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By David Chmiel
It was the day after a beautiful, big-flaked snowstorm that morphed into two inches of sure-to-ruin-the-next-day’s-commute slush. In most circles, it’s called winter in New Jersey.
The campus of the small liberal arts college, nestled among charming suburban towns, was glistening. The lot was full of ice floes at odd angles away from the parking spots, seemingly shattered by the prow of a tugboat, but the icicles glistened from tree limbs and ornate gutters beneath slate roofs.
The asphalt walking paths were a whole other adventure. The abundance of rock salt shined in the bright, low-morning glow, but it couldn’t be everywhere. As a result, the occasional absent-minded professors and sleep-deprived students would hit a slick patch of black ice and would engage in the manic dance of winter, trying in vain to avoid being the next YouTube faceplant sensation or orthopedist’s jigsaw puzzle.
I stepped as gingerly as I am capable, on my way to the library. From the corner of my eye, I saw a woman in three-inch heels, an overstuffed bag of exams and essays over one shoulder, a purse in one hand and a 12-pack of Poland Spring water shifting precariously in the crook of her right arm.
I quick-stepped it across the path and offered a hand under her right elbow to provide support. I got a wary look and a go-away-son-you-bother-me vibe.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, unsure of what I had done and what I should do next. “I just wanted to offer a hand.”
“I’ve got it,” she said, cordial but forceful.
“Okay,” I said. “Couldn’t live with myself if you went down and I didn’t offer to help.”
“I will be okay,” she said, juggling her way down the path.
I don’t want to feel guilty for offering to help, or feel pressured to defend my motives. I would have offered to help anyone, of any gender, in the same situation. That said, I understand that it will be a while before men and women, especially strangers, can avoid these tense #metoo-driven moments.
This is not a rant about how my nobility was dismissed or how unappreciated men are. It’s not a lament about the burden of being a man in the post-Weinstein/Roy Moore/Louis C.K./Kevin Spacey/Steve Wynn world. It’s just a reminder that we never know what anyone has been through, that we can’t apologize enough for the crude, criminal acts perpetrated by some entitled weasels (especially those who have yet to be identified), but it’s a reminder to all of our young men that behaving like gentlemen is not being sexist, that offering a hand is always the right thing to do.
It’s never a crime to offer a helping hand. Just keep it extended until people are ready to take it.
