Sex and Social Responsibility

(Tripping the Light Fantastic to Self Control!)

So now we know

(I've been reading. Yes I have.)

that Women -- when unimpeded by pressure to conform -- 

have the capacity and desire to be every bit as randy as the boys. 

But (in the main) Women don't go around dropping their drawers in front of every male they encounter -- while Men (in the main) protest that their sex drives are more powerful than their ability to think.

Hmmm. . . .

So who and what is controlling Women's sexual activity?

The painfully obvious answer is (Drum Roll Please): 

Women Control Themselves!

Which probably explains why Men like to call us all kinds of names and accuse us of all manner of crazy behavior, because:

1. They don't like it when they can't coerce us to do things we KNOW are against our self-interest; and 
2. All that self-control would push anyone over the edge.

All of us have observed with embarrassment as a Man (or two, or even three) have launched PMS-like attacks of rage and self-pity; so enough already with the "Women are SOOOO emotional" nonsense!

And we all agree that Men are Equal to Women, so they can't be less capable of self-control, and we have ample evidence to support that conclusion: 

We see them Control Themselves all the time in Negotiations -- typically, women are at an extreme disadvantage in negotiations because they are socialized to make nice, and inadvertently show their hand instead of standing firm -- Business and Financial matters, and in War, for example.

So enough with the ridiculous claims from Men: "We just can't control ourselves!"

Phooey.

Thus, the question becomes:

Should Women just drop the pretense and go wild, having sex with their next door neighbor, their boss or assistant, and the pizza man, should any of the above strike her fancy?

OR:

Should we drop the Other Pretense, and start demanding that Men begin to take on the Adult Responsibilities that go along with the Freedom they feel so entitled to? Should we once and for all refuse to give them a pass every now and then because of their raging hormones?

And should we also hold them TRULY accountable and (perhaps -- it's just a thought) monetize unwanted pregnancies and STDs and MAKE THEM PAY if they prefer to just walk away from the consequences?

Pregnancy is the single most life-threatening experience a young woman can endure. Death and permanent disability are real threats of carrying a child to term. (Abortion is statistically much safer.) And we have all heard of the nightmarish threat of Post-partum Depression and even Psychosis, both of which can inflict life-long health consequences, in addition to the real-life horrors and fears they can engender.

And then there is the whole question of how much we care -- as a Community, a Culture, a World -- about the tiny lives that too often are sparked by a casual sexual encounter. A recent New York Times column by an adoptive gay father, together with the stories of adopted and abandoned children that I have collected over the years, illustrated for me the profound loss children suffer when they are deprived of access to their birth parents.

A casual sexual encounter is not so casual:

• a child who lives life without knowing (and hugging / being hugged by) its origins;
• the risk of death or life-long disability as a result of carrying a pregnancy;
• the risk of death or life-long disability, and/or prolonged, painful treatment for an STD which can lead to Cancer and a forever-impaired sex-life;
• the emotional costs -- to both the child and the mother -- of caring for a child that is unwanted, or (perhaps worse) tangled up in a broken and painful memory.

We need to bring up our boys, as well as our girls, to hold the feelings of others with tenderness and care, and to fear and respect the special moments we encounter when we dare to get close to another human being.

Sex, self control, feelings, life and death, babies -- these are not trivial details.

--------------

(I still don't have a solution for the emotional pain and suffering that comes from having been seduced by a damn liar who swears undying love at midnight, as he clings to your skirt and refuses to allow you to shut the door. I'll keep working on it.)

LL

“Mary Poppins” creator P.L. Travers was a Goth in a perm and a prim pink sui

"Saving Mr. Banks" is a contemplative and moving film for adult children -- not the little ones -- who have discovered that life is difficult, and who fear that joy, beauty, and fun may be lost to them forever. But it also reflects a glint of hope in the moistly emotional theatrical darkness.

The film harkens back to Disney’s live-action family movies of the late 1960s, while it fools us into believing that we are enjoying a very light and silly, feel-good, very 21st century escape into nostalgia for better times. But just like the first time we saw “Mary Poppins,” before we know it, we find ourselves mystically pondering our own lives and the things that matter most.

We are led on a journey into the long ago childhood of a woman who attempted to bury her painful memories in whimsical fantasy. As stuffy and prim as Emma Thompson makes P.L. Travers appear in her 1960s garb, if you squint a little, you can just make out — beneath her adamant, fussy silence and polished façade — the inscrutable determination of a hipster or a goth.

By risking what might have been an embarrassing foray into cliché and overstatement, director John Lee Hancock has captured the depressive Zeitgeist. He juxtaposes Walt Disney’s  whimsical style and heightened color and the hyper-cheerful songs of the Sherman Brothers that lifted our sodden spirits long ago, with a dark and onerous narrative of Mrs.Travers’ stolen childhood. The waves of story-telling gradually meld her memories with our own.

“Saving Mr. Banks” frees viewers to welcome both the tears and the elation that nostalgia brings. Our pain and shame over past errors, and our fears of others’ judgement that we keep tucked in a pocket may come tumbling out along with the Kleenex. But after this movie, we will be more likely to simply leave them where they fall.