What Are "Man Drives" and Why Don’t We Accept Them?

My sordid affair with The Patriarchy.

Hi, it’s me.

When I was 16 years old, I went on a mission trip to Brazil with a national youth organization. These days I find the entire concept of western evangelicals “spreading the gospel” in developing communities to be problematic, but as a teenager I saw an excellent opportunity to explore the Amazon jungle. 

It was an oddly brave thing for me to do. I remember being a shy, timid kid, not the kind of kid who would sign up to spend three months in a foreign country with a group of other kids she’d never met. What was on point was me choosing a mission deep in the heart of the jungle, not some lame, civilized European trip hosting Vacation Bible School for kids in London or Germany. My trip required yellow fever and malaria vaccinations and steel toed work boots.

Bringing the Jesus Film to remote villages in Brazil. L: Traveling in a narrow boat on an Amazonian tributary; R: We transferred our belongings to an even smaller boat on a smaller waterway (1988).

I have many stories to share about that amazing trip – like the time I saw a chicken foot in my soup, watching monkeys swinging from tree to tree high above my head, sleeping in a hammock while ferrying down the Amazon, and my clothes never quite drying all the way because we were so deep in the jungle the sun never reached the clothes line.

But of course, this story is about a boy.

I spent a significant amount of time making out in the jungle with one particular boy while doing the Lord’s work. He was a rich boy, blond, freckled; probably there because his parents wanted him to gain some perspective or something. Sometimes he made out with another girl in our group and held her hand when our group leaders weren’t looking. Today I would fuck him up for playing me like that, but 16 year old Jennifer worked hard at reminding him that she existed.

After our Summer of Missionary Love was over, we returned to our separate states and wrote letters to each other. I can’t explain how I talked my mom into this, but the boy came to visit during a break from school. We had our sneaky make-out sessions in the middle of the night, drove around and did stuff during the day, then he got on a plane and went home.

In his next letter to me, he wrote that he had a great time and everything was perfect, “accept the man drives.”

Accept the man drives?

What’s a man drive? 

Why don’t we accept it? Or … him?

Should he have capitalized Man Drives as a proper noun?

Oh my fellow Pretenders, it took me a very long time to realize he meant to say “except the man drives,” but he used the wrong word! 🤣

To this day, I hear “Accept the Man Drives” in my head every time I drive with Bryan in the car.

Incredibly, in 22 years of marriage I’d never told this story to Bryan… until today. As we drove to Fred Hutch for his twelfth (and 🤞hopefully last 🤞) round of chemo, he thanked me for driving, and I told him the story. 

Thanks for being a great speller, Babe. And for, ya know, letting me drive. 😉

Until next time,

Jen