Today I'm just pissed off...

...and sometimes that's a really good thing.

Imus was suspended for racist remarks. Good. And I like Imus in the Morning. But sometimes I just turn it off because sometimes I think we've have gone way off the mark about what is good and decent and acceptable just in the name of the ratings game.

"Making what you wear work." Corporate training experts telling me what to wear to work. Get this: I'm an effing writer. Today I'm wearing a plaid shirt that Sue affectionately calls my Opie Taylor shirt, a la Mayberry R.F.D. that she looks so good in on a Saturday morning, a pair of jeans that haven't seen the inside of a washing machine in a couple of weeks, and my oldest pair of comfortable cowboy boots. This isn't a career folks. I'm paying the bills here.

Cape doctor pleading the battered woman defense. She allegedly shot and killed her husband. Sorry, if it's true, it doesn't make her any better than him.

What seems like miles and miles of t-shirts in South Station decorated by women who were raped. It's heartbreaking to read the messages on those shirts. That someone could destroy someone's life the way theirs were. (I have a particular disdain for people who ruin other people's lives and get away with it. It's the Libra's sense of justice that does it.) And one shirt noted that 1 in 7 boys are sexually abused. I bet it's more than that. One of my best friends has a nasty scar on his lip where the rifle slipped when he tried to end the pain. Don't effing tell me it doesn't happen to boys, too. You just don't hear it as much.

Domestic abuse is a human issue, not a woman's issue

The politically correct crowd will have my hide by the end of this blog.

Mary Weiland, battered wife of wild ass and Axl Rose wannabe Scott Wieland, is taking responsibility for getting beat up and in fights with her husband. She beats on him as much as he beats on her. Why they keep this up is beyond me, but people do this all the time. That’s not the point of this blog.

So, shall we?

Good for you, Mary. This is what I’ve maintained all along: In domestic abuse, it takes two to tango. Most of the time, that is. I’m not saying there aren’t women who are real victims of violent people. Of course there are. Guess what? There are men out there who are victims of women with serious problems, too.

I’m trying to pull domestic abuse out of the realm of being solely a woman’s issue (although it was right that feminist raised this issue under their flag) and put it squarely where it belongs: A societal issue that affects both men and women.

Women physically beat up men all the time and don’t get caught or punished. For those of you shaking your heads, sorry, yeah, they do. I know so many women who have hit their boyfriends, husbands, or ex-husbands and the police were never called; the women were never arrested and punished. Men don’t report these incidents because it’s embarrassing to admit to being beaten up by a woman. And when a woman hits someone she’s viewed as strong and sticking up for herself. That opinion is rarely applied to a man, and never if he hits a woman.

And let me be clear: I’m not saying that it’s right for anyone to beat anyone up.

I’m going to repeat that for the liberally challenged: I’m saying that it’s wrong for anyone to beat up anyone, in any shape, way, or form.

What I am saying is that I can’t buy into the liberal notion that half the population is hell-bent on beating up and destroying the other half. In domestic cases, it’s not right what men do. It’s not right what women do, either. But the PC crowd and liberals put the entire onus of domestic abuse squarely on men, and defend women by embracing the clichéd view of woman as pure and sweet and good. Think Damsel in Distress. But that just is not the truth. Both sides are responsible, and both sides usually are equally dysfunctional.

Tell the truth: When you have a domestic violence incident, and you take the man away and you’re left with the woman, most of the time you wouldn’t want that woman living under your roof either, would you? More than likely she has problems just as serious, if not more so, as the guy you just carted off to jail. Drugs. Alcohol. Mental illness. Society is only addressing fifty percent of the problem, and letting the other fifty percent fester by not dealing with the issues.

When men and women get hurt they both lose their tempers. What’s different is that when men get mad, they get physical. When women get mad, many times they fight with their emotions. And guess what? Both ways cause real pain. It’s just that our society only recognizes the infliction of physical pain as an offense, and not emotional pain.

If you accept the idea that emotional pain is the same as physical pain, this is easy to wrap your head around.

DAs, defense lawyers, and social workers who work with domestic cases see this all the time. A lawyer once said to me, how much is a man supposed to take? There are women who push men beyond the limits, just as there are men who do it to women. These professionals know what’s really going on, but just accept the double standard the system endows. And sad (or funny) to say, but in our society, men and women both get away with some of the things they do because of what’s between their legs. Men typically make more money, and women get the benefit of the law in domestic cases, including child custody.

It’s not a woman’s issue. It isn’t. It’s a human issue that affects both men and women.

There always will be fear

I know this is going to sound a little weird, but hang with me. Okay?

I got this dog, okay? Now wait! I told you this was weird; just hear me out, that’s all I’m asking.

So, I got this dog, right? And like all dogs, he can’t see colors. But just because he can’t see colors doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Of course they exist, right? You and I can see them everywhere. His species just isn’t advanced enough to see them. Give dogs thousands of more years, eons, I don’t, whatever it takes for dogs to advance enough to see colors—or maybe more since they’ll have to stop a lot to pee on everything—give them enough time to trot down the old evolutionary pathway and eventually they’ll sniff their way to colors. Right now they’re Cro-Magnon dogs. But with a little luck and some Darwinian hocus-pocus maybe someday they’ll be Homo sapien dogs, capable of seeing colors, owning credit cards, and forming governments. So, my question to you is this: What if we’re the same way? You and me. People. What if there are things, just things, anything, like colors are to dogs, that we can’t see because we’re not advanced enough as a species to see them?

