All this talk about Trump and how he deals with women. It dredges up refuse.
Refuse like being a little girl and the neighbor who has a horse fondles her as he helps her up to ride. In typing class in Junior High School, the teacher helps from behind and brushes against the front of her blouse as he reaches for her hands. As a fifteen year-old hearing a voice from the bushes in the park, to look over and see a man exposing himself to her as he masturbates. As a sixteen year-old standing up to the man telling her at gunpoint to undress. As a nineteen year-old being asked “So tell me what you’re doing for birth control.” in a job interview. All her teen years being peppered with catcalls and wolf whistles because she was walking down the street past a group of guys. As an adult, reporting obscene phone calls and being told she shouldn’t have listed her full name in the phone book. Enduring experiences that are not appropriate to describe here.
Sexual abuse and predation by people who felt they were in a position of power over her.
It’s enough to make a person reflective; a little moody.
What we say and do matters. Even when (especially when?) we feel we’re in a position of power and there will be no consequences.
No comments:
Post a Comment