About our men through the eyes of a foreigner. An honest look from the outside… It just broke my heart! After my divorce from my husband, I swore to myself that I would never get involved with ours again. I want John, Jose, and Karl—just not Ivan. Not because all Ivans are bad… but because they have become spoiled.
Spoiled. Warped… Expectations are sometimes the size of a hover, and opportunities are the size of an anthill. And this is a trend. Yes, it’s easy for me to say—I speak from America, where men walk with children, push them on swings, and take them for the whole day on weekends, letting their wives go for a manicure. They, as well as their wives, get up to a screaming child at night and change diapers. They do not consider it shameful to refuse a bar after work when the family is waiting at home. And they do not consider this a feat. This is normal! This is right! You called yourself the stronger sex—be kind, be strong! Your strength is in understanding our weaknesses. And not using it.
I remember once visiting a friend. She was on maternity leave, with a small daughter in her arms. A tired, busy woman and her husband, sitting in stretched-out pants and playing on the computer… I sat down on the sofa, and my friend fussed with tea, giving me the child for a few minutes. She rushed around the small kitchen, collecting cups and saucers, stirring soup on the stove, and feeding the cat. My husband, sitting at the game, did not even move, although the child in my arms began to cry and arch. Trying to calm him down, I jumped around the room, hooting and grimacing, while his father, looking at this action indifferently, continued shooting. “What a goat.” I thought, all wet from jumping with a screaming child. I wanted to come up to him and hit him so hard that he would smash his impudent face into his monitor. But thank God, he’s not my husband, so I can’t hit him. But I wanted to so much…
My friend put the tea on the table and took my screaming daughter from my shaking hands. I plopped down on the chair with relief, wiping my wet forehead and convulsively taking a sip of tea. My friend calmed the child down and smiled at me tired.
Only now did I notice the fine wrinkles on her young face and her hair carelessly pulled back into a bun. Always happy and well-groomed, now she looked like a driven horse, lathered and dead tired. “How are you?” she asked, without touching her tea. We hadn’t seen each other for a long time; I had flown in from America after several years, and there was a lot of news…
She got married and gave birth. Her husband worked as a small manager; there was little money. She, sitting on maternity leave, tried to earn extra money by translating, sitting at night, and running with the child to doctors. Either a cold or the flu. Or vaccinations. Or teeth…
I sat, listening, and my hair stood on end. “And your husband? Does he help?” I asked timidly, already knowing the answer. She sighed quietly and looked down. “Of course, he sometimes watches her while I clean. She’s afraid of the vacuum cleaner. He sits with her in the other room.” I looked away from the window. A peaceful, slushy evening with dirty snow on the sidewalk…trampled underfoot by millions of the same unfortunate women pushing strollers stuck in melting puddles.
Dim lights and leaky boots. They carefully tuck warm blankets under sleeping children, splashing home in wet shoes, hurrying to cook dinner for the so-called “husbands.”.
They drag bags from the market and push a stroller into an entrance without a ramp. At home, torn apart, they cook dinner, vacuum, and dry wet shoes without letting go of the child. And all this to bear the title of “wife.”. And no one will praise them for this. No one will hug them, press them to their chest, and appreciate them. Because “she should.”. And he “shouldn’t.”. He goes to work…
I didn’t tell her that my husband, and any “husband,” usually helps. And doesn’t wait for his wife to ask. And doesn’t do favors. And he does the dishes and vacuums himself after coming home from work and changing. And he takes the kids to the pool in the evening so his wife can rest. And he loves her and doesn’t look at her with reproach. And that this is normal!
I was silent. And I thanked God that I live in a world where this is normal. Where a man is the head of the family, bearing the lion’s share of household responsibilities without expecting praise. He is not only a physiological man.
He is a man, strong, understanding, and a full partner in the family routine. He goes to work, goes grocery shopping, and helps make dinner. He habitually washes the dishes, and then, scooping up the children in his arms, plays computer games with them.
He is a father, a husband, a wall. And I can wrap myself in a terry robe and write another article. Because I am also a person, I have a hobby and a life beyond diapers. And no one demands pies and a mop from me, because he respects and loves me. And values, and most importantly, takes care of me. And because he is a real man…
Yes, I have been spoiled by America with its equality and freedom of thought. And yes, I love being a woman, not a domestic robot. And I like the fact that my sons will grow up to be partners to their wives, not users sitting in stretched-out sweatpants and indifferently watching their wives running around and falling off their feet…
“Henpecked husbands,” most men will say, sitting with a glass of beer in a “pub,” whose wives are now drying their leaky boots and hastily peeling potatoes for dinner. But I believe that they are the herd of ungrateful “non-men” sitting on broken women’s backs, puffing with pride that they are the strong half of humanity. Where else…
***
“Wife, let’s eat,” I heard a voice out of nowhere. A sharp cry brought me out of my thoughts. Our player had woken up and was hungry, poor thing. My friend got up tiredly, silently poured soup, and put it in front of “husband.” He, without saying “thank you,” began to lap it up from the plate. “Give me some bread!” He pointed without moving from his spot… “Husband?!” I thought… “No, just (think of the word yourself)…”
Girls, young women, women! Let’s love ourselves! Let’s learn to distinguish “like this” from “normal men”! There are still good husbands, caring and thoughtful! Some do not consider you a servant! Believe me, a strong woman lives with a weak, worthless creature and is forced to be strong…
Look, look, and there is no need for compromise. We have only one life; love and respect the one who walks hand in hand with you through life. The one who leads you and does not ride on your broken necks…
