Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

Like each of you, I have been overwhelmed by the events in our country this week. Everywhere we look we are inundated with the testimony of the two individuals before the Senate Judiciary Committee, and everyone is telling us who is lying and who is telling the truth. I have listened to and participated in debates on this topic with friends and coworkers. I have observed on Facebook as people who support both sides let us know how they feel. I try not to post political stuff on Facebook. I have friends and family who do, and I rarely read any of those posts. Why? Because I do not want to respond in anger and cause more damage—I think we have enough of that already.

I find it hard knowing that people in my life have different opinions than I do, but you know what? They see the world through eyes that are not mine. I have always wanted to be loved and accepted for who I am, and for that to happen, I also need to do the same for others. I might not agree with you, but THAT IS OKAY. We don’t all have to agree. We just all need to treat each other with love and kindness.

So why am I rambling on about this today? Well, I want to share a little about my life and my history. I want to relate to you things that happened to me as a young child and teenager. Not in great detail, and not to cause harm to anyone, but to tell the story of an innocent young person in this world. As most of you know, I grew up in a small Southern town in the 1960s and 70s. I graduated from high school in 1979, so I’m around the age of the two people who went before the Senate Judiciary Committee this week.

I grew up at a time when family get-togethers were a regular occurrence. Fish fries, cookouts, family reunions, cousins spending summers together. Growing up in this environment was full of fun times but also included very scary times. On more than one occasion I was touched or tickled inappropriately. I had one uncle who would tickle me and refuse to stop, even when I begged. One time after finally freeing myself, he grabbed me again. I kicked him in the shin with the pointy-toed cowgirl boots I was wearing. He doubled over in pain and let me tell you, I was proud of myself. I felt powerful. My mom and dad were not very happy with me, but I didn’t care. I made my point: Keep your hands off me. But this is just a small part of the story.

What I really want to share with you is something that happened in high school. I think the reason I’ve thought about it so much over the years is because of the powerlessness I felt at the time. I wasn’t raped, but I was touched without my consent. And I am fucking sick and tired of hearing that “boys will be boys.” I even said that to myself for years. That saying is just a way of excusing behavior that is demeaning and unwanted.

I played basketball and ran track in high school. I am so thankful I had those things because my environment at home was not good. Sports and my horses saved me in high school. My world was falling apart at home but at least I had those outlets to keep me sane. Playing sports meant riding the bus back and forth to games. We were a small school, so the cheerleaders and the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams all rode the bus together.

I was a sophomore or junior in high school and we were riding the bus home after a game. I was sitting in a seat talking with my friend when the guy sitting behind me put his hand around my seat and grabbed my breast. No matter how much I pushed him away and tried to grab his hand to get it off me, he just kept grabbing. This behavior continued the whole bus trip home. He was not my boyfriend; he was just a guy in my class. I think the thing that bothers me most was that I was too scared to do anything. I was too embarrassed to stand up for myself.

I never told anyone this story until about a month ago. I did not know what to do or even what to think, other than that guys are just guys and they do whatever they want to do. I don’t think I have ever felt so powerless. I don’t know how common that behavior is, but should we really tolerate it? I don’t have children, but if I had a daughter and this happened to her I would be furious. And I would probably be just as furious if I had a son who behaved in that manner.

So why am I sharing this now? And why didn’t I tell someone when it happened? Because I was ashamed. Because I felt like I allowed it to happen—that I was responsible for it. You know what? That is wrong, but it is what our society teaches girls and women. Our society allows boys and men to do things that are inappropriate and WRONG, and then tells the women it is our fault.

I am not trying to make this into a political statement, but if you are a woman, I hope you will take the time to look at your past and recognize if there was a time when this happened to you. I was not drunk. I was not out at some party. I was riding home on the bus after playing basketball. That was the last time I ever rode the bus home after a game. From that night forward, I always rode home with my mom and dad. I allowed some creepy guy to take away one of the fun parts of high school: riding the bus, singing and laughing with my friends.

It is scary to be in a situation where you do not have a voice and no control, and it has taken me about 40 years since that night to even tell my story. I think that night also did something else to me. It made me aware that I never wanted to feel that way again.

It is hard for me to make this next statement, but I think I must. That one night solidified my feelings about men. After that incident, whenever I imagined a man hugging me or being intimate with me, I would get furious. I decided I did not want or need that in my life. I was a strong woman and did not NEED someone to take care of me and protect me. I could and would do those things for myself. And I have.

I am not naïve enough to believe that everything that I hear is true. But when a woman reveals her long-held secrets of sexual misconduct and inappropriate touching, I understand. I believe the women. It is a new day, and finally the sun is beginning to push through the years of long-held dark secrets.