Honorary Girl? Sure

Honorary girl, eh? I've been called that and don't mind at all.

Over at little-brain sites, like the Boston Herald and RedMassGroup, they're trying to inflate MA Dem party chair John Walsh's jibe at Scott Brown. Then again, that is what they do most often, attach a winger pump to even the tiniest lefty balloon. (You might also look for Howie Carr's puerile go at this, but it's just one cheap-shot fat joke.)

Walsh is as funny as he is smart. Sometimes he brings Joe Biden to mind as he free associates comments for effect. Sure, he was ridiculing Brown's cynical effort to appeal to women voters by showing himself folding laundry. Brown is a shameless panderer, so he was an easy target again.

Sure, Walsh should have called on his brain's executive function here to wonder how such a comment might play. After all GOP sorts and their allies even here do have those trackers and hunt relentlessly for anything they can twist. This didn't require much effort on their part and with that John handed them an ephemeral political toy. He let cleverness get ahead of craft.

This brings to mind though times when I've been named an honorary girl. In particular when I chaired the board of a large downtown church, the woman who was senior minister called me that more than once by way of pointing out that my policies and proposals under discussion were female inclusive and aware. I grew up in an equality minded family...and this was a UU church, after all.

The board and staff were almost entirely women then as well, with a few guys in charge of building and grounds and such.

The senior minister was a partnered lesbian, who adopted the first of their two infant girls then and generally brought the baby to board meetings. As an involved dad, I was at ease with little ones and could keep them amused or jiggle them to sleep with the best of them. I often held her.

I noticed that many babies do like a dad's hands and shoulder. I suspect that they feel secure in large, strong hands. Men are likely to have such, as did my maternal grandmother who was a great baby comforter.

This little one also liked my silk ties. She'd nestle in the crook of an elbow and rub the tie on her face or feel it. My youngest son was similar, liking my ties almost as much as the satin binding on his blankie.

There was a magic state when the minister's daughter was happy in my arms and a bit more magic when she fell asleep. The room was largely populated with women, who seemed charmed and to identify with this honorary girl holding real thing. I am positive it made my job running the board easier. They denied me nothing at such moments.