The Man Cold

It's been coming up in therapy that men need to be babied when they are sick. They think they're dying at the first sign of a headache, a cold, weakness, and if they are married, expect their partners to drop everything to take care of them, nurture them. And all their partner wants to say is:

 Man up. It's a cold.

That's pretty funny, no? Is it true? Are most men big babies when they're down for the count? Sometimes, surely not universally. We all know men who refuse to stay home from work when they have a cold, even a fever, or who might stay home but won't call their moms to make them chicken soup. They make it themselves, or order in, or do without.

Are the less needy ones the same men who second shift, who know that there are other things that have to be done, more important things than lying around to wait for the fever to pass? Maybe. But it is more likely they had to take care of themselves as kids, didn't have a mommy hovering over them when they came down with symptoms. They took a couple of Tylenol and went about the work that had to be done, went to school, made their own lunch as kids.

Women want to be nurtured, too, is the subtext, when they're under the weather. But traditionally, carrying the second shift, they haven't the luxury of staying in bed. They still have to make lunches, do the laundry, drive car pool, unless a partner isn't off to work and can do these things for them. If he is expected on the job, then she has no time to go back to bed. Men who never lifted a dish, who never did laundry in their lives, can't relate. They don't see the urgency, and when they feel uncomfortable become, or hope to become, the center of attention, helpless. They really feel helpless.

Why would women tolerate the beached whale, a self-indulgent male partner who keeps ringing a bell for room service? Maybe it is because we saw our mothers doing it for our fathers, women grumbling under their breath, as they brought yet another cup of tea, joking to anyone in earshot, Such a baby, your father. It was cute, Dad being sick, perhaps the only time he let his machismo down.

But if the model was different, and Mom and Dad both toughed out their viruses, daughters would expect their partners to do the same.

Just a theory. But I think it's got to be in there. They're cute when they're sick, but not too sick, and we might be cute, too, under the same circumstances, given the luxury. This isn't death defying stuff, a cold. And really, if someone's late with the tea, just maybe, if it is a he, someone with a man cold, he'll get up and get it himself.

therapydoc

The Rabbi and the Second Shift

As long as we're grousing about the past and talking about parenting . . .

When I talk to people of my generation, doesn't matter if they're Irish, Jewish, Italian, Polish, German, or Japanese (I could go on with that but I think you get the idea), they talk about their parents and their traditional roles.

Sure, they complain about old school parenting, whipping out the belt for effect, silent but deadly looks. But at least the food was on the table, the laundry clean, and the kids got to bed by 10:00. (Yes, I'm way over-generalizing, I know, I know).

But when I talk to people a generation or two younger, they talk about their role confusion, and how between the two of them working, nothing gets done since nobody particularly wants to claim this job, or that job. Sometimes one of the two will try ALL the second shift jobs, burn out, and need me to fill out forms for family leave. So burnt out.

The kids are on the Internet until the next morning, don't understand about alarm clocks, think that gang-banging could be a concept (so bored).

What to do, what to do.

Don't ask me, I just thought I'd rant a little.

I'll pass this one along, a story I've repeated about 2 zillion times, maybe even on this blog.

The story goes about a young man who sat in Kollel and learned Torah (the Holy Books) for a living. Orthodox Jews respect Torah learning so much, that they set up groups of men to learn professionally just to make sure the world continues to spin properly. The ones who are paid to do this are married, and it's generally expected that wives will earn a living somehow, too, as well as bear children and see to it that they're well-groomed.

So this young fellow, Yankel, was expected to be on time for morning prayers at the synagogue; that's one of the expectations if you take a place in the Kollel, you make it to the meetings for prayer 3 times a day on time. And he was forever late for the morning prayers, in fact he often didn't make it to them at all.

One day the head of the Kollel took him aside and said to him, "Yankel, what's going on? You never make it to shacharit (morning prayers). What is your excuse, anyway? It's not right, you know."

Yankel looked embarrassed, but he answered the rabbi.

"Rebbe," he said, "I have this problem. I want to go, I really do. But there's this woman, and she has many children, and the mornings are impossible for her. She has to feed them all and get them dressed and off to school, and they go to different schools. It's very hard. So I feel it's important that I help her."

The rabbi, incredulous, raised his hands to Heaven and shouted, "Yankel! Who is this woman? We can help her! I can find someone who will come to her house in the morning to help her!"

Yankel shrugged his shoulders. "That woman, Rebbe, is my wife."

So you see, friends, at some point you just have to figure it out.

thoughtfully yours,

therapydoc