An XY traversing the realm of the XX Chromosomes.
MAYBE it started after I saw John Q in 2002. I remember the scene as if I were in it. Denzel Washington leans over his sick son and gives him life advice before he's taken to jail, telling him to always "treat girls like princesses." That line stuck with me.
But maybe it was earlier than that.
Maybe it started at birth and continued to develop alongside my "momma's boy" tendencies. Maybe it formed from having an older sister who, to the best of my knowledge during my childhood, was put on earth solely as an object for me to annoy; our broken relationship a sad reminder of what happens when you're mean to people.
The exact cause I will never know. What I do know is that at some point in my life, I became the "nice guy" who would find a cute girl, kill her with sweetness, and end up becoming her "best guy friend." For some, this may not sound so bad. "At least they like you" is the reaction of some sad soul right now. Ignorance is bliss, buddy. Ignorance is bliss.
The tortuous cycle began in high school.
My first run-in was in 11th grade. There was a girl I liked whom I would talk to for hours…..or maybe I should say there was a girl I liked whom I would listen to for hours. She would call me and I would pick up the phone, unknowingly making a two hour commitment to hear a grocery list of problems which never seemed to find resolution. I would lie on my bed and listen, compassionate comments and niceties the only response I knew to "I went up three dress sizes in two weeks and now I can't even fit into my prom dress!"
It followed me when I left for college too.
There was the girl I met in French class sophomore year. She was beautiful, her smooth tan skin, curly long brown hair, and hourglass frame topped only by her infectious smile and laugh. I emailed her assignments she missed, notes she failed to jot down, anything to create a connection, to give me an excuse to see her. I bought a bag of Jolly Ranchers and picked out the red ones, her favorite, and along with a Valentines Day card, placed them on her car. She thanked me in words only.
At some point, I grew tired of the whole charade. I ignored calls and texts. I complimented less, poked fun more. I showed disinterest in most girls. For the few who caught my eye, I used a less reserved, more aggressive, at times condescending approach. In essence, I became an asshole.
Something else changed too.
I began 'wooing' more girls, the sock on the doorknob becoming a familiar weekend morning sight to my roommates. Girls started listening to me instead of the opposite. Insecurities started to disappear, and a keen social awareness and fool-proof method of attraction replaced them.
I was finally getting what I wanted, or so I thought. The girls in this new approach whom I attracted looked just as cute as the ones the earlier approach failed to nab. But it felt like something remained missing: a deeper connection, the feeling of a wholesome catch, a genuineness, a something my Mom would smile at.
And so, much to the dismay of the devil on my shoulder, I returned to my earlier, kinder ways. The sock used for its alarming purposes returned to the top drawer next to my briefs. My sarcastic, sassy comments disappeared, benevolence and understanding filling the void.
Something else re-emerged too; the real me. [SC]
