Being a Girl

I was 16 the first time I truly hated being a girl.

It was summer. I was on a trip to Florida with a group of friends.

It was a Friday, our last full day there, we decided to spend it at Harry Potter land.

Loving the wizarding world, I was very excited.

About halfway through the day, we stopped somewhere to get lunch, where I don’t remember.

I would lose my appetite anyway.

While waiting for our food, my best friend and I went to the bathroom.

It was outside of the restaurant and down past some shops.

As we were almost there, I felt eyes on me.

As we were among many people, it was somewhat familiar, but it felt like these eyes were burning into my skull.

Suddenly, I felt a jolt on my backside as a hand grabbed my butt.

Shocked, I spun around to confront it, assuming it would be a boy my age.

I thought it was some leud act of immaturity.

But what I saw behind me was a grown man, probably in his 40s, smirking at me.

To his left, a woman of the same age and in front of them, two small children, two little girls.

These were, presumably, his wife and children.

So alarmed to see this man with a family, I felt suddenly embarrassed and continued to the bathroom.

I stifled my tears in the crowded restroom but let them stream down my cheeks as I entered a stall.

This man had a wife.

This man had two daughters.

This man treated me like a piece of meat.

Would he want the same for them?

This man acted as if I was there for him, and he was entitled to my body.

Would he want the same for them?

If you are a boy and have done this or thought about doing this, let me ask you this:

What if I was your mother?

Your sister?

Your wife?

Your daughter?

How would you feel if someone did this to any of them?

The unfortunate part is that it probably has.

I was 16.

For some of my friend’s things like this have happened even younger.

I was 16; the first time I hated being a girl.