Kenneth R. DeVoe
To the editor:
Shucks! It appears everyone, in and out of the sports world, NFL lovers/haters, feminists, lesbians, gays, transgenders, lawyers, liberals, conservatives, pundits of all sorts, maybe even Vladimir Putin, has an opinion regarding Baltimore running back Ray Rice and his alleged punching a female acquaintance! So ... why not me?
I am a product of the ’20s and ’30s (19-, I thank you), and in those prehistoric times, there was an inviolate rule: NEVER hit a girl.
In my carefree days in grammar school, trying (I still am) to “grow up,” girls were regarded as the lowest form on life on planet Earth, something subhuman. The vilest epitaph hurled at a 4- to 15-year-old-boy was you ran, threw a ball, fought like a girl, or that you were actually a girl!
You see, girls were worthless when it came to the important things in life, such as playing marbles, playing football, fighting, or throwing any sort of ball, shooting a gun, driving — well, you get the picture.
In addition, girls were clean! I’ll wager some of them took a bath twice a week! Their clothes were clean, hands were clean, their clothing was not torn. They even had manners.
In addition, girls volunteered (!) to go to the blackboard, always raised their hands in class (and came up with the correct answer). They were never late for class, never pushed anyone or crowded to the head of the line. They skipped recess and stayed indoors to study. They made the honor roll. Who could possibly like people with such characteristics?!
But, in the 1930s, the Boys’ Code of Honor was you never hit a loathsome girl! It was OK to trip them or flatten them with a football, snowball or dodgeball, but never use a fist.
So what is a person to think about Rice punching out a girl and receiving a picayune two-game suspension? Gee whiz! No. 98 of the Colts was hammered with a four-game suspension for taking a fertility, doctor-prescribed drug (and violating NFL policy).
I am still pondering my decision. But, as an addendum, heaven help the hapless guy who takes a poke at one of my three Girl-illas, who are (grudgingly) forced to call me Dad.