“All
men are assholes.” I think those were
the first words I ever spoke. Most
babies start with “Mamma” or “Dadda,” but not me. After all, babies repeat what they hear,
right? Well, that’s what I did –
repeated what I heard – a lot.
Now,
before you judge too harshly, my Mom had reasons why she believed that. Her
father was a tyrant who never wanted her; her first husband, never met a woman he didn’t try to
have sex with and put a loaded gun to her head one day while she was sitting on
a toilet; her second husband (my father (aka “Sperm Donor”)) wanted her to give
up her three children by her first husband after I was born. She declined and he was gone before my first
birthday. Are you still wondering why
“all men are assholes” were my first words?
There
was one positive male influence upon my Mother – her brother. He was her hero. But she didn’t see him as a
man; he was her bother so he didn’t fall into the “all men …” category. As she went through life she found a select
few other men who didn’t fall into that group either. They were uncles or cousins or an occasional
friend of the family. But as far as I
ever knew, there were no males she met professionally or personally who escaped
the “asshole” label.
Did
it have an impact on me and my siblings? Oh yes. My sisters and I didn’t want to make
a liar out of our Mom so we managed to find a few of our own along the way to
add to her list. Then we too could
say “all men are assholes.” And we did.
But
one day when I thinking about my childhood I wondered what the frequent use of
that phrase had done to my brother’s psyche.
During his teen years, he heard
that phrase frequently. And it
had to hurt him – a lot. I don’t think
our Mother ever consciously thought her son was an asshole. However, she lived with such constant bitterness and hurt I don’t think she ever
really considered the impact of those words on her son or his sisters.
After
I graduated from high school at age 17 and moved half-way across the country to
start my “adult life,” I had the opportunity to get to know my brother. He came to visit me for a few days before the
Navy shipped him off to Japan and he promised to write. And he did!
Through our letters I learned something really amazing; my brother was a
good guy!
Once I assimilated
that fact, I realized something more amazing.
If my brother, who is a male, is not an asshole, then it was not
possible that “all men are assholes.” Maybe
there were other men out there who were good guys; maybe they were not all that
bad. It was an astounding revelation!
I had already
learned on my own there were some males who fit very easily into my Mom’s group. I had even learned there were some females
who fit easily into the female group.
But certainly not all, not even most.
My brother has
come to that realization too. It may
have taken him a little longer, but that’s understandable. While I don’t believe for a second Mom was
directing them at her son, he still felt the sting of the arrows. Even now, on occasion, when he doesn’t want
to do something I would like him to do, he will say, “Well, as Mom always said,
‘All Men are Assholes.”
