Sexual Harassment
So, I suppose this is my story/experience about sexual harassment. It's not nearly as dramatic or scarring as the category implies, but I was encouraged, and why the fuck not?
I'd use anonymous names, but no one knows who I'm talking about, so whatever.
There's this kid in my first period class [Creative Writing]. His name is James, and he's a year ahead of me.
He's one of those guys who take really long strides when they walk and don't talk all that much, but do talk, and think they're better than everyone else, and think their "writing" is the freaking shit, and insist on having a side conversation with some random kid while they're getting ready to present at the front of class and insist on sitting down while they do present.
Yeah. One of those kinds of kids.
So, at the beginning of the year, James wrote a kind of spoof "poem." He slightly altered the names of kids in our class and talked about them. At first it was funny. He really only talked about his friends, and it was a friendly-silly-teasing kind of thing. Like, he made fun of his friend who has a southern accent and says "spider" weird, and his wrestler friend whose short and skinny as fuck.
Keep in mind, I hardly know this guy. Like, I know his name, and assume he knows mine, but that's about it.
Towards the end of the poem, he starts talking about this girl. I'll summarize what he said. [It was a few months ago, so I don't remember exactly. But I'll get the gist at least.]
"And there's girl who sits in the back row, Pa- Par- Pareej? I can never remember her name. Anyway, she had a nice.... *onto the next person.*"
At first, we were all just looking around the room, trying to figure out who the fuck he was talking about. Then, at the end, he listed all the people who he mentioned in the "poem." I was on the list.
At first I was really confused. What the fuck did he mean? I didn't want to jump to any conclusions and think he meant "rack," but, come on. It was pretty obvious. [I feel it is vital in this point of the story to mention that I do, in fact, have a large chest. Trufax.] I was really confused, freaked out, and quite creeped out for the rest of the day. I told a few friends about it. Most of them feigned interest, but mostly dismissed the incident.
So, a day or two passed, and I had decided that he did mean my "rack." [He did, btw. I know that for a fact now.] I'm not exactly shy, but I'm not confrontational with people I don't know. It took all the bravery I could muster to corner him after class one day and ask,
"So, what's so nice about me, James?" Unfortunately, I do not remember what he said. I do know it involved eye-rolling and not many words. It did, however, convince me that he did mean my chest, but it also confused me further.
A few days later, he mentioned something about not being able to take a compliment in a "poem" or something. I'm sorry, I don't really remember this part as well as I should. This event has spanned over this entire school year, cut me some slack. Anyway, I pretty much ignored the whole thing for a while. He did, however, continue to say something semi-creepy every now and then and just make me feel a little uncomfortable.
Now we get a little more recent. In some other "poem" of his, he said that my friend, Dayna, had a "large rear". Hearing that just reminded me about what he said about/to me, and pissed me off. First he talks about my boobs, then my friend's ass? The worst part was that Dayna didn't give a rat's ass. She thought it was funny. Don't get me wrong, she doesn't like James very much, but she really didn't care about what he was saying. Neither did any of my other friends in that class.
In the following weeks, I made it clear that I was not cool with the shit he was saying. Each time, he blew me off, and made some condescending remark.
And a friend of mine told James a really ridiculous pick-up line, which he said he'd use on me. He didn't, but he wanted to. And he as a habit of talking about me at track, in front of people I know. Nothing that I can righteously get mad about, but come on. Really?
Then Slam Poetry happened. My teacher gave us an assignment to write slam poetry, which is often a kind of political/social statement that you put a lot of emotion into. It's meant to be presented. We got into groups, chose a topic, and all wrote about different things. My two friends and I chose Appearance. I used it as an opportunity to stick it to James.
This was my poem:
Her appearance is an everyday struggle
A fight for control over her natural born body
With a million insecurities for her mind to juggle
Based of what she eats; too much or too little
She cuts her own skin or makes herself vomit
Or her hair and makeup aren't quite perfect
Either way, you DON'T get to comment
Her body is hers, and none of your business
She deserves nothing less than your utmost respect
Because she's different, original, unique, herself
And she's better than the Barbie doll you've come to expect
Because she has thoughts and ideas under the curves and shape
So don't use words like ass, rear, and rack
It's not flattering and reminds her of rape
So next tine you feel the need to subjugate a woman
Ask yourself, please, will it make you a man?
