On this holiday MLK Monday, I note that 2007 marks 39 years since the great civil rights leader was slain. He was 39 when he was killed, so the space since his passing now matches the span of his all-too-short life. In the last few months, I note, I have “passed” Dr. King; as of last autumn, I am now older than he was when he was slain.
A glorious but very chilly run this morning. Lots of frozen patches on the mountain, and no access to water in my usual spots — the pipes had frozen!
My wife and I were up in Santa Barbara last night; saw my sister, who writes about and participates in the local arts scene, dancing in this production. I freely admit to not “getting” most modern dance, though out of family loyalty, I am willing to be a loyal patron. When I was growing up, the term “middle-brow” was used to condemn those who preferred their art safe and unchallenging. But after decades around what is supposed to be avant-garde, I confess that I am a cultural philistine when it comes to music and dance. I don’t get most modern dance, and I don’t get John Cage. (I’m a bit more adventurous with visual art; I do have a passion for Rothko and Kandinsky.) Still, we had a good time.
And congrats to the Pasadena City College Lancers women’s basketball team, the only undefeated team in California.
Anyhoo…
One of my good buddies from the boxing gym had a date this weekend. He’s a year or two my junior, and he went out to dinner with an 18 year-old gal whom he met when she waited on his table at a local restaurant. He knows my views on older men dating younger women (see the various posts in that category on the sidebar), and I have not hesitated to take him to task (with good humor) for this. Ours is a relationship that can withstand some serious disagreements.
My friend said something I hear a lot from my peers who want to date women half their age: “You know, she seems very mature for her age. She’s not like other eighteen year-olds.” I hear this constantly from those who want to defend the practice of going out with much younger women; while they are often happy to concede that most women still in late adolescence ought to be off-limits, they invariably suggest that the one in whom they happen to be interested is an exception to the rule. “She’s an old soul”; “She’s very wise”; “Guys her own age don’t interest her.”
I’m not about to suggest that some young women aren’t more “grown-up” than their peers. As many, many young women who have commented on my previous posts have lamented, they find the guys in their own peer group to be immature, unchallenging, unattractive. They often report feeling alienated from peers of both sexes, claiming to have felt “more comfortable around adults” for years. In other words, they feel themselves to be exceptions to otherwise sensible rules. Their longing for someone older, whom they imagine will share their interests and offer them more opportunities to grow and learn, is understandable. What is less understandable is that so many older men rely on the young woman’s self-described exceptionalism to justify a sexual or romantic relationship with her.
Newsflash, folks: most bright, sensitive adolescents go through periods where they feel profoundly at odds with the majority of their peers. They are unmoved by the concerns of boys and girls their own age; what fascinates other kids bores these more thoughtful ones. They see their peers as vapid and shallow (they are occasionally right), and they imagine (alas, often wrongly) that older folks (often older men in particular) are more interesting, more sensitive, better-equipped for relationship. I’ve worked with enough teenagers to have met dozens and dozens of young men and women who are ardently convinced that they are exceptional, perhaps even unique. And though they are usually smarter than the average bear, their sense of their own inner maturity is frequently exaggerated. And a wise older person, be he a teacher or a prospective partner, can’t take these protestations of emotional sophistication at face value!
Of course, my buddy has his own corollary to all of this. A bit younger than I am, on the cusp of his late thirties, he is adamant that he is “younger” than his chronological age. He enjoys clubbing as much as he did a decade ago, for example. He sees his peer group (I’m a prime example he says) as increasingly made up of the “settled”. Though he talks of wanting to get married and have kids “someday”, he’s still in no hurry — and he’s eager to avoid dating women for whom enduring commitment is part of their near-term plans. His sense of himself as still young, playful, and promising leads him to his own sense of exceptionalism. Just as the gal he took out on Saturday night isn’t “typical”, he too sees himself as having little in common with his own chronological age. While other men our age don’t keep up on the latest music or the hippest clubs, for example, he’s on top of these things; it makes “sense”, he claims, for him to spend his time with much younger women.
I’ve given him my standard stump speech about the fact that women our age will challenge him to grow, while starry-eyed gals barely out of adolescence will be more likely to believe his bull. Like most men I challenge on this one, he protests indignantly that he’s up for any challenge, and that a “really exceptional eighteen year-old” can push him just as hard as a woman twice that age. I’m quite confident he genuinely believes what he’s saying. But the fact that he’s being sincere doesn’t mean he isn’t deceiving himself. And his self-deception keeps him from facing the fact that chronological age imposes obligations on us all: the call to transform and grow is not optional, it is not given merely to the few.
One of the things that bothers me so much about those who defend older-men/younger women relationships is that these folks insist on seeing themselves as unusual exceptions to some fairly hard and fast rules about the trajectory of our lives. A man in his late thirties flattering himself with the conceit that he’s still a youngster, or a frustrated, curious, young woman in her late teens who feels like a wise old soul, both are confident that they are unique, or nearly so. Their sense of being different means that conventional wisdom — which, for reasons I’ve gone over again and again, warns against older men dating women in their late teens and early twenties — ought not apply to them.
It’s a free country for those who are of age, of course, and my friend is allowed to date a girl born the year Ronald Reagan left the presidency if he chooses. I’m going to be his buddy either way; I don’t make my affection conditional on the politics or lifestyle choices of my family or friends. But I’ve heard protests like his — and those of the gal he’s dating — more than once. And from what I’ve seen over and over, what spending time together will eventually teach them both is that they are each less exceptional than they had imagined. Whether they come to that realization with or without concomitant heartache remains to be seen. But while she who cannot remember the first Gulf War has reason to be foolish, he who is old enough to remember the Iran Hostage Crisis has no such excuse.
Recent Comments