When we were little and made silly faces, many of us were warned by our mothers that our faces would stick that way. I have come to the conclusion that I may have a permanent, somewhat cynical, half-disgusted squint, rather than the silly faces of childhood.
A notable football player made a commencement speech the other day at a largely Catholic college. I’d never heard of Harrison Butker, because I am not a football fan. I doubt I’ve ever heard of Benedictine College, his alma mater.
In his speech to the graduates, Butker lit a firestorm.
“Some of you may go on to lead successful careers in the world, but I would venture to guess that the majority of you are most excited about your marriage and the children you will bring into this world. I can tell you that my beautiful wife Isabelle would be the first to say that her life truly started when she began living her vocation as a wife and as a mother,” he said.
“I’m on this stage today and able to be the man I am because I have a wife who leans into her vocation. I’m beyond blessed with the many talents God has given me. But it cannot be overstated, that all of my success is made possible because a girl I met in band class back in middle school would convert to the faith, become my wife and embrace one of the most important titles of all: homemaker.”
What strikes me as a tribute to his wife, and encouragement for women that there’s nothing wrong with being a so-called “tradwife,” has turned into a rather ridiculous tempest in a teapot.
Butker plays for the pro football team in Kansas City, and an official social media post for Cornville quickly disclaimed that he lives there, and even went so far as to say the town where he does live. That made it significantly easier for naysayers to find his home address and use the modern coward’s tool of doxing to go after Buttker.
Doxing, by the way, is when someone’s personal information is shared online in such a way as to bring them embarrassment, encourage protestors to show up at their home, or even encourage harm. I’ve had a critic or two dox me, and after meeting a would-be troublemaker at the gate and sending a message to the doxxer, I had no further problems. It’s a coward’s way of getting other people to fight your battles for you.
He is being mocked, attacked, called really nasty names, and his family directly or indirectly threatened because he believes in the traditional family. Some talking head insisted he be replaced by a woman, any woman, on his football team. The NFL distanced themselves from him, of course, because the NFL only stands by players who use drugs and abuse women. Respect and traditional values have no place in the league.
Buttker has been pilloried by social justice warriors and feminazis and people who probably have never even heard of him because (they say) he endorses domestic slavery or some such. He was eviscerated on TV talk shows and excoriated by celebrities as well as alleged journalists who have crowned themselves smarter than the rest of us.
Apparently all these folks have a problem with married couples where the wife chooses to stay home.
I am curious why these folks have a problem with such. While we don’t have two-legged children, my wife is a domestic engineer, as the old saying goes. She works as hard as I do on a regular basis, doing different things.
It was a choice we made, and while we don’t have nearly as much money as we might if she had a job outside the home, it’s my responsibility as the husband and wage-earner to provide for her and our home. In exchange, I have a friend, a helpmate, someone to help wrangle our animals, good meals, clean clothes and someone on overwatch with her own firearms when a doxer-proxy shows up at the gate to cause problems, or a coyote goes after the baby goats. She takes care of me, I take care of her.
That’s not the life for every couple, much less every woman. I know some couples where both spouses work. I know some couples where the husband stays at home (would that make him a non-trad-husband, and the object of ridicule? Or would that make him a hero of the new matriarchy?). I know some ladies who have chosen to be or ended up single, and have successful careers.
My own mother was something of a hybrid; she always worked at something outside the home when I was growing up, whether it was a newspaper job or freelance writing, running the local arts council or another similar job. My beloved mother-in-law spent more years as a traditional wife than a “working woman,” and likely worked harder at home caring for two kids, a husband and her church family than she ever did in her “real” job.
It’s a choice. We all can make them.
Sometimes we make good ones, sometimes we make bad ones. Sometimes we make epic bad ones. Sometimes we make incredibly good ones.
Buttker was not instructing the women in that college crowd to plan on staying home, barefooted and pregnant in the kitchen. At worst, he was speculating that some of those new graduates were looking forward to the day when they would be financially stable enough to become tradwives. I would bet, if taken in context and consideration of the type of school where he spoke, there were a lot of female graduates for whom at least some of those supposedly negative descriptors sound rather attractive, or are at least goals for later in life.
I am sure some women feel oppressed at “having to stay home.” Heck, there are times I feel oppressed at having to work. I’m sure most folks do, at least to some extent.
I would envy a Disneyesque version of my beloved Miss Rhonda’s day of attending to the animals and blissfully wandering the trails through our farm with birds lighting on her shoulder while the dogs, cats, goats and geese play with the wildlife, and the laundry and house magically clean themselves.
But I know her days are not like that.
I do not expect her to fetch slippers and pipe after I return from work, or wait on me hand and foot. I don‘t know a single “tradwife” who does that. My wife would, if I asked. Indeed, she always turns on the evening coffee pot when I let her know I’m coming through the gate, and she almost always meets me in the driveway. She fills in on the evening chores when I am too exhausted or in too much pain or stuck in a meeting. I’m sure other wives treat their husbands the same way, and I know of at least one stay-at-home husband who does. Were the roles reversed, I certainly would, and I feel guilty when she has to wait on me.
It’s part of a loving marriage, where you walk side by side, each with skills and ways that complement the other.
I can’t quite figure out the intense hatred for traditional roles, but there again, I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, in today’s world, boys can be girls, girls can be boys, children can be housepets and parts of American society uses our God-given freedoms to embrace a theocratic ideal that desires to tear down America.
I guess I’ll just have to growl, sigh, squint, and shake my head – and go home to my poor oppressed wife, who doesn’t yet realize after 32 years that I am apparently the enemy.
I didn’t know who Harrison Butker was until the other day, and I’ll likely never meet him.
Still, he and his poor oppressed wife and brainwashed children are welcome to come to my farm any time, for a homecooked meal, prepared by my poor oppressed wife. I wouldn’t be any good at talking about football, but I am fairly sure he and I could agree that our moms were right: we made faces for too long, and our faces have indeed frozen that way, but they’re not silly faces.
Instead, I’m sure we would agree that our expressions are of confusion and disgust at how far society has tumbled.
