I read and see so many stories in the news lately about women, by women, and for women. Our minds, hearts, and souls reel from the quotidian soiling of the “wanna-be king” and his ugly mob of troglodytes who yammer on in support of his spew. Invading every broadcast, these wretched and ugly fools deface America.
Since the news has been sinking in “locker room talk”, I’ve been deeply simmering in memories along with my you, my sisters, who have also experienced the horrors of unwanted male sexual advances. Mine occurred far too early in life and well before I was interested in boys or dating. As three of them drunkenly stole my virginity, I slipped away into the nether regions of my mind and put it far out of my life telling not a soul what had happened. I didn’t want to go from being popular in high school as Sophomore Class President, on the swim team, and in the Red Robe Choir to become “the girl who was raped”. We all know the stigma and in 1977 women couldn’t do much about it without causing a scandal. Sadly, this is still the case. I also knew that my Mom, the hot-headed Scorpio, would track them down and castrate them. It was best to lift up my chin and tuck the memory far, far away. So far, that I didn’t even remember it happening until I was out with some college pals seeing Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange” at a midnight showing and ran out of the theater throwing up. I started having nightmares and decided to see a psychologist.
But you know what helped even more? When I was 27 and some asswipe tried to pull my head down onto his lap right out of nowhere. I beat the living shit out of this puny trucker after a gig up in Springfield, Oregon and I’m sure he never tried to advance on a woman again after that. Years of my pent up rage and fury pounced on that neanderthal. After the tour, I stopped singing in Top 40 bands. I traded in the faked dressing girly on the stage for men’s clothes, short hair, and switched from an attempt at a singing career to a more profitable (and safer) one: sound engineer.
I’m writing this because it’s important for girls to know they can say “NO” and to fight back. When we stand strong and say it out loud, we fight the diseased minds. I’m writing this because mothers and fathers need to train their boys that even thinking of sexual assault of any kind is wrong. More importantly, openly boasting about it like the abominable and appalling candidate of the GOP is despicable. They need to learn how to avoid raising sons like Brock Turner and David Becker. They should never condone the behavior of a perpetrator in the way that Dan and Carleen Turner did with their guilty son and the way Judge Aaron Persky slapped his wrist.
When you’re a victim of sexual assault, there is no way to hear “Boys will be boys”, “It’s just locker room talk”, “It was just 20-minutes of action”, and not have it reverberate through your soul to wreck your spirit. Those shameful responses tell you that you’re worthless when you have suffered from another’s power over you.
That’s why the campaign: “It’s NOT OKAY” needs to continue to circulate and be shared by everyone.