This piece has nothing to do with Dartmouth. It's about women. Well, not exactly. I've always felt people should stick to what they know when they write, and in all honesty I know nothing about women. But I do know a lot about knowing nothing about women. I am, in fact, an expert in this field.
There are only two things I am certain of when it comes to women. First, that they are the most beautiful and intriguing creatures on Earth. Second, that they are a complete and total mystery to me. I'm sure these two facts are related somehow.
I didn't use to feel this way. There was a time in my life when I feared and resented females enormously. I also presumed to know absolutely everything about them. It made for an interesting childhood.
These feelings -- like most ridiculous things in life -- began at home. In my family, men compose a silent and passive minority. I am the youngest of three children. My sisters are both about a decade older. There must have come a time early in my father's life when it was painfully clear that he was, by all accounts, hopelessly outnumbered. From that point onward -- whenever in doubt -- I believe he simply did his best to keep his mouth shut and nod. It was clearly in his own best interest.
I appeared on the scene relatively late. Often I have wondered if I was part of some elaborate coup my father had planned. Whatever the reasoning, it didn't work out like he'd hoped. From the start all I managed to do was mildly upset anyone lacking a Y chromosome. So one day, recognizing that the matriarchal hegemony would endure, Dad took me aside and explained how he, himself, had managed to survive through the years unscathed. I was thankful for the tip.
So this was the setting in which I grew up. I evolved believing that women were superior to men in every way, and I despised them for it. I also hated men for not realizing the reality of their situation. Often at school I'd see male classmates ordering women around and degrading them behind their backs. I found it rather sad -- clearly the men had no idea the forces they were dealing with.
Like I said, I had an interesting childhood.
This warped view of gender roles continued until High School. There I got involved in a serious relationship, which revealed to me small glimpses of the awesome power women commanded over the men who loved them. Of this I am still only dimly aware. Oddly, I also learned to love and appreciate women in a healthy way. Well maybe "healthy" isn't the right word. I've been pretty sick ever since. Maybe it's as healthy as any man can hope to be.
In the spring of my sophomore year I met my [ex] girlfriend. Since then we've "seen" each other off and on for about four years. Even now, every time I go home I fall madly in love with her all over again. Interestingly enough, this usually happens while she is with someone else.
Around her my behavior is nothing short of pathetic. I'm like a little boy who has found his long-lost safety blanket. I write bad Haiku in fits of morose passion. What is worse, I believe every word of it. I gaze into her eyes like a cherub and melt. We make love. And it is wonderful. And we make all sorts of promises, and talk about how everything would be perfect if we'd only met five years later.
When I do finally get back to Dartmouth, it takes about a week for me to emerge from this ex-girlfriend-induced-coma and realize just what a jackass I have been. This has happened several times now. There is no end in sight.
Recently I had the pleasure of seeing the Sistine Chapel in Rome. In the center of the ceiling is Michelangelo's famous depiction of the Creation of Adam. What I found most interesting about this scene, though, was something I'd never noticed before -- the silent figure of Eve, gazing on from beside the arm of The Creator.
Eve's body is obscured both by shadow and the figure of God. She is depicted, nevertheless, in a way that suggests she is much more than just a spectator in this event. What Eve's specific role is, I don't know. I don't think Michelangelo did, either. But he knew enough to put her right there in the partial embrace of God, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.
Opposite Eve on the left side of the scene is the supremely confident figure of Adam, lazily lifting his eyes to meet The Creator. Eve, meanwhile, is gazing across intently. Her face reveals nothing of her thoughts. Only her eyes, brilliant and intense, suggest a subtle magnificence. Poor Adam. He has no idea what he's in for.
