"This one thing doesn't have to go away."
--The Tragically Hip, "Fireworks"
Gord Downie died last night at the age of 53, survived by his words and everything he's done to support Native Canadian causes. Two great legacies.
I'm at another conference, this one being a little more of a mixed blessing than the last. I've worked with the company putting on the conference for almost 20 years, and they're frustrating to deal with at the best of times: resistant to change for years, they suddenly saw the light a couple years ago, but now pretend to have always been leaders in innovation, when in fact, they're barely catching up to their rivals. They've survived by buying their more nimble competitors out, then crushing their good new ideas like ants. On the other hand, I may have found more work coming my way, which is, of course, welcome.
This conference has seen a return of my at-times-crippling social anxiety. I know why this has happened. On Facebook, a lot of my female friends have joined the #metoo movement to stand up and say they have been sexually harassed or assaulted. On Tuesday, one of my friends encouraged men who'd been sexually harassed or assaulted to stand up too.
This reminded me of something I don't want to remember. When I was 14, I was sexually threatened by an 18 year old male. He'd been making what I can only describe as weird comments to me for some time, and I'd brushed him off and tried to ignore him. Then one day in class (I skipped grades in school and I'd been put in this class three grades ahead, which was probably a bad idea) when the teacher was out of the room, for some reason he sat down at the empty desk next to me and started asking me if I wanted to have sex with him. When I tried to ignore him, he grabbed me and insinuated that if I didn't want to, he'd force me to. This, incredibly, was right in front of everyone else in class. Someone ran to get the teacher, and I still remember him running back into the classroom at full speed. I also remember him grabbing the other kid by the neck and frogmarching him out of the room.
I don't talk about that much, if at all. I don't think I've told anyone that except my counselor. For the school's part, seeing as it was the '80s and people didn't talk about these kinds of things, they handled it about as well as they could. As far as I know, the other kid was expelled from school. At least I never saw him again. Later on, I figured he had to have had some real bad problems. Even in the '80s you didn't threaten to molest a kid in front of almost 20 witnesses. I just hope he didn't actually do it to anyone, though I fear he had, or did later.
The guidance counselor talked to me later about it. I think the only thing I asked him was not to tell my parents. The guidance counselor and I had been on good terms for a while, so every so often he'd ask me to stop in his office to see if I was OK.
Then I kind of forgot about the whole thing after a while. Eventually I went back to the class. I remember a couple weeks later we were assigned a group project, and my assigned partner was a girl who lived down the street from me. Right before our big class presentation, she disappeared from the school without warning, leaving me to do the presentation by myself. At first I was irked about it, but then one of my friends who knew her told me she'd dropped out of school because her boyfriend, another student, had assaulted her and she was trying to get away from him. That upset me more than my incident. Even then, I realized she hadn't done anything wrong, but she was the one being forced to leave. It was damn unfair and there wasn't a damn thing I or anyone else could do about it.
So I kind of had to grow up fast, as a result of that class.
I can't really talk about what happened to me out loud, but I guess part of that is I don't feel right talking about it, like I'm trying to take the spotlight from other people who were hurt worse. I don't think it increased my social anxiety, because I was already pretty darn anxious before that. It was hugely embarrassing for me, since the 20 kids who saw it happen told a lot of other kids what happened and probably about half the school knew. But as for lasting effects, I don't know. I can't change what happened, so I don't know what I would have been like if it didn't happen.
I think I've been bothered by it now because so many of my female friends are standing up and saying they've been harassed. And I want to say, I hear you, and I understand you, because I've been there too. But I can't, because really I don't understand. I don't understand what it's like to be female or identify as female and be attacked by a male.
So in the end, I'm just silent about it. And I should stand up for other males who've been through it. I just don't know what to say.