I'm not good at public speaking, so I kept my eyes on my paper the entire time and turned bright red halfway through. But I was told that James just sat there with his head in his hands. And no, not like he felt bad. Like he thought I was stupid.
So, of course, at the end of class, he's come up with a rebuttal.
And it's about how I can't take a compliment, I need to let it go, and how, wait for it, I have self-confidence issues.
I'm a teenage girl. Of course I have self-confidence issues. But not about this.
I'm not putting up with your stupid, sexist remarks. I have the bravery to stand up to you about it. I think that shows that I do respect myself and my body and my fucking gender.
That whole slam thing happened on Friday.
Naturally, I have a rebuttal. It's short, but here it is:
There’s a difference between a compliment and an inappropriate comment.
A compliment is “your hair looks nice” or “I like your dress.”
NOT “Hey baby, nice ass.” And “Damn, what a great rack.”
That’s not something any woman wants to hear from someone she hardly knows.
And that includes ridiculous pick up lines and condescending remarks and blatant insults.
Oh, and the refusal to accept that kind of treatment doesn’t equate to self-confidence issues. It means that you have respect issues.
So next time, bite your tongue.
I fully expect to be ridiculed again tomorrow, both my James, his friends, and my friends. There's something hugely wrong with that, but I'm going to stand up and say it anyway. Because that is how much I respect myself and my body.
I'm sure this story is a "to be continued" and it's far from the usual sexual harassment story. I'm not scarred. I'm not abused. I didn't think for one second that I was to blame, because I wear low cut shirts. This hasn't altered my own view on myself and my body. But it has still affected me. I don't respect Dayna as much, because she doesn't have the self-respect to care about what James said about her. I don't respect my friends as much because they've dismissed this as an issue and almost ridicule me for continuing to pursue it.
So, dear reader who is probably from #y_slash, do you think I'm being dramatic and silly, or is this a legit issue? I'd like to know.
I'd use anonymous names, but no one knows who I'm talking about, so whatever.
There's this kid in my first period class [Creative Writing]. His name is James, and he's a year ahead of me.
He's one of those guys who take really long strides when they walk and don't talk all that much, but do talk, and think they're better than everyone else, and think their "writing" is the freaking shit, and insist on having a side conversation with some random kid while they're getting ready to present at the front of class and insist on sitting down while they do present.
Yeah. One of those kinds of kids.
So, at the beginning of the year, James wrote a kind of spoof "poem." He slightly altered the names of kids in our class and talked about them. At first it was funny. He really only talked about his friends, and it was a friendly-silly-teasing kind of thing. Like, he made fun of his friend who has a southern accent and says "spider" weird, and his wrestler friend whose short and skinny as fuck.
Keep in mind, I hardly know this guy. Like, I know his name, and assume he knows mine, but that's about it.
Towards the end of the poem, he starts talking about this girl. I'll summarize what he said. [It was a few months ago, so I don't remember exactly. But I'll get the gist at least.]
"And there's girl who sits in the back row, Pa- Par- Pareej? I can never remember her name. Anyway, she had a nice.... *onto the next person.*"
At first, we were all just looking around the room, trying to figure out who the fuck he was talking about. Then, at the end, he listed all the people who he mentioned in the "poem." I was on the list.
At first I was really confused. What the fuck did he mean? I didn't want to jump to any conclusions and think he meant "rack," but, come on. It was pretty obvious. [I feel it is vital in this point of the story to mention that I do, in fact, have a large chest. Trufax.] I was really confused, freaked out, and quite creeped out for the rest of the day. I told a few friends about it. Most of them feigned interest, but mostly dismissed the incident.
So, a day or two passed, and I had decided that he did mean my "rack." [He did, btw. I know that for a fact now.] I'm not exactly shy, but I'm not confrontational with people I don't know. It took all the bravery I could muster to corner him after class one day and ask,
"So, what's so nice about me, James?" Unfortunately, I do not remember what he said. I do know it involved eye-rolling and not many words. It did, however, convince me that he did mean my chest, but it also confused me further.
