We were on a bus. The bus was full of males of all ages – men and boys I’ve been acquainted with throughout my life. There were four women facilitating – myself and three others. Oddly, while I did know the males in the dream, I did not know the females.
It was a fall afternoon, and the bus was cruising around my hometown. We weren’t going anywhere in particular. The men talked of football, bonfires, hunting, leaf-raking, and how glad they were to not be at the office. The boys talked of the girls at school, football, the apps on their phones and pizza.
The mood on the bus was jovial. The women were there to serve, and they didn’t seem to mind. We walked the aisle of the bus filling snack bowls and fetching drinks.
We arrived at a hall with a large grassy area. Everyone got off the bus and the women made their way to the restroom, while the men and boys staked out their territories. Some grabbed footballs and headed for the grass. Some went inside to turn on the TV to catch the game. The boys looked at the two groups of men, and picked whichever group they felt most comfortable in, depending on what they experienced at home.
Everyone appeared to be having a good time. Laughing and yelling filled the air. Someone started a bonfire in the designated fire pit, and several men set up lawn chairs. Some boys who had been in the hall came out to sit by the fire. The fire brought them closer together. Phones were tucked in pockets. Even the noise level quieted a bit as they all focused on the fire and relished the good mood that comes with having fun.
At one point, I approached the fire to fill bowls with popcorn, and I noticed two 9 year old boys quietly crying. A man stood in front of them to ask what was wrong. He spoke in a gentle voice so as not to call attention to them. When they didn’t answer the man, I knelt down in front of them and asked, “What happened? I’ve seen you two hanging together all afternoon. You’ve been having a great time! Are you okay?” Through tears, one of the boys said, “I can’t sit by him any more.” When I asked why not, he said, “Because he’s pro-life and I’m pro-choice.” I asked, “Do either of you know what that means?” Each sat staring at his hands folded in his lap, tears rolling down his face. They both shook their heads. They didn’t know what it meant, but they knew they were supposed to think one way, and not the other. Just then the man standing in front of them said, “Well I’m pro-life, too. Does that mean I can’t stand here?” The first boy cried even harder and said, “I don’t know. I just know what I’ve been told. How come I like him, but now I can’t sit by him because of something I don’t even understand?”
The man looked down at me and said, “What should I say to them?”
I handed both boys a Kleenex, and I asked the first boy, “Would you still want to sit by him if he liked pepperoni on pizza, and you only love sausage pizza?” He looked at me dumbfounded. “That’s stupid. It doesn’t matter. He can have whatever pizza he wants. I don’t care.” The second boy said, “Who cares about pizza? We like to hang together! That’s all that matters!” The boys wadded up their Kleenexes and threw them in the fire, the way boys often do.
As I stood, the man whispered, “That’s not the same. Folks don’t get hurt over pizza. They get hurt over issues like pro-life and pro-choice.” I said, “I don’t know how to fix this, but I know we have to make room for everyone to accept that others think differently. We have to get okay with that. There are many different versions of normal. Maybe once we get okay with that, we can come to a point where people stop getting hurt.”
And then I woke up.
I know the same happens with girls and women. I also know that many times the roles are reversed, and a woman is standing there wondering how to help, and a man addresses the girls with a question that they can relate to.
This is not about men being inferior.
This is not about me believing that women are supposed to serve.
This is about patterns, status quo, versions of normal and how we often don’t see that our version of normal may not be healthy.
This is about looking at our “normal” and educating ourselves about what healthy is. Are we holding so tightly to our version of normal that we can’t see that there might be other versions of normal?
