Recently, I had an epiphany. A woman had a small child in her arms and was attempting to unfold an umbrella stroller. I walked over to help her. She held her hand up, smiled, and said, "No, I'm fine. Don't worry about." The way my Tennessee Mr. Polite Mind/Body/Heart is set up, I was a bit taken aback. I started to insist that I help her, it being the right thing to do, and she said to me again, "I'm really ok. Don't worry about." She smiled. I stood there with my chivalry deflated at my feet.

I then realized that her desire for help is not what motivated me. It was my feeling that she needed or deserved my help because she's a woman. I know, I know. That makes me a nice guy right? Here I am, half her weight, and because I'm a man, I felt the need to save her from the tyranny of a squirming tot and a stroller that didn't seem to be cooperating. Enter the paradox of chivalry. We often think that chivalry is rooted in all good things, but as I looked at the woman today, I was convicted by the idea that she needed my help or protection from her womanly weakness. That is rooted in the notion that women are inherently less strong than me.