Chivalry ain’t dead. It wasn’t
even lost. Know where it was? San Diego…on racecation. It was quite clear to me
once I stopped being so damn busy.
I have never believed that
chivalry died. It like many virtues is learned at a young age, tested through
the developmental years, then realized as truth when it arrives at maturation.
I rocked and rolled San Diego, remember?
I joined some male colleagues in higher education in the city of sunshine on my
quest to 14. And among the beaching, the laughing, the traveling, the getting
ready(ing) and hugging, I saw it.
…and I know what you’re
thinking. Well, you were the only female on the trip. Duh. Of course the men
would act differently around you. Tis’ some truth to that. I have to use a
different restroom. My walking around topless would go over differently than
their shirtless mornings. But not every man on the trip, that I came in contact
with, did chivalrous things.
Like #conferencehubby. He
always checks in. Are you okay? Do you need anything? Can I get that for you?
Or SPL. After running a full marathon quicker than I ran a half, he carried my
belongings whilst at Coronado Beach. His exact words? My mother
taught me better than that. He then reached for my stuff and we
walked to the car. Awkwardly walked to the car together.
So, while I was in town I got
to see my Southern California parents. My friend played football with my
cousin. Athletes and housing folk are on campus all the time, so it made sense
that through or respective work, familial connection, and well we lived in the
same place, that we would see each other all the time. I came to know his mother very well. She wished me a happy 21st birthday. She never
actually said that. It was more like, …stay right here, don’t move. Then
she left. 45 minutes later we were still in our footsteps. When I went looking
for her to inform her that I was attempting to head out for my birthday plans,
she said, …I thought I told yall not to move. I’ll be there in just one second. You’re
thinking, …that’s not happy birthday but from her, it is that and
so much more.
My Foster parents came to meet
me post-13.1 miles as we haven’t seen each other in years. We smile, hug,
greet…and then I listen to them argue about the location of the car keys.
Foster Dad is introduced to my companions because well, they’re men…and he’s
Daddie. Foster Mom meets them. They interrogate my friends briefly and then we’re off.
I respond to questions about my
friends in their nicest parental Harpo who dem men? inspired tone. We eat, we
laugh, we catch up…we pick up where a gap of years left off. They show me off
to Foster Mom's friend…and my medal. Then we leave. It’s time for me to get
to Coronado to meet up with my friends.
Once we arrive to Village
Pizzeria, I am ready to hop out of the car. Sitting still
for too long is painful after a hard run. Before I can latch my hand to the
door Foster Dad looks back at me and says, Call
your friend and tell him to come out here and get you. I’m
thinking, …oh my friend that I can see from
the window of the Pizzeria? Oh. Okay. Now I’m 16 years old again
and embarrassed. I have to call one of my adult friends and have one of them
come fetch me from the car. How am I going to explain this? I call SLP. I tell
him to have Conference Hubby come out to meet me, as I have just arrived. And
to my surprise, SLP comments, …did you specifically need him, or would you like for me to
come outside?
That’s when I knew that
everyone got it, but me. Chivalry. It’s such a complex thing. Multifaceted and
multidimensional. Varying definitions and interpretations. And as such, it’s
the easiest thing. It’s so simple. And because it is so simple, many of us will
be perplexed by it – like I was in the back seat.
It’s the right thing, to make
sure that a person you love like a child you birth is safe. So you look the
person who’s joining her in this adventure in the eye. I watched their eyes
have a conversation.
This is our child who we love.
I care for her as well. She is my friend.
I am entrusting her to you.
I will make sure she is safe.
Thank you.
It is my pleasure, Sir.
In the days and times of
equality on all fronts, especially gender, one might not see the novelty in
this. They might recall days of old when women were the property of their
husbands (some still are), couldn’t freely walk around without the accompaniment of a male
family member, and be seen as too fragile and weak to care for herself. And one
could contend that chivalry was born of this. The expectations of men and their
responsibility for the “fairer” sex.
But beyond gender, there is
something bigger. Responsibility. My Foster parents had me under their care.
And though it was only for a few hours, the fact remains that once they picked
me up, they were responsible for me. And we live in a crazy world, where bad things happen to people. Things
they can’t protect their children from. So at the very least, they can look the
man in the eye traversing the streets of downtown San Diego with their child,
before parting ways. And in order for it to work, I have to comply. I have to submit.
It got me to thinking. There
are people in my life who obviously feel a sense of responsibility to me. The
feel invested in my health, my strength, my smile, in my life really. And when
I am around these people I observe, I witness these effortless acts of
chivalry. And I have to admit that sometimes it makes me uncomfortable because
I’m not used to it – those feelings on a regular and consistent basis.
Chivalry isn’t dead at all.
I just spend time with the
wrong people. That’ll desensitize you.
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