This
week I had two different men tell me that they feel paternal towards
me. Granted, I've had much worse said to me by men in any given week,
but their comments did set me off into a week-long brood, during
which I've displayed all of the characteristics that I normally
manage to repress quite well; neediness, loneliness, all of those
super attractive and alluring ones.
It made me wonder whether I give something off; a father-less hormone or a half-orphan scent that only men can pick up on? I mean, I'm not wandering around introducing potential boyfriends to male passers-by (and yes, I am aware that there are currently no potential boyfriends, thank you), nor am I going up to men that I don't know any asking to borrow twenty quid for 'lunch'. I think that, in general, I look and act like a normal person. What would make two men, that I don't really know, feel paternal towards me?
I haven't seen or heard my dad for eight years. It feels like forever, when in actual fact, it's nothing compared to how much time there is left to go in my life. In eight years I've completely forgotten his phone number, the last thing he said to me, how old he would have been, what brand of cigarettes he smoked and I can only remember his voice when I imagine him saying “I've just put the heating on.” I'm completely terrified of what I'll forget over the next eight years.
So, even though the one line that you're constantly offered as condolence when someone dies is “It'll get easier in time”, it really just gets a bit worse, because the more time that passes is just more time since you last saw the person.
As I get older, and more adult 'life stuff' comes up; graduation, house renting, serious relationships, contracts, ends of serious relationships, council tax, buying fridges, weddings, driving, gardening, I find myself increasingly wanting the one thing that, as a self-proclaimed (as if there is any other type?) feminist, I'm not supposed to admit to wanting.
Sometimes, I really want a man around to look after me.
On Friday night I was followed and accosted by some normal-looking, Next-wearing arsehole. Despite my common sense screaming at me, I walked around the back-streets of Birmingham in a blind panic looking for a man to help me. I eventually remembered how to get home and sat brooding for the entire train journey. The only thing that I felt would comfort me was for a big strong man to pat me on the head and tell me that he would sort out the bad guy, and I was very disappointed in myself; even Disney have their heroines slaying dragons now.
A couple of years ago I told someone my dirty little secret, that I occasionally wanted a man to be around and look after me, and was told “Well, that's not a very feminist thing to say.”
It probably isn't.
Without getting all 00's R'n'B, I know that I don't need a man to look after me. I'm happy with my own financially insolvent state, I'll watch a film on my own, I can kind of change a plug and I secretly enjoy putting cheaply-made flat pack furniture together, so I'm pretty sure Beyonce will be writing a song about me any day now.
But I don't have some kind of feminist Britta Filter to run all of my thoughts and feelings through. In fact, the only process I use to check my feminist credentials in moments of doubt is this one-
“Do you think that women are equal to men and should be treated as such?”
-Yes
“Any exceptions?”
-Nope
I feel like losing my dad has, eight years on, left me with a lot of feminist guilt.
I'm not looking for a dad and boyfriend to be rolled into one icky package, but seeing as my life is not a Film4 production and I probably won't meet a Bill Nighy-esque character on a morning train who will begin to see me as the daughter that he'd never had whilst helping to heal the pain left behind by my father's premature death, I will probably continue to make inappropriate dating choices.
However, seeing as this blog post post will have plummeted the likelihood of me ever having a date again so low that Paddy Power are building their next promotional campaign around me, I'll probably have to figure out another way to work out my Daddy Issues. Quick whip-round for therapy?
It made me wonder whether I give something off; a father-less hormone or a half-orphan scent that only men can pick up on? I mean, I'm not wandering around introducing potential boyfriends to male passers-by (and yes, I am aware that there are currently no potential boyfriends, thank you), nor am I going up to men that I don't know any asking to borrow twenty quid for 'lunch'. I think that, in general, I look and act like a normal person. What would make two men, that I don't really know, feel paternal towards me?
I haven't seen or heard my dad for eight years. It feels like forever, when in actual fact, it's nothing compared to how much time there is left to go in my life. In eight years I've completely forgotten his phone number, the last thing he said to me, how old he would have been, what brand of cigarettes he smoked and I can only remember his voice when I imagine him saying “I've just put the heating on.” I'm completely terrified of what I'll forget over the next eight years.
So, even though the one line that you're constantly offered as condolence when someone dies is “It'll get easier in time”, it really just gets a bit worse, because the more time that passes is just more time since you last saw the person.
As I get older, and more adult 'life stuff' comes up; graduation, house renting, serious relationships, contracts, ends of serious relationships, council tax, buying fridges, weddings, driving, gardening, I find myself increasingly wanting the one thing that, as a self-proclaimed (as if there is any other type?) feminist, I'm not supposed to admit to wanting.
Sometimes, I really want a man around to look after me.
On Friday night I was followed and accosted by some normal-looking, Next-wearing arsehole. Despite my common sense screaming at me, I walked around the back-streets of Birmingham in a blind panic looking for a man to help me. I eventually remembered how to get home and sat brooding for the entire train journey. The only thing that I felt would comfort me was for a big strong man to pat me on the head and tell me that he would sort out the bad guy, and I was very disappointed in myself; even Disney have their heroines slaying dragons now.
A couple of years ago I told someone my dirty little secret, that I occasionally wanted a man to be around and look after me, and was told “Well, that's not a very feminist thing to say.”
It probably isn't.
Without getting all 00's R'n'B, I know that I don't need a man to look after me. I'm happy with my own financially insolvent state, I'll watch a film on my own, I can kind of change a plug and I secretly enjoy putting cheaply-made flat pack furniture together, so I'm pretty sure Beyonce will be writing a song about me any day now.
But I don't have some kind of feminist Britta Filter to run all of my thoughts and feelings through. In fact, the only process I use to check my feminist credentials in moments of doubt is this one-
“Do you think that women are equal to men and should be treated as such?”
-Yes
“Any exceptions?”
-Nope
I feel like losing my dad has, eight years on, left me with a lot of feminist guilt.
I'm not looking for a dad and boyfriend to be rolled into one icky package, but seeing as my life is not a Film4 production and I probably won't meet a Bill Nighy-esque character on a morning train who will begin to see me as the daughter that he'd never had whilst helping to heal the pain left behind by my father's premature death, I will probably continue to make inappropriate dating choices.
However, seeing as this blog post post will have plummeted the likelihood of me ever having a date again so low that Paddy Power are building their next promotional campaign around me, I'll probably have to figure out another way to work out my Daddy Issues. Quick whip-round for therapy?
Really nice work you done. Black magic to get love
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