Okay, let’s take it a bit farther. Let’s say you’re a guy and I’m a guy and I see you coming down the street, unaware, happy, and defenseless? Maybe you are in love, and you’re thinking of your sweetheart and how you’re going to see her tonight. And what if, then, I grab you and drag you into an alley and start hitting you? What if I make my hand into a fist and punch you as hard as I could, right dead center in your face and break your nose, and then I hit you some more, harder and harder again and again so I blacken both your eyes and knock out your front teeth and break your jaw and make your ears bleed? And what if when you fall down from me beating you, I start kicking you, in the ribs, in the stomach, wherever I can reach you? And what if I keep going? What if I pick up a garbage can and empty it all over you. And when it’s empty, I throw it at you, and hit you in the head with it, knocking you out?

What if I did all that to you?

First, you would feel pain. Lots and lots of real physical pain, and probably for quite a while the pain would be a large part of your life. And because of the injuries I inflicted on you, you wouldn’t be able to eat, or smile, or talk or walk or move for a long time without being in pain. But you would heal, sort of, eventually. You wouldn’t look the same, though. Your nose would be bent, your teeth capped, scars would line and pucker the skin on your face. Maybe you could never smile quite right again—it might be slightly crooked, one side never really working because of damage to the nerve. Maybe you’d have an underlying, nagging pain in your hip every time it was going to rain. Or maybe you would be numb, and not feel the way you did before you encountered me. And you would be very leery about walking down the street alone, maybe for the rest of your life.

But thankfully, for this, I could be arrested and put in jail so I would be separated and not able to do this again to someone else, and I would be labeled a thug and a criminal because this is something we, this advanced species that we are that can see colors, have said we can’t do to each other simply because we are indeed an advanced, civilized species.

Now what about this. What if you’re a woman and I’m a man and you see me walking down the street. And let’s say you noticed I was a little down, a little depressed and so you smile at me to cheer me up. And then I smile back at you. And then maybe we started talking, just small talk, and found it was enjoyable, and one was enjoyable to the other. And maybe one night, a kiss was stolen, and then another and another. And at some point you told me you loved me and never wanted to leave me. And you told me I was the handsomest man in the world. That you’ve never met anyone like me. That you’ve waited all your life for me. And what if I believed you all of this? What if all of this was as real to me as the color red?

And what if you wrote me pages and pages of love letters, single-spaced, double-sided, no cross outs, and called me your love, and your darling, and your soul mate, how you wanted to walk with me hand in hand together for the rest of your life, and you sent these letters to me at my office so my wife wouldn’t see them, and saying all of that again and more in email, like what you think and feel when I’m with you?

And because of all of the things you said and did, for all that, I completely changed my life. I quit my job, left my family, moved to another city, and spent all my money to be with you, tens of thousands of dollars.

And what if, after me believing you, what if suddenly, for no apparent reason, you took away everything you had said and done. What if you strung me along for months, knowing how I felt about you and you not feeling the same but just continuing on. You’d mete out a little affection here and there. Just enough to keep me alive. But my soul, if you could have seen it, would have been just skin and bones. My heart barely beating.

What would happen? What would I be like?

You know what I’d be like. You would know because there’s a very good chance something like this has happened to you. Maybe not to this extreme, but something like this has happened to just about all of us. Every one of us has been beaten up emotionally, sometimes very severely. Every one of us has had someone treat us as if we were nothing more than garbage. Something that once was something good, then something to be thrown away.

Friends would tell me to forget about you, just like that, as if nothing ever happened. They would say, move on. Be a man. But you, you reader, you know I couldn’t. Because somewhere, some part of us we can’t see right now would look just like the way I left your physical body in that alley: hurt, broken, covered with garbage, left for dead. I would be feeling real physical pain, as much as you felt after the beating I gave you. I would barely be able to move. And I might heal, sort of, eventually. But I wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be able to love the way I did. Or trust. Or feel. There are things that I might not ever be able to feel again. I’d never believe again. And there always would be fear.

But even though we can feel real physical pain and all the signs tell us that indeed there is something there that has been badly if not mortally injured, this is not deemed a crime because we can’t see physical damage of the assault. We still can’t see the part that got hurt just like a dog can’t see color. But just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean there isn't something there, some real piece of us, that got mortally wounded.

You would not be arrested for cruelty and brutality. You would not be considered a thug or a criminal. You would be allowed to wander among your fellow creatures and do this again and again and again. And there is a very good chance that you would continue to do this again and again, because just like the common criminal lives to commit crimes, beating people up emotionally is what you live to do.

I’m wondering if eons from now and with a little Darwinian hocus-pocus, if there will be a world where dogs can see colors, we’ll finally be able to see this part of us, and the likes of you would be deemed the criminal and thug that you are, and punished accordingly?