Why the ‘boys will be boys’ attitude needs to GO
I always swear I’m not going to write about politics. Basically, I don’t have the stomach for the inevitable criticism that will result, regardless of which side I choose, or what point I try to make. But something keeps bugging me, and the only way I’ve found to put things like this behind me is to write about them.
First, let me say, I’m not a Trump supporter. That’s as strong a statement as I am willing to make for this particular article. Because I can’t claim to be a supporter of either candidate at this time, and while there was a time I wouldn’t have cared WHO was in the polls alongside Trump — they’d get my vote for the sole reason that they WEREN’T Trump — that time has passed, and I find myself sick at the prospect of casting a ballot in this year’s election at all.
In any case, I have my reasons for discussing what I’m going to discuss today, and the first one started almost 43 years ago.
July 23rd, 1973
Two women, in different hospitals in different states, were about to welcome a brand new life into the world. Both were baby girls. They both had brown hair and brown eyes. They would both eventually graduate college with Psychology degrees, however, the paths to that degree, and the paths thereafter would be in stark contrast to one another. One of the girls was born in San Francisco, California to an affluent Jewish couple. The other, in a tiny town in New Mexico far from affluence. One attended an expensive private high school, and the other would pay for college with scholarships and student loans. One would go on to fulfill an elite internship position, while the other would spend twenty years fighting the demons of addiction.
They would both live lives cloaked in shame, and blame. They would both spend their thirties largely in hiding, though the face of that was different for each. And although, again — this looked different for each — they would both, after realizing that their greatest assets were their experience and their voice, re-emerge victorious at 40.
One of those girls was me. The other was Monica Lewinsky. And I remember 1998. I remember the jokes made at her expense. I remember finding out we shared a birthday. I remember thinking, “If one of the men who had taken advantage of me was the President of the United States, how strong would I have been able to be? I couldn’t even stand up to the basketball team.”
So, while the whole country demonized a young, bright woman who made a mistake and believed what a handsome, powerful man told her — I silently cheered her on. I didn’t know yet the things I know now. I hadn’t yet been the other woman, sold on breaking my own cardinal rule by a fast-talking, confident man able to convince me I was doing his wife a favor by sleeping with him; his poor wife, who was physically unable to engage in sexual activity, but who knew his needs and wanted him to be happy. His poor wife who had realized that the marriage wasn’t meant to be, and who was as we spoke working out the details of their incredibly amicable split.
I was what he needed. I was the one. She would always be his friend but he needed a partner; someone who could keep up with him physically. Someone who enjoyed the same things he enjoyed. She understood.
I don’t know what President Clinton told Monica Lewinsky, or if he had to tell her anything. I don’t care. She was a kid. He was the fucking President of the United States. My guy wasn’t the President, but he was the first boy I ever kissed. He was the first boy I’d ever loved. He was my port in the violent storm of my childhood, and a memory I held for 25 years as close to my heart as I’d ever held anything. I’d say that put him in a position of power over me.
And just like Clinton, my guy had a list of priors. We seem to forget that Lewinsky was just one of many. Two he confessed to. Another was brought to light before the Lewinsky Scandal (as named in Wikipedia) and only given credence afterwards. The others, we’ll probably never be sure. But I have to ask — how believable is his denial when his guilt is ironclad?
Now, I’m not here to blame Hillary for her husband’s mistakes. I’m not even here to blast her for falling into the wife trap of blaming the other woman. I find it ironic that she publicly admitted to referring to Lewinsky as a “narcissistic loony toon” when it seems so clear to me where the true narcissism lay. And I’m not going to give her a hard time for claiming to have laid this beast to rest, even though it apparently still has enough kick to drive her to eject a reporter who accidentally called her Monica.
Nope. Not going to address any of that stuff.
I just want to know one thing: If the situation were reversed, and Bill Clinton was running for President, and we as a nation were faced with the possibility of a First Lady who had been publicly attached to several affairs (and who had never, incidentally, been the previously impeached POTUS), and who had straight up copped to two of them —
How far do you think he would get before her bad reputation ruined his chances?
Just curious.
Because I’m willing to bet that he would have been advised not to even bother entering the race in the first place. I’m not condoning such a silly thing, of course. But I find it just another blatant contradiction I cannot bear to swallow.
I’m pretty sure that her past would end up the loudest part of his opponent’s campaign. Because, harlot. Slut. Whore. Cheating bitch.
But him? He was just a man being a man, with man weaknesses, and man needs.
And I think that attitude lessens men just as slut-shaming lessens women. And I think we shouldn’t stand for either one.
