My hypocritical views on chivalry
My hypocritical views on chivalry
Is chivalry dying? In some ways, women may be killing it — me included
Writer’s note: This post was originally published on Medium’s “We Need to Talk” on October 27, 2019.
Every second and fourth Saturday afternoon, I am asked the same question by at least a handful of men: “Do you need help with that?” or “Where is your car?” And my response is always the same, “Nope, I got it.” I twirl around, content to do my job as the Sergeant at Arms.
After each Toastmasters meeting, off I scurry to lug a bin, cloth banner and a T-banner stand from my club’s lobby area. I have no idea how much the bin weighs, but another member told me she felt the bin was “too heavy.” All I know is I can do a bicep curl with my 25-pound dumbbells, and this bin isn’t heavier than those.
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These Toastmasters members (always male) who ask to assist me are taller and bigger than me. And I know a couple of them can carry the bin with ease. Still though, I’m not interested in their help. I stand there expectantly waiting on one of those same taller, bigger men to hold the door for me. I would judge them if they didn’t immediately do so. (They are gentleman, and they always do.) A couple of times I’ve walked down the street with the bin in my arms, trying to find my car. And the same men, walking side-by-side, have offered to switch places with me and hold the bin while I hold the banner and T-banner stand. I refuse a second time.
I’ve convinced myself that it is counterproductive for someone to carry something for me that I can physically carry myself without breaking a sweat. My arms work just fine, thank you.
Where my chivalry hypocrisy starts
When I was in high school, I played the alto saxophone. And I’d have to bring that instrument home with me at least once per week to practice. Two neighborhood boys went to my high school, and we’d regularly walk home together.
One of them would chat away with me and kept his hands empty. The other one insisted that I walk on the inside of the street and took the saxophone from me. Sometimes he’d even offer to walk me all the way home so I didn’t have to carry it for one whole block. I rolled my eyes and snatched my saxophone case, while he looked guilty as I kept walking. I always preferred my home commute with the latter boy. To this day, I still appreciate the way his mother raised him. I knew as a teenager I could’ve carried that alto saxophone as easily as I now carry my Toastmasters bin. But I skipped along next to him, happy to be relieved of the saxophone that I barely wanted to play anyway.