When I was searching for quality trash as a required part of my last blog entry, I found this in the dumpster behind my apartment building. I was sure it was a brake pad. I, as a human with no real knowledge of automobiles, was positive I was correct. I mean, from the one time I had changed a tire, I knew it could be nothing else.
I decided I had to consult with the experts: my dad and two younger brothers, holders of all knowledge relating to the ins, outs and roundabouts of autos of any year, make or speed capacity.
Brother 1: It’s a wire reel. For wire.
Nicole: I don’t think it’s a wire reel. I think it’s a brake thing.
Brother 1: I got Brother 2’s professional opinion after I decided what it was. It’s not a rotor off a car, believe me.
Nicole: It’s a drum brake.
Brother 1: No it ain’t.
Nicole: What is it then? It’s not a wire reel holder. Ask Dad.
Brother 1: You don’t even know what a drum brake is. Fine. Father says it’s a wire reel.
Nicole: Hmm, is it copper wire? The label says copper 984 feet.
Brother 1: That is where the wire has come off. Yes, you nimrod.
Nicole: K, so it’s a wire reel.
Brother 1: Finally.
Nicole: I still think it’s a dust shield.
I can’t tell you how nice it’s been to have a bunch of guys’ guys around when I’ve needed them.
I think back to my third year of journalism school. After covering a story that involved Ryerson’s impressively twisted official chair, I couldn’t figure out how to describe the particular tool that bent the wood into such a shape. I called my brothers. They knew exactly what I was talking about and gave me the directions and terms needed.
If I can’t figure out why my printer won’t work, I call my brothers. They are there, filled with scorn at my lack of knowledge, to walk me through the setup steps.
If my earring falls apart, my brothers will glue it back together for me with some form of high-resistance glue unknown to most of humankind. If the links in my watch fall apart, my brothers pull out their screw kits, find the necessary miniscule screw needed to repair the watch and execute, with precision, the task for me.
Now, you could say I could have done all of the above myself had I actually tried. Perhaps I could have, but in a world where the metrosexual rules and where feminism has led men to be confused and afraid of the traditional male role, it’s nice to have guys like this around, even if they are my brothers and dad.
It is, afterall, ridiculous to think that only women struggle with evolving gender roles; every person does.
If a guy held the door for a girl, is he suggesting she can’t do it herself or is it a genuinely nice gesture? If a girl makes the first move on a date, is she a slut or just going for what she wants? Can a guy both cook and fix the lawnmower? Can a girl mend the holes in her boyfriend’s socks and not be considered a victim of male oppression?
Both males and females have been the victims of hate because of traditional gender roles. Rather than blaming the opposite gender, couldn't both sexes have the common goal of expanding what it means to be male or female instead of trying to destroy traditional definitions? I think most people would be happier just being and doing who and what they want to.
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