A year ago I wrote about raising children to protect their bodies and to respect the bodies that belong to every other living soul. The conversation was forced, as they often are, by current events. Here we are again, discussing as a nation the same story, just a different man in a powerful position taking advantage of women with less power. (Click here for last year's column.)
All of the "Me, too" comments are heartbreaking and not the least bit shocking.
I was a fresh college graduate, working at my first daily newspaper as a copy editor. The editor walked through the backshop as we were checking proofs on deadline. He pointed to a headline and told me I could do better. (He was right.) I returned to my desk, wrote a better headline and was proofing the page again when walked through the backshop a second time.
"This headline sings, Tyra," he said, and he placed his hands on my shoulders, pulled me toward him and kissed my forehead.
I was barely 21.
My freckled face turned crimson. The backshop went silent. He walked one way, I walked the other, my eyes on the floor and stinging with tears. I cried most of the drive home that late night.
So, "Me, too," that one time.
I'm now 45 and quick to correct and redirect sexist comments in my classroom. I pray that not a single one of the girls I've taught will ever have to say, "Me, too." I pray that not a single one of the boys I've taught will exert their power unfairly over another human.
We all have work to do
All of the "Me, too" comments are heartbreaking and not the least bit shocking.
I was a fresh college graduate, working at my first daily newspaper as a copy editor. The editor walked through the backshop as we were checking proofs on deadline. He pointed to a headline and told me I could do better. (He was right.) I returned to my desk, wrote a better headline and was proofing the page again when walked through the backshop a second time.
"This headline sings, Tyra," he said, and he placed his hands on my shoulders, pulled me toward him and kissed my forehead.
I was barely 21.
My freckled face turned crimson. The backshop went silent. He walked one way, I walked the other, my eyes on the floor and stinging with tears. I cried most of the drive home that late night.
So, "Me, too," that one time.
I'm now 45 and quick to correct and redirect sexist comments in my classroom. I pray that not a single one of the girls I've taught will ever have to say, "Me, too." I pray that not a single one of the boys I've taught will exert their power unfairly over another human.
We all have work to do
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