German Gentlemen:True Chivalry.

"Chivalry. I've never heard that word. What is it?" My German boyfriend asked me. 

I stumbled over the definition in response. "It's like a code of conduct from knights or something.... the expectation for how men should treat women. Like, you know holding doors open and paying for dinner and stuff." 

"So it's like the opposite of feminism?"

... I hope not. 

I don't want to write a complicated social debate, but I'm musing about the topic. As many of us have, I've experienced oppressive kinds of chivalry. 

One blatant example: I dated a guy who went through great lengths to be a "gentleman." He considered himself a regency-era chap, born in the wrong time because he was so chivalrous. He opened every door, insisted on paying for every expense. But frequently dismissed my opinions, referred to my decisions as "cluelessly emotional," and thought it was cute to kiss me to get me to stop talking. When he wouldn't stop physical advances after multiple requests, I think he felt entitled somehow because he'd "bought" me with his chivalry,  He cared a great deal about being a gentleman, but he didn't care about women. 

But last week, I experienced what I think the original Chivalry was made for, and I think I'm a fan. 

Let me tell you the story:

My 50-year-old  co-worker, Markus, used to be a ballroom dancer. I took a few ballroom classes in college, so I casually asked if he'd want to go out dancing sometime.

A charming and kind individual, he's my only grown-up friend at work. (Some kids frequently remind me we're best friends). His English isn't perfect, and we often misunderstand each other. And sometimes it's painful because we want to have a deep or complicated conversation, and we can't quite. But it's ok, because for some reason, he likes me anyway. And he is is a true gentleman. Like a real true gentleman. Happily married for 25 years, there have never been ulterior motives to his kindness.

Our scheduled dancing night, he arrived exactly on time at my doorstep. I expected him to call when he was outside, so I forgot to tell him I lived in the basement apartment behind the house. He met my landlord neighbors first in an effort to pick me up from the door.  

He opened the door for me-- when I got out of the car. 

He paused every time we went through a door frame, to let me go through first.

When I awkwardly struggled putting on my coat, without hesitation he held up the other sleeve. 

He was the epitome of class and elegance. It wasn't an act, or a role he was playing. It was part of him.

When arrived at the dance hall, he was clearly a celebrity. Every other person came up to him with excitement, welcoming him back, thrilled he was there. He graciously introduced me to every single one of his friends and fans. I would not have been offended if he chose not to; I was an outsider in that setting, both in language and dance abilities. I would have been happy slinking into a corner and disappearing, waiting until he was ready to dance. But he wouldn't let me disappear. The fact that he did take the (sometimes awkward) time to introduce me made me feel not only included, but valued.  He wanted me there. I wasn't an accessory, I was his partner for the evening.  

I felt like a princess. Whisked onto the dance floor, twirling among former world-class dancers. I can follow a lead, but I'd never done some of these dances at all, and I was amazed with his leading, my feet just knew where to go. Quickstep, Foxtrot, Viennese Waltz--I had no idea what I was doing, but in his capable arms I never missed a step. It was an odd experience. Like studying Spanish 101 then suddenly speaking fluently.  

I knew he was a good dancer, which is why I asked him to go in the first place, but it turns out, he is a really good dancer. At one point, #11 in Germany. He toured around the world, competed with his wife in over 300 competitions, he coached some of the most expensive events, and at one point he was the vice president of the dance club where we were. (which I found out later is the most famous in Hamburg).

He never needed a break from dancing, but I did a few times. He sat down with me while I rested. The club was full of his former partners and competitors. I said,  "You can dance with someone else if you'd like! I'm happy to watch, don't worry about me."

He dismissed the idea immediately, "No, no. You're my date, and my guest. I want to dance with you." He didn't even entertain the thought of leaving me alone in this uncomfortable setting. I didn't even realize how relieved I was; how much I wanted him to stay with me, until after he said he would. 

We watched the other dancers on the floor for a minute. "Do you know him?"

"Of course."

"He's good!"

"No."

"No?" I was surprised, "He's not good?" I thought he had so much energy and was moving with sharpness.

"He is obviously trying so hard. You can tell a real dancer, because it looks..." he looked up, searching for the word in English, "Effortless. It is ... a part of them. They don't have to show it off."

I looked again, and Markus was right. Then he showed me what he meant: I was swept into his frame on the dance floor, and experienced truly professional dancing.

 He was grounded. Calm. Completely in control. Effortless. This comes with age and experience, I recognize. But there is a difference between someone showing off the fact that they know how to do something, and someone just doing it. 

On the dance floor I looked over at another couple. "What about them? They look good."

"You are better than she." (I was flattered)

"What about him?" again, he looked like he had a lot of energy. 

"No. He's dancing for himself, not with her. My job as the lead is to make sure my woman is always dancing." I realized he'd been demonstrating this principle all night. He could have been doing 100x more complicated movements, but he stayed within the (probably small) range of what would make me look and feel comfortable. 

The other man was dancing to be looked at, Markus was dancing with and for me. (and looked much better doing it.) He was a prince.

A true gentleman. it's in his bones. Like with dancing, he didn't have to show off his chivalry, it was just a part of him. And I felt like a princess. and a partner. I felt taken care of, but also respected.  He wanted to pay for our tickets, and he wanted to hear my opinions. He wanted to make sure I was taken care of because he cared about me, and he's a gentleman. 

You don't have to be a world-class ballroom dancer to be chivalrous. 

You can help take out the trash. You can listen. You can hold your partner if she cries. You can reserve judgement on decisions based on emotions or gut feelings.  You can offer the last bite.



Since I told my Boyfriend this story, I noticed, he never lets me get in the car without opening the door for me. He didn't say anything. He didn't ask me if I picked up on this change of behavior. He interpreted from my story that I appreciated that kind of gesture, and now it's a part of him. What a gentleman, right?

I can't speak for all women, so I'll just speak for myself. I don't need someone to open a door for me, or to pay for dinner. But it's a gesture that indicates respect. I do need someone who cares about me. in whatever form that comes.