A few days later, he mentioned something about not being able to take a compliment in a "poem" or something. I'm sorry, I don't really remember this part as well as I should. This event has spanned over this entire school year, cut me some slack. Anyway, I pretty much ignored the whole thing for a while. He did, however, continue to say something semi-creepy every now and then and just make me feel a little uncomfortable.
Now we get a little more recent. In some other "poem" of his, he said that my friend, Dayna, had a "large rear". Hearing that just reminded me about what he said about/to me, and pissed me off. First he talks about my boobs, then my friend's ass? The worst part was that Dayna didn't give a rat's ass. She thought it was funny. Don't get me wrong, she doesn't like James very much, but she really didn't care about what he was saying. Neither did any of my other friends in that class.
In the following weeks, I made it clear that I was not cool with the shit he was saying. Each time, he blew me off, and made some condescending remark.
And a friend of mine told James a really ridiculous pick-up line, which he said he'd use on me. He didn't, but he wanted to. And he as a habit of talking about me at track, in front of people I know. Nothing that I can righteously get mad about, but come on. Really?
Then Slam Poetry happened. My teacher gave us an assignment to write slam poetry, which is often a kind of political/social statement that you put a lot of emotion into. It's meant to be presented. We got into groups, chose a topic, and all wrote about different things. My two friends and I chose Appearance. I used it as an opportunity to stick it to James.
This was my poem:
Her appearance is an everyday struggle
A fight for control over her natural born body
With a million insecurities for her mind to juggle
Based of what she eats; too much or too little
She cuts her own skin or makes herself vomit
Or her hair and makeup aren't quite perfect
Either way, you DON'T get to comment
Her body is hers, and none of your business
She deserves nothing less than your utmost respect
Because she's different, original, unique, herself
And she's better than the Barbie doll you've come to expect
Because she has thoughts and ideas under the curves and shape
So don't use words like ass, rear, and rack
It's not flattering and reminds her of rape
So next tine you feel the need to subjugate a woman
Ask yourself, please, will it make you a man?
I'm not good at public speaking, so I kept my eyes on my paper the entire time and turned bright red halfway through. But I was told that James just sat there with his head in his hands. And no, not like he felt bad. Like he thought I was stupid.
So, of course, at the end of class, he's come up with a rebuttal.
And it's about how I can't take a compliment, I need to let it go, and how, wait for it, I have self-confidence issues.
I'm a teenage girl. Of course I have self-confidence issues. But not about this.
I'm not putting up with your stupid, sexist remarks. I have the bravery to stand up to you about it. I think that shows that I do respect myself and my body and my fucking gender.
That whole slam thing happened on Friday.
Naturally, I have a rebuttal. It's short, but here it is:
There’s a difference between a compliment and an inappropriate comment.
A compliment is “your hair looks nice” or “I like your dress.”
NOT “Hey baby, nice ass.” And “Damn, what a great rack.”
That’s not something any woman wants to hear from someone she hardly knows.
And that includes ridiculous pick up lines and condescending remarks and blatant insults.
Oh, and the refusal to accept that kind of treatment doesn’t equate to self-confidence issues. It means that you have respect issues.
So next time, bite your tongue.
I fully expect to be ridiculed again tomorrow, both my James, his friends, and my friends. There's something hugely wrong with that, but I'm going to stand up and say it anyway. Because that is how much I respect myself and my body.
I'm sure this story is a "to be continued" and it's far from the usual sexual harassment story. I'm not scarred. I'm not abused. I didn't think for one second that I was to blame, because I wear low cut shirts. This hasn't altered my own view on myself and my body. But it has still affected me. I don't respect Dayna as much, because she doesn't have the self-respect to care about what James said about her. I don't respect my friends as much because they've dismissed this as an issue and almost ridicule me for continuing to pursue it.
So, dear reader who is probably from #y_slash, do you think I'm being dramatic and silly, or is this a legit issue? I'd like to know.