Relay

Russell Drumm

I've never been called "shorty." I'm five-nine. But this morning, my daughter, who's not quite 12 years old, told me to stand still, stood close to me, did the measuring thing from head to head with the flat of her hand, and called me shorty.

I quickly looked to blame her feet, expecting to find those shoes with fat soles kids are wearing. There were none. I realized it was true, and that I was actually looking up, slightly, into her smiling, triumphant eyes.

I complain, but I'm extremely glad, of course. Growth is good and growing daughters give a guy a clear window on the female of the species they might not otherwise have. Three things happened this week that opened that window a bit wider.

The first was Picabo Street's Olympic victory in the giant slalom. The second was the fact that I watched almost a full period of the U.S. versus Canada hockey game the other night - the sound was turned down - without realizing it was the women's teams. The third, unfortunately, was the saber-rattling that precedes what looks to be the inevitable invasion of Iraq.

What's clear is that it's more a combination of adrenaline and will than testosterone that permits people to charge down a mountain at 60 miles per hour, or check a defenseman into the boards. Strong wills are sexless. I recently read the term "the weaker sex" in something published in the 1960s and it seemed downright anachronistic, as if it were from another century. That presumption is dead. The cultural trappings that have accompanied it are not.

The argument about whether women should serve on the front lines tugs at the trappings. It is complicated by the fact that front lines are harder to distinguish these days. For illogical reasons, I still say no to combat roles.

I recoil from the idea of women dying in combat - it's a deep, biological response, I think. And, I don't like to think of them as vicious (despite the "shorty" remark) as a soldier must sometimes be. And, it's probably true that a co-ed unit would not be as cohesive as an all-male, or, yes, an all-female unit. The truth, of course, is that no person, male or female, should be put in the position of killing or being killed, but the world has not progressed that far, and probably never will.

My tall daughter and the brave, tough-as-nails, and irrepressible Picabo Street made me think that somebody better have an awfully good reason to go to war.

Russell Drumm is a senior writer at The Star.