Can Any Good Thing Come out of Detroit?

How often do you hear a good word about Detroit? When I posted on FB that I was in the Detroit airport, one friend asked whether I was being punished for something. No, I was only on the way home from parents' weekend at Hillsdale College, and I'd actually been thinking how pleasant most of the workers in and around the airport had been. I wondered whether there was a campaign on to make people think better of Detroit. They did make some points with me. 
When I arrived on Friday, my rental car wasn't ready, though I had reserved one and paid in advance. I'd asked for GPS, and the only right-size vehicle in the place had none. I waited. (Without GPS, I'd still be circling the airport today.) I waited over an hour. And with me waited the adorable customer service girl, who continually apologized and sympathized. She was so sweet, I started to feel sorry for her!
When I returned the car, the young lady who checked it in introduced herself, smiled, asked whether I'd had any problems, and looked me in the eye. Nice. The shuttle driver was pleasant and polite. Served as a tonic to my exhausted being. 
Utter spaciness made me forget to pull the CPAP breathing machine out of my duffel before pushing my gear through the X-ray tunnel. They pulled it. Ahead of me, the TSA agent in charge of suspicious bundles dealt with a young man who inexplicably didn't know that they won't let you carry full tubes of shampoo and stuff onboard. He had three or four large tubes of grooming potions in his bag. The agent told him, "You can go take a shower, or you can check the bag." Her good humor made me smile. She maintained that attitude as she pulled my CPAP out, swabbed it for danger and carried it and the duffel back to have it scanned again. Kindness to dopey travelers, for the win. 
Everyone I dealt with was polite and humane, but the topper may have been the woman swabbing the restroom near my gate. I said to her, "What a job, eh, like housework all day long." 
She grinned back at me and said "Somebody's got to do it." Then she told me how important it was to her to make sure that guests had a pleasant experience. "Nobody likes a dirty bathroom."
I thanked her for taking such good care of the place. She said, "You're welcome, and you have a God-blessed day."
"You too," said I. And I think we both did.

How Do I Love Thee?

     Flying into Detroit, I fancied that there would be an all-Motown radio station to listen to in the rental car on the way to parents’ weekend at Hillsdale College. I kept pressing “SEEK,” but got no “I Second That Emotion” or “Baby Love.” Instead, I heard a lyric so vile I wish I could scrub it from my brain. I won’t quote it.

     The girl singer seemed to be competing with another for the man of her dreams. Her enticement was that she was willing to debase herself more than the other girl. Aside from the question of why she would do such a thing anyway—in a public place, no less—I ask why a self-respecting female would want the approval of a man who evaluates women on the level of their debauchery. Of course, the answer lies in that old-fashioned phrase, “self-respecting.”

     Counter-intuitive as it may seem, I think this abysmal lack of self respect—no, it goes beyond that: cataclysmic anti-respect—has its roots in feminism. The ‘60s feminists asked some important questions and came up with all the wrong answers. Their theorizing jumped from “Men and women are of equal value” to “There is no difference whatever between men and women.” While they might have imitated the noblest of men and emphasized courage, loyalty, adherence to principle and self-control, instead they adopted the worst. Marriage was slavery; sex was to be engaged in with no restrictions; pregnancy was a disease. Women became as “free” of chastity, monogamy, moral principle and self-control as they believed men were, or wished to be. There was no reason to guard one’s sexuality, and with all that constricting morality out of the picture, no way to protect one’s sexuality, never mind one’s soul. Why not, then, use sex to keep a man’s attention?

     Yeah, yeah, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle… but most of us still want one. The problem is that what we really want is the unconditional love, the lifetime commitment, but you can only get that from a man who is courageous, loyal, principled and self-controlled, or at least trying to be. If you have nothing in the way of character, principle or self-control to offer him, well, why would he want you?

     Have you seen the TLC program “Big Sexy,” in which a group of extra-large girlfriends look for career success and lasting love in the big city? They all seem to be looking for Mr. Right, only they look for him in bars where dancers pull patrons onto the stage and bump and grind against them in a manner that had me clutching my pearls. All but one of the girls has had sexual relations with a number of men. One took up with a married man and was crushed when he went back to his wife. My heart ached for all of them, because, despite their appeal as human beings, they seem to be on the same wavelength as the girl in the song. Listen, girls: “giving yourself” is exactly what you do, and every liaison keeps a piece of your soul. If promiscuity (and degradation) is your search engine, by the time Mr. Right appears, there may be nothing left of you. Cheap things are used a few times and thrown out. Want a man to treasure you? Then be a treasure.