As I prepare to bring a son into this world, I felt obligated to put a this very important note down on paper for him: I want him to know that not all men are the same. In fact, no one is the same. The news lately, is painting men to be savages. Animals who cannot control themselves. But that’s not really true, is it?
You see, most men, respect women. Most men, are just as disgusted about what is happening to women as we are. The rapist/assault mentality is not something that lives in the Y chromosome. It’s something that grows in the minds of the unwell – male AND female.
When I was in college, I went out with a bunch of girlfriends for a night of partying in South Beach. We were dressed in tight fitting, short dresses decorated with scandalously high heels. Whatever cleavage I thought I had, was displayed by the u-shaped scoop of my dress. We drank entirely too much that night, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit that my drink was spiked. It was the sloppiest I’ve ever been. I had no control over myself, and I remember wondering why my body wasn’t responding to my mind.
It was so bad, that I came home that night without my shoes. I had lost them at the bar. I was slumped over on the curb in the middle of South Beach, when the bouncer for the club told us we needed to leave before he would call the police.
We piled into our car during the early morning hours and the least drunk person drove us home. The men from the bar followed us home. I’m not sure if we invited them, if they were concerned about us getting where we need to be safely, or if they were looking for easy targets. I know one of my friends really hit it off with one of them, and they probably wanted to keep the night going.
My friends helped me inside, got me some water and put me to bed. Another friend – in equally bad condition – was in her room across from me. Three girls. Three guys. One apartment. One night.
As I lay in bed with the room spinning around me, my door opened. It was one of the random guys from the bar. I didn’t even now why he was in my house. I didn’t remember him coming home with us. I wanted to be left alone. To feel like shit on my own. He made his way over to me and sat on the edge of my bed. He asked me how I was feeling. I told him I was fine and that I was just tired. I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted the spinning to stop. I even thanked him for checking on me. He asked me if I was sure. I grumbled a yes at him with the kind of emphasis that basically meant, “please just go and leave me alone”.
He proceeded to run his hand up my thigh. I pushed his hand away with what little strength I had. But it only lasted for a second. He did it again. I tried to dismiss him again, and he forcibly pushed me into the bed. I tried to fight him, but I had no strength. I barely had control over any motor skills at that point. He began groping me. I yelled for my friend and he pushed his lips on mine to shut me up, kissing me sloppily. His breath was staled and tasted of alcohol and cigarettes. He ripped my underwear and just when I thought the worst was about to happen, his friend came in the room.
This is the turning point for women like me. A situation can go one of two ways: you are saved by a decent man. Or you are raped by more than one coward. Luckily for me, there was only one sexual predator in my house that day. The other was a man.
A man who knew what he was seeing was wrong. A man who understood what consent did and did not look like. A man who stood up for a women who could not defend herself. He grabbed his friend by the shirt and pulled him off of me. They all left. I cried myself to sleep that night as I thanked God over and over again.
Since that night, I have never let another person buy my drink for me. And I never let myself get sloppy drunk again. In fact, I barely drink alcohol at all. I lost all appeal. I kept my mouth shut and never told anyone about it. I was embarrassed that it happened. Humiliated at myself for not being able to prevent it. For putting myself in a risky position.
#Metoo is a movement for women like me. The ones who have silently struggled with sexual abuse. The ones who know that the person who did this to them, more than likely has done it to someone else. #Metoo is giving a voice to women that breaks the embarrassment of admitting that this is something that has happened. But #Metoo is not an invitation to man shame.
Let’s acknowledge the fact that scum is scum. Let’s not make it uncomfortable for a man to say hi to a woman on the street as a friendly gesture. Men shouldn’t feel like they are making women feel uncomfortable for casual conversation. Let’s rally together to call out scum when we see it… not later. Let’s own our bodies and our right to feel safe. And let’s congratulate those men who help us make that possible.
I won’t let my son be lumped into the same category as the scum. Because not all men are the same. I will raise him to be an honorable man. I will instill wisdom and respect and groom him to be a class act who will be the hero of every scenario that crosses his path. I will remind him that he is the creator of his own destiny, and not even a fraction of what society may claim he is suppose to be. I hope other moms will do the same too.
Tiaras & Trucks 