Thursday, November 16, 2017

One Otherwise Quiet Summer Day

Al Franken-inspired memory: that time a guy friend grabbed my breast just as the flash went off for the group picture someone was taking.


Other guy friend turns to me after and says, tskng at me, "I can't believe you let him just do that."

Uh huh.

I'm not defined by these experiences, though there are enough that I forget some from time to time, until, like today, I see a photo that brings one or the other back.

I'm not shocked or accepting of these behaviors, so I certainly don't need to be fawned over like I'm fragile, or told I'm lying, or any of the standard-issue sexist talk-overs. What I need are not only workplaces but lifespaces where men are not excused for harassing, ogling, grabbing, etc. As a woman, I'm the one who's been dealing with this reality without blinders, for years, for my whole life, starting as a child, age 10, when an older man exposed himself to me and a friend at my elementary school one otherwise quiet summer day, when we were riding bikes there, cutting through, pedaling faster, faster away.

Contrary to the ugly backdrop these encounters knit around us women, I'm very glad to be a woman. For starters, I don't hinge my identity and behavior on contempt for half the planet.

There's a clarity and freedom in that.

A strength.

A lack of regret.

A peace no grabber or hater can ever grasp.

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