To be "hit" on hits hard.

Women have, as far as I know, always been subjects to unwelcome compliments from men. The men, in their cocky ignorance have whistled after, shouted out or gestured what they thought were expressions of admiration, while women often have taken it as insults.

Not because it has been too obvious to both people they know and strangers alike. Just about anyone who hears what’s been said, and see who is commented upon, causes us to crumble up inside, because we are sure we know what’s going on in their head. The men who do this are not really affected or in any way looked down on, not in my experience anyway, but the women who have gotten the attention feel far from admired.

Men who pass by assess the woman, and I am sure they think: “Hmmm….. okey, nice legs, but what’s with the hair?”, “ Hmmm…. Too much make-up for my taste, but the low cut is pleasant”.

Women are not that nice, usually, when they evaluate other women. I am sure they think: “Hah, yeah, right; that’s the kind of guy she gets attention from”. Or “Really? She’s not that great looking, not really”.

To be commented upon, loudly, on the street, or anywhere for that matter, brings the self-centred sides of us out. We speed up a bit to get away as fast as possible… not too much, just enough to feel we get out of there quicker. We hardly ever slow down, to give the passers by an extra close look of how good we look… unless we are in an extra good mood and nothing can disturb the feeling of being extraordinary. We scan through every detail about our looks, from when we last washed our hair, if the mid-life spread shows really well in this top, if the nails looks fine,  if the coat is the right colour, if our legs are shaved… the list of visible and invisible details is pretty long. And sadly enough: we always find that one thing which makes the attention thought upon as spiteful.

At work I was told (by a man) that I should wear more colours… it would compliment my personality more. Another man then said “Oh, she looks great in black”, on which I replied “Yeah, everyone looks slimmer in black… you do realize that whatever you say now; it will be wrong, right?”

He just shook his head and told me it’s too hard to be nice to anyone these days. I know I was bad, even though I said it with a laugh and didn’t really mean to criticize, it was more like laughing it off, but men do have a hard time finding nice things to say to women these days, which is not perceived as being hit on. We tend to forget that people can be just friendly, and to say something nice to someone might be just that: a friendly comment.

Now the interesting new thing has emerged: Men get spooked when they get approached by another man, because he might be gay, and they feel hit upon. I don’t know why they expect everybody gay to jump them and want more than you are willing to give, but it seems like they have that impression of gay men.

Women, when they get approached or complimented by other women, feel appreciated and acknowledged (unless it is obviously an ironic comment and it hits a hundred times harder... and irony is most times how we perceive nice things said to us, and we turn out to be nasty in reply, rather than nice to each other.

Men… well, they feel giggled upon, as if everything about them is wrong. No matter what mood they are in; they feel the amusing value of it all entertain whoever is in the vicinity. No matter if it is a woman or a man, regardless sexual orientation, who approach them.

What used to be a friendly comment to gain contact with someone, is a threat to their manliness. At least that is how they refer to the incident, if they feel they have to comment upon it.

What if my best friend in the entire world, regardless of sex or sexual orientation, is out there, and the only way he/she knows to get in contact with people is to give a sincere compliment? Whose loss would that be?

Another autumn... of gale

Autumn or fall, both names trigger that mellow feeling of change. To me this season is about a new start, crisp mornings, morning dew, every day a new sensation of nature’s breathtaking colours.

Rainy afternoons when you slow down and stay indoors to read with a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream in your hand, or the occasional warm and sunny hours to spend in the garden; preparing everything for a healthy, empowering winter sleep. Anticipating the early spring sunny days when everything is brought back to life and bloom.

Pretty laid-back and almost romantic, isn’t it? Well, those are the feelings I get when thinking about this season, and it is puzzles me why it is so.

As I am experiencing this season right now, I both live and remember what it is really like, and it is nothing of the sort I think of it being like.

Working life is hectic and straining. I get to meet new students, and they all have their own history to tell about what school is like for them. We try to give who need it a new start; to give them new possibilities to show what they actually know, instead of proving them wrong. It takes a lot of time and patience. To gain the trust of young people who have experienced failure way too often demand advanced tiptoe dancing between choice of words, choice of reaction and knowing when it is important to listen carefully. Often they disguise their problems in rude language or acting up.

Noone acts up because they are looking for trouble, there is always a reason. Most of the time it happens because this is how they have behaved in the past, and it is the only way they know how to behave. I understand why they do it: to talk about feelings is very hard. To find the right words is sometimes just too hard. As an adult it is important to ask the right questions to find out what is going on in their mind. We can’t perform magic, and we don’t read minds.

At home this is the time of year when the pile of laundry is at its biggest. The warm summer rain is history, now we get cold showers of rain, which often falls in all directions following the moody whims of the wind. Ones again the kids wear disagreeable rainwear and waterproof boots. Being hampered by what they wear, after a summer when shorts gave them freedom to be wild and vast and free.

The wet nature causes wet clothes, muddy boots, grass stained trousers and jumpers, the numerous changes of socks empty the sock drawer in no time.

Soccer season is at its most hectic, and towels pile up in the laundry basket and on the bathroom floor.

Beginning of the school year is an affliction for parents. Everything is to be read thrice with an adult, an adult must sign for homework done in every subject. An adult must check the kid knows the new words added to the vocabulary in foreign languages… it’s like we’re back in school; missing out on the lessons, but doing the homework.

Once again I leave the house every morning, having packed lunches and gym bags and satchels. Carrying five bags and outerwear for every kind of weather. There is no way I can keep up appearance, even though I started out pretty presentable.

This is the season when I never have a good hair day. Using an umbrella is very adult, but pointless. The rain is pouring down horizontally, and the umbrella dances in all directions… unless it turns inside out and point forward, like a satellite dish ready to  receive messages from the weather gods.

We have those crisp, sunny days, when the wind is still. But somehow they are easily forgotten in the overwhelming impact of autumn gale.