).  I need all three kinds of men in my life.  I need to learn from their wisdom, I need to tell them my stories, I need to hear their pain, I need to laugh with them.  I need to hug them a lot.  I would not be who I am without them.

Jeff, I just hung up the phone after leaving a message for a boy in my youth group.  He's gone through a tough break-up recently.  He's a dazzling, beautiful kid on his way to becoming a strong, bright, good young man.  I'm trying to set up a time for the two of us to go work out together, and maybe grab some dinner.  We're gonna hang out.  We're gonna talk.  I'm not going to lecture him about the importance of being a pro-feminist male.  I'm just going to love him as he is, love him where he is -- and maybe, if things work out, give him some loving direction.

Jeff, I like to get coffee and lunch with the guys in my life.  I like to be a man among other men, regardless of the age of the fella whom I'm with.  No, I don't take the girls in my youth group out.  I'm never, ever alone with a teenage girl -- not because I'm not trustworthy, but because boundaries and perceptions matter.  I can love my girls safely from a distance.  I can love my boys up close. 

I don't hate masculine energy.  I don't want to suppress my boys' exuberance.  But I want them to be men who are whole and complete, who do not need to dominate and exploit women in order to feel alive.  I don't want them to be men who can only show vulnerability to a woman.  I want them to like women, not merely want women.  I want them to be happy.

Jeff, like many men, I went through a period of self-loathing.  I was -- for many years -- deeply ambivalent about my masculinity.   Though I still have miles to go on my journey, I delight in the maleness that God gave me.  I delight in real masculine energy, the kind I feel most strongly when I am with other men who are spirit-filled.  I like my body, and think the male body is magnificent and beautiful.  Today,  I like the way men smell, I like the way men sweat, I like the way men roar at football games (especially when they aren't drunk)!  I like the way the men in my life can heal me in ways that only men can.

I can write those preceding words with unerring confidence in my heterosexuality. I can write them while believing that we live in a world that still gives profound unearned privileges to men, privileges of which most men are thoroughly unaware.  I can write them while believing in gender equity and sexual justice. 

Jeff, I love being a man. I could not do the gender work I do if I didn't.  And Jeff, I know a bit about hell-on-earth; I know I'm not there any longer.

Peace, brother.

Long reflections on another kind of gender gap

A very fine article in the Sunday LA Times yesterday:  A Growing Gender Gap Tests College Admissions.  It deals with an increasingly familiar story: the growing imbalance between male and female students on college and university campuses across the country.  At a great many schools, women are now approaching (or exceeding) 60% of the student body; some schools (as detailed in the Times piece) are now apparently lowering standards for male applicants in hopes of achieving greater balance.

...many of the finest liberal arts colleges and top national universities like Georgetown, Boston University, Emory, Brown, Tulane, Vanderbilt and Northwestern enroll more women than men.

The same is true for all UC campuses, except Irvine, and Cal State campuses except for the two polytechnics and the California Maritime Academy. The stronger credentials of the female applicant pool are apparent at California public universities, which are all barred by law from considering sex or race in admissions. Even at the highly sought UC Berkeley, 26% of female freshman applicants were admitted in 2003, compared with 22% of males.

William and Mary, where a couple of my cousins went to school, is among the few that openly admit giving some preference to male applicants in order to achieve near-perfect gender balance:

Henry Broaddus, William and Mary's director of admissions, said just as the 5,700-student Williamsburg, Va., school seeks "musicians, artists, athletes as well as a racially diverse group of students…. We are concerned that we have roughly equal numbers of men and women."

But an applicant's sex is "one of many factors we take into account in the interest of bringing in a diverse class," Broaddus said. For this year's freshmen class, 30% of male applicants were admitted, compared with 22% of female applicants.

Interesting stuff.  Do scroll down through the article to the "info box" below, which provides interesting national statistics about grades, enrollment, SAT scores and other information about gender and college succcess.  (By the way, Pasadena City College is 57% female).  Who'd of thunk we'd end up with affirmative action for males -- most of them white to boot?  Perhaps already, at places like William and Mary girls are whispering about boys in their classes: "Oh, you know he just got in because the standards are lower for guys!"

On another level, I wonder how this gender gap contributes to the "hook-up culture" on college campuses.   On the one hand, young women may feel increasingly sexually emboldened, and young men increasingly comfortable seeing women in positions of power.  On the other hand, young men know that the high numbers of young women around gives them less incentive to date anyone exclusively.   Why be faithful to one gal when the "odds" are so good?   Of course, I'm assuming that the "hook-up culture" is more beneficial to young men than to young women -- a premise that some of my feminist readers have rejected in the past.

I suppose I am trying to decide whether I think this growing "gender gap" constitutes a "problem" or not.  On the one hand, when I read that women are earning the majority of degrees in this country (and now outnumber men in law and medical school), I am overjoyed at the progress this marks.   It is evidence of how far women have come in recent generations.  Women's accomplishments, individually and collectively, are cause for feminist celebration.

On the other hand, one wonders about the men.   Where are they?  In the military?  In prison?  In blue-collar jobs that do not require college educations?  At private technical and vocational schools?  Is it just that the number of women going to college is increasing, or is it also true that the number of men interested in college is declining?  I suspect all of these factors are at play, and some of them trouble me.

Having worked with my youth group for five years now, I've watched two classes of kids pass from high school frosh into college students.  And I've noticed that a high number of otherwise bright and capable boys start to "slack off" in their critical sophomore and junior years.  I was talking to one of the smartest of my high school junior boys yesterday after church; he is talented (an actor and a singer), hysterically funny, and terribly quick-witted.  He also admitted he is failing two of his classes.  I asked him what was going on, and he shrugged, saying "I don't know. I just have no motivation."  He was charmingly self-deprecating, and a little embarrassed -- but he also admitted that he was spending his time on the Internet and watching TV rather than studying.  He's a brilliant boy -- and he is fully aware that he is hurting his chances of getting into a "good" college.  But something inside of him just isn't willing to do the work.

I see this much, much more often with boys than with girls.  Indeed, my girls seem to have the opposite problem!  Several of my high school girls are "super-women" in training: they play on sports teams (soccer, swimming, softball); they volunteer in the community; they take AP classes and study long hours; they sing in the church choir and serve as acolytes on Sundays; they come to youth group.  A few also have part-time jobs.  Sometimes, they look utterly exhausted.  But by God, they are successful!  And very, very few of the boys I know work quite so hard.

As a pro-feminist man, I was trained to support the women around me.  As a gender studies teacher, I've spent years encouraging women to push themselves, to escape the confines of culture, tradition, and even biology itself.  Up until recently, I just assumed the "boys would take care of themselves."  Of course, I was also wary of working with young men, largely because I was far more afraid of what other males thought of me than what younger women thought of me.  (I've copped to this ugly truth before, and I know damn well I'm not alone in this one).

I still see encouraging young high school and college-age women as one of my primary jobs.  But I am also making an active effort to reach out to male students and youth groupers.  I've learned, over the years, not to put off by either male passivity or affected indifference; I've learned not to be intimidated by what appears as swaggering confidence.  But as much as I love working with the fellas, it is still a great challenge to me.  Working with young women is still so much easier.  I know I'm not alone in this -- and I wonder if I -- and my fellow educators at all levels -- have failed our boys.