Girls and boys

In college I took a social science course called "The Filipino Family." There was a reading that talked about how children of different genders related to one another. The gist of the reading was that it was easier for a girl to play with boys than for a boy to play with girls. Boys are generally more welcoming while girls are more suspicious. If a girl decides to be one of the boys, it’s perfectly okay for her to get her face dirty and scratch her knees. On the other hand, if a boy wanted to play house, girls would not immediately let him join in the domestic fun. They would have to warm to him. Apart from that, the boy would have to endure the relentless teasing of his peers. “Ew, he’s a boy!” the little girls would squeal. “Look at that pansy,” the other boys would scoff.

I remember seeing this episode of Oprah where even the girls were complaining how hard it was to make new friends with other girls. On the first day of class, for example, it takes less effort to strike up a conversation with male classmates than female classmates. In high school, the cliques were mostly the girls’ doing. In my own school, there were the friendly girls, the tall girls, the populars, the smart kids, the musicians, the artists, the dangerous crowd and, of course, the, er, socially inept. Girls are exclusive. There are more hurdles to overcome to join a female inner circle. There are dimensions like competition, insecurity, snobbery, meanness and over-all bitchiness.

I do find it easier to hang out with boys more than girls. This, I think, is because guys are less fussy. They’re less likely to give you a head-to-toe stare and snigger about your abominable fashion sense behind your back. They take things as they come and don’t talk each other to death. Boys are glib. They tell you frankly what they think, even if they come off looking like total bastards. They don’t raise their eyebrows at you when you have melted cheese dribbling down your chin or when you burp loudly after a swig of cold beer. I also appreciate their humor, which is refreshing: witty at the best of times and bawdy at the worst of times.

Some of my best friends are guys. I’m so used to their shocking ways I can forgive faults that would normally earn a guy a knee in the nuts. There are still things, though, in the hallowed Guy Code they are forbidden to utter to anyone but those who bear the Y chromosome. Despite all my acquired testosterone, I know my friends have still taken great pains to protect me from the full glare of guy-dom. That and the fact they still include me anyway are what I love them for.