Of Men, Knighthood, and Fighting to Protect #Catholic

The reason that we became warriors in the first place was to protect the people we love.

- My husband

I was touched by a New York Times story I found through "Auntie Seraphic's" wonderful blog, Seraphic Singles. Her Sunday entry, Love in the New York Times, was a sad tale of a young woman's quest to find real men to date -- and not "guys." Her definition of "guys" were young men who wanted nothing to do with committing themselves to a relationship, instead preferring a cloudy haze of hanging out and occasional casual sex.

I was both saddened and angered by the article. Saddened that so many young women now have this to deal with, and angered by the seemingly never-ending consequences of radical feminism in our country.

I had a very long discussion with my husband regarding the topic. Basically, I wanted to know how he developed his respect for women. Did it begin when he was younger? What influenced him?

His answers were a mixture of his upbringing, his involvement with Japanese martial arts, and his desire to follow the Biblical pattern for a marriage. My husband had a father who modeled to his sons how to treat women. One time, my husband's older brother back-talked his mother and received a quick slap from his father as he said, "I don't ever want to hear you disrespect your mother like that again." The point was made. You respected your parents and especially didn't mouth off to your mother.

My husband was raised in an era when men usually helped women with heavy burdens like grocery bags and luggage. When he was 20 years old, he became involved with martial arts and was especially intrigued by the Samurai warriors. The Samurai have a code called bushido, translated as "the way of the warrior." Part of the code is treating others with respect and honor. This extended to how the warriors treated women, especially their wives.

I asked my husband if knighthood was similar to the bushido. He said yes. I found it interesting that long ago, throughout the world, there could be found a certain elite class of men who fought for justice, defended the defenseless, and showed respect and honor to women.

When he said the quote I posted above, suddenly I had a revelation of how much we have lost when we started to raise boys who were forbidden to fight.

Feminism destroyed this natural inclination in men by claiming it was wrong to fight, under the guise that "two wrongs don't make a right." Suddenly, fighting either in a battle or simply fighting to defend a woman's honor was attacked. The concept of a righteous battle faded as more and more young boys were scolded for fighting and older young men were belittled for wanting to join the military.

In essence -- the natural desire of men to want to find something worth defending; and then doing it, has been ripped away. In its place, we now have a generation of young men who not only don't know how to fight, but wouldn't know what to fight for if given the opportunity. Aside from our brave men and women in the military, fire departments, and police -- most younger men avoid confrontation of an enemy like the plague.

I grew up with the wise words, "It's always better to use your head than use your hands." However, my father and the men of my family realized that there were times when defending those you loved meant taking a stand. I won't ever forget the time when some teenagers decided to vandalize our home because my father placed a fence on our property, which covered an entrance to a wooded area. One night a big rock was thrown through my window as I was sleeping. (It landed on my bed, thankfully, not on my head.) The next week, a matic (a gardening tool) was thrown through the window again, this time narrowly missing my head.

What did my father do? For one week, he camped outside with his rifle. Of course we called the police, but my father decided he'd do what most normal men would do. He was defending his family from any further attacks.

I remember when the Virginia Tech murders happened. A deranged student nonchalantly walked through the classrooms, lined up the students, and then shot them methodically -- all this while not one man rose up to attack him. After the horrific massacre, I cried out to my husband, "Where were the men?! Could not a small group of them rushed this nutjob and tackled him to the floor where they could have disarmed him?" Obviously the answer to my question was a tragic "no." This generation of young men had the fight bred out of them long before they arrived at college. It was ironic that one of the bravest men during that long ordeal was a Holocaust survivor, who physically prevented the killer from entering his classroom until almost all of the students had escaped through the classroom window.

When men are not clear on what they should defend and why; they become disillusioned and directionless. They have no understanding of honor, let alone knowing how to responsibly conduct themselves in a relationship.

One of the things I deeply desired before I married was to find a man who would fight for me. I meant this on several levels. I wanted a man who would put forth an effort to win my affections and also, a man who would defend me if I was in danger. I will never forget my second date with my husband. We attended the huge Labor Day festival in Cincinnati at the riverfront, to watch the spectacular fireworks show in the evening. The crowd at this annual event is massive, and we finally found a small empty piece of land to stretch out a blanket. After awhile, I got up, saying I needed to find a restroom. My future husband also stood up.

I looked at him, slightly surprised. "Oh, do you need to visit the restroom also?"

He smiled. "No. But I'm going to accompany you. It's a big crowd here and I don't want you to be alone and unescorted."

Can you imagine how shocked I was at the time? I had never had a man say such a thing to me and of course, I was immediately smitten. If I had thought highly of this gentleman before, at that moment he was placed on a very high pedestal!

I know I am old-fashioned in many ways, but I really don't think I'm that different from most women. Most women yearn to be cherished by a man in a relationship and treated with respect. I'm hoping such men aren't completely gone. Our young women are still looking for them.

Farewell to a Home

I spent the weekend gathering the last of my mementos from my father's house. After my mother passed away in 2007, the house suddenly seemed to age a decade and the lack of her presence left a vacuum. Suddenly, the difference between the word "house" and "home" collided with my sentimentality and sense of loss.

My father lived in the house for a few more years before re-marrying and moving to another state last year. But still, when I visited him, I continued to think of it as "going home." Now it will be sold and along with it, the last physical link to my childhood. We moved into the modest three-bedroom home when I was two-years old. My first childhood memory was when I stood upon my bed to look out the window and saw our next door neighbor's yellow garage with the dark black windows.

