It has blizzards, peril, chivalry and rescue. What a nice story I have been sent! So here it is (with permission) for you all to read:
Seraphic,
First, my thoughts are with you and the rest of the Catholic world today after hearing the news from Rome.
Second, I wanted to share a story of a good man. I live in an area that was really hit hard by the blizzard this weekend. We got 2.5 feet of really heavy snow in just over 12 hours. I was home alone, my roommates having left ahead of the storm, when our power went out around 11 pm. When I sent a griping text to this friend about my situation, he insisted that I could not spend the night alone in my house with no heat. He walked out in the blizzard, got his car, and came to rescue me. That may make it sound easy, but was the most horrific weather I have ever been out driving in and required much shoveling out of snowbanks on his part. I then spent the weekend safe and warm on the air mattress in his living room until my power came back on.
It was maybe not the smartest thing that either of us has ever done, but it is certainly the most chivalrous thing anyone has ever done for me, and I wanted to share. I would love to scream it from the rooftops, but I suspect that this friend would be embarrassed if I made too much of it to our mutual friends.
Rescued from Snow
I love a good Good Man story! I think we should tell them at parties because, my goodness, if men eavesdrop on us at Seraphic Singles, you can bet that they eavesdrop at parties. Good Man stories would make them feel pleased by association and like they have a handle on what we think is Good Man behaviour.
Incidentally, it is necessary to say a praiseworthy man is "such a good man," not "so nice" because men don't like the word nice, and if you say another man is "so nice", they (or some of them, especially from certain countries) think "wimp."
There is space in the combox for more Good Man stories.
8 comments:
Oh, no! Not a single Good Man story?! XD
I'll contribute one: yesterday one of my friends snapped a picture of a couple she saw on the sidewalk in Chinatown. We also got about a foot of snow in New York over the weekend, and this girl had gone for a pedicure (she was wearing open toe sandals with the tissue between the toes), and her grinning boyfriend/husband*** was CARRYING her home down the icy sidewalk, bride over the threshold style. The picture is adorable.
*** Facebook consensus seemed to be that any gesture that grand (and ridiculous) points to boyfriend.
Good Man story:
I think I posted about this before, but here it is:
I was unemployed and living alone for my birthday, so my sister's husband, who both live about 2 hours away, decided to take me on a camping trip to a very interesting place. It was HIS idea, and we are not the closest of close, which was made it all the more meaningful. He also planned a lot of it, and made the fires (which was quite a feat since it was drizzly/wet the whole time). I wanted to share this because it wasn't a romantic Nice Man Story and I thought that would help!
Yes, the more non-romantic Good Man stories, the better!
All I have at the moment is a funny anecdote about a good-but-ornery bachelor who spent an hour telling a Single woman at a party how stupid marriage is, and after she left, he hoofed it after her to make sure she got to the bus stop okay.
I never cease to be touched when men see their female friends to their bus stops to make sure they are okay. It is such a selfless and caring thing to do, such a recognition that after-dark is a little more perilous and scary for women on our own, that I am always proud of men friends who do it.
It is also why it makes me so angry that some men twist the gesture to make it an instrument of control. (There are men who open doors like this, too, and are YOU in trouble if you accidentally open the door for yourself!!!) Fortunately, though, such types seem to be rarer than the kindly, brotherly sort.
My Good Man story is not of the peril and rescue sort, but still gives me hope that chivalry is not completely dead... I very much enjoy a deep intellectual discussion, but was put off during my university years by the disconcertingly large number of young men who would use such discussions to assert their imagined intellectual superiority by arrogantly putting down their opponents and stubbornly refusing to concede to any opinion that was not their own. Even after I graduated, I had gotten to the point where I would run away as soon as I sensed a philosophical discussion brewing. Recently, my younger sister (and housemate) had a young man friend of hers over for dinner. He is a bit of a philosopher type, but I had sucessfully avoided any debates with him thus far. However, this time we somehow began a discussion of aesthetics and society which, before I knew it, had turned into a debate. What a pleasant suprise I had! He calmly and politely put forth his arguments, attentively listened to my counters without interruption, considered them thoughtfully rather than immediately dismissing them, and graciously conceded that he could not disprove my argument. Of course everyone likes to win an argument, but I was far more delighted that I had actually encountered a young man who is a true gentlman and scholar!
*gentleman, rather. Oops. :-)
I have two stories from the past week of good men!
Last week was my birthday and I was out of town spending time with my girlfriends for a few days. Since I landed midday (on my birthday) I knew no one would be free to pick me up at the airport. I got off the plane all set to take a bus to the subway to the train to a cab, home. I had just walked through the terminal exit when I hear someone catcall whistle, so I look and there is a strange looking man with a hat on, carrying flowers and balloons . . . He just so happened to be my big brother!
Friday night I got out of work close to midnight, eventually made it to the train and then the station closest to my house when I discovered that since the roads hadn't been plowed there were no taxis. At 2 in the morning I called my brother (a different one from above) who came from the firehouse where he was on duty to rescue me. I love good men!
Well, I'm going anonymous for this post again. I think you'll know why when you see the content. I am the same anonymous who posted a few weeks back about antidepressants and pregnancy.
In college I went through a period of very deep depression. It took years to get to feeling "normal" again, but the first year was the worst. I was suicidal for months on end, and although I was seeing a psychiatrist and a counselor, neither medication nor counseling had an effect. I prayed that God could give me some way to die that would not be my fault, so that I could die without committing a serious sin.
Throughout this time, my spiritual director, whom I'll call Fr. H, was so supportive. He listened to me and gave great advice. He was the one who first suggested that maybe the spiritual darkness I was experiencing was actually a symptom of a medical problem and encouraged me to seek help. In doing that, he probably saved my life. In addition, he went above and beyond the call of duty in showing love and support. He took me out to ice cream and movies with groups of his student-friends at the Newman Center, making sure that I had things to do to try and distract me from the pain, if only for a brief while. He answered my e-mails to him on a regular basis and asked me to keep sending them (which was amazing, as he absolutely hates dealing with e-mail). When I had a bad reaction to one medication and could not get up off the floor of my dorm room, and so had my roommate call his office number, he gave me his personal phone number to call if I needed him at any time that night. He was also one of the first people I told when I decided that I was going to check myself in to a mental hospital after the school year ended (fortunately around that time we found the first medication that helped me and I ended up not needing to go to the hospital).
Now, Fr. H is no longer my spiritual director, but we are good friends. When we are in the same town we get together for ice cream or dinner or a movie. We talk on the phone frequently. I will never stop being grateful for all he did during the worst times of my life. I credit Fr. H, my best friend, and my psychiatrist with being the three who probably saved my life. Fr. H continues to be a support for me, which is especially valuable to me because my own father was never supportive.
... so many Good Man stories!!!
One that leaps to mind is when I was working in Germany for a summer and missed the last bus back home after work. I had no phone and spoke no German. I worked in a high-security location and had not yet been given an entry pass, so I couldn't go back in. A kind bus driver who was off-duty mustered up enough English to establish why I was looking desperate, and gave me a ride home, refusing any offer of gas money. Noble creature!
On the bus theme as well, when I was at university, my brothers and father never allowed me to wait at bus stops late at night alone. One of my brothers would wait for my late classes to be over to accompany me on the bus, or come to get me in the car, or at least walk to meet me at my home stop, some distance from the house. They put themselves to a great deal of inconvenience throughout my studies (which involved many late-night classes). Very chivalrous behaviour indeed.
Post a Comment