Thursday, November 30, 2006
isn't that where this story beings? or, perhaps exactly where it ends.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Dear man on north ave.,
I want to you to close your eyes for just a moment. Now think of your daughter, you sister, your mother, your cousin, your niece, or perhaps your wife. Picture them walking down the street, minding their own business, giving a quick grin to those who pass (because it’s the polite thing to do). Now watch her as two men pass.
Did you hear the kisses he pretended to give her? Maybe he thinks she pretty, maybe he’s just being silly showing off in front of his friend, maybe he’s just a pervert.
Now rewind this scene in your mind and watch it again, but this time pay close attention to her. I know you noticed how she pretends that they aren’t there and holds her head up high until they pass. But look closer, did you notice the swelling of tears that appear in her eyes?
Those tears are the anger and the immediate hurt she feels rising up her chest. She wants to hit you with the newspaper that she holds in her hand, she wants to fight back calling you a “jacka** mother f*er!”
Or maybe that’s just me and what i wanted to do.
You see, I know better than to act on my first reaction to this type of situation. The first time a man heckled at me I was in fourth grade. A group of men sat in their car and yelled, “hey little lady! HEY! YEAH, YOU! wanna ride and come with me in my car” as the rest of the car started to hoot and holler. I finally turned, fed up with frustration and anger, and I yelled out, “No!” and stuck out my tongue…it was the meanest thing I knew to do. The driver only reacted with anger and flicked me off. I learned then that fighting back gets you nowhere or, if anything, makes them angry and puts you in a more dangerous situation.
Do you know what it’s like to be treated as a sexual object in fourth grade when you barely know what “sexual object” means? Each time I hear someone’s horn and then see him lean out his window or each time a man approaches me in such a way, I am brought back to this memory and it hurts to see that things haven’t changed.
What is it that makes you do it? Do you find it funny? What kind of entertainment do you get out of a women’s pain? Do you think that I don’t notice? When will things change?
Whatever it is, it needs to change. I mean do you really want to be a jacka** mother f*er? Because, tonight, that’s who you were to me.
Friday, November 17, 2006
oh, the end of semesters are never fun for this doubtful one.