We had a fabulous wood behind the home. Tall elm trees lined the edge of the yard and multiplied into a cool, shallow glen; with a creek that lazily drizzled from a large water drainage pipe. Honeysuckle and lilac bushes filled the air with delectable perfume. The neighborhood kids would join my brother and me as we hiked down the small path and imagined ourselves to be great adventurers. There was clay in the banks along the creek and we took pleasure in digging it out and fashioning amazingly ugly ashtrays for our parents. We did what every kid should do when they're kids. We played outside until the sun set and got plenty muddy.

I'll never forget what was the pride and joy for my brother and myself - and made us the envy of the neighborhood: my father built us an honest-to-goodness tree house. But this wasn't a platform with a fake Jolly Roger hoisted on a tree limb passing itself off as a "house." It was a real little house, complete with walls, a roof, windows, and a door. I used to love to go up there and once it was warm, my brother and I would spend the night on the weekends. What fun we used to have up there in our own little world!

Years later, after my brother and I finished college, a neighbor across the street asked if my father would be willing to remove it if he helped him. He was concerned that some younger children wouldn't be able to resist the tree house and could possibly become hurt by trying to climb up - or worse, falling out once they had climbed up. My father agreed and they removed it. I felt relieved because the last thing I wanted to see was an accident.

Our home was filled with love and laughter, good home-cooking and plenty of fond memories. I remember the time I was getting ready for my prom and as I was blow-drying my hair, realized I had put too much conditioner on and it looked horrendously greasy. My mother hurried me to the kitchen sink to wash it out and we restyled my hair in time. I remember the times I'd return from a date and my mother would still be up, wanting to know how it went. I also remember the times I cried on her shoulder, disappointed and sure that I'd never get married. My mother would repeat after every one of those episodes that it would happen "some day" and to not lose hope. She never failed to make me feel better or dearly loved.

My father was "Mr. Fix-It" and he built a pool in the backyard with the help of a few teenage boys who lived on the street. As soon as Spring arrived, it wouldn't be too long before my brother and I would be begging him to open the pool. Finally the weekend would arrive when he'd peel back the cover and start the cleaning process. Summers were filled with my brother and I swimming around like fish and backyard dinners where my dad made the best barbecue chicken ever. We'd sit outside and slap at the mosquitoes, drinking lemonade and talking about everything and nothing. My father and I liked storms, in particular. Whenever one would roll in, we'd often head outside and sit under the carport, watching the lightening whiten the sky and smelling that great scent of earth being drenched by water. Sometimes we wouldn't say much. We'd just sit and watch God's tremendous sky drama unfold.

I have hundreds of great memories. Once my father moved away and I was facing the inevitability of the house being sold, I realized that my mother had truly made it a home. Although a man's presence is felt in a home, it is typically the woman who makes it a nurturing sanctuary. Her love and generous heart made it a home worth returning to, and one difficult to leave even when I was a young woman who needed to grow up. Home is where you know you can go when the world gives you the cold shoulder. Home is where you go when you're broken into pieces and need to be put back together. Home is where those who love us wait with open arms and open hearts. And now my sense of home has changed.

I remember when my mother was alive, how I'd often call her when I read of some awful occurrence of a mother doing something unspeakable to her children. I would call, commiserate, and then always end by saying this to her, "Mom, I am so glad I have you as a mom. God really blessed me." I was blessed by having two parents who loved me and the more evil I saw in the world, the more I was aware of just how blessed I really was.

So my understanding of "home" has changed from a physical structure to something more metaphysical. The relationships I have with my father, my brother, the rest of my family, my friends, and last but not least, my husband - now occupy a place in my heart that I call "home." The love created from relationship is what I find comfort in, and the memories of the past will always comfort and bring me joy. New memories are in the making. A cousin will be getting married in a week and with her, a new husband and more new relationships. Time moves on.

I've had to work a bit to get the priorities right. At first I didn't want to see my beloved childhood home slip away. But now I can see it has served its purpose and it's time to let it go. The physical will eventually crumble, but my memories are mine for a lifetime. The real "home," is inside of me.

Clarification on the Video: Relationships and Tolerating Bad Behavior

After watching my latest video, it occurred to me that I should clarify a statement I made regarding bad behavior in a relationship. I mentioned that too often, women tolerate shabby treatment by men, such as Jennifer Aniston tolerating the ending of the relationship via text messaging.

When a relationship is at the end - and receiving a rather abrupt end, at that, there isn't any "tolerating" because the relationship has ceased. The best one can do at that point is not respond to such caddish behavior and move on.

To elaborate on the issue of tolerating bad behavior, here is one trustworthy rule: Establish relationship boundaries in the beginning. You will be able to maintain the health of a relationship if it is evident early on that you will not tolerate mistreatment.

For instance, imagine you meet a seemingly wonderful young man who makes you laugh and looks like David Beckham. He's all smooth moves and cool friends. He makes a date with you on Friday to meet at a club on Saturday night. He's a no-show. Afterward, he's full of excuses and charms his way back into your life.

I usually give someone a second chance. Life is filled with inconveniences and the trick is separating the honest good excuses from outright lies. But if a person starts to show a track record for inconsiderate or rude behavior, it's best to end the relationship rather than wait for the cell phone drama.

I suspect that Jennifer's relationship with this guy showed early signs of bad behavior, but she tolerated it. It's little wonder that it ended the way it did but few women are blindsided by such behavior. It begins as a leak before the dam bursts and regret floods into a single woman's life. I know. I've been there.

So keep your eyes open at the beginning of a relationship. Notice if a man keeps his word or making excuses all the time. There are times for forgiveness, but also times for a "straighten up and fly right, pal" discussion. Ask God for wisdom because if there is any area we need guidance with, it's our relationships. He will provide.