In the wake of the #metoo movement comes the landslide of truths all the way from Hollywood to the political arena. Are we woke, America? I dislike the term “woke,” I was not asleep. I was ill informed, naïve, surviving life, and silent. How dare we tell our stories anyway. The tales of fear, embarrassment, sadness, anger, survival… The tales that cast someone we may know in bad light. We have it so good in comparison to other countries. We are free; we can divorce; we can work; we can speak… So long as it doesn’t shake the system. So long as we are willing to take on the role of being lessor paid while being primary caretakers. After all, we are being given the whole cracker and not just a crumb… right?! Except who’s eating the meal we prepared?! It’s interesting what one is willing to settle/be grateful for given our past freedoms. How long has it been since women were no longer deemed property, socially… 1882?! That’s nothing; a mere few generations back.

   This is a subject thwart with controversy. Though I personally fail to understand a female standing on the opposing side, they exist, and I am baffled. None of which carries a hoot of weight into what I will say next. I commend each person who has stood up for themselves in recent light. Cheers to their courage! Yet, here I sit not entirely willing to speak my truth. That’s not altogether true… I have a  willingness, but it’s difficult to be transparent for the armchair judges of society. After all, I was a sexually active teen in the 80’s and early 90’s. I’m far from having walked the straight and narrow. According to the southern society of my youth, I’m without much worth.  Bad things obviously happened because of something I did… Like, walk home from school with my spelling book. That’s precisely what I was doing the first time I recall being sexually targeted. I was a 10-year-old latchkey kid making my way home. This green car was creeping toward me; my gut told me to stop walking up the street and move into a neighbor’s yard. I bet I was 100 ft from my front door when this man stopped to ask me a question. By this time, I was not only in my neighbor’s yard, but I could have reached out to touch the brick of their house. I couldn’t understand him… I paused… he repeated, “do you want to be my girlfriend?” He had a child’s car seat in the back. I began walking faster to just get around the corner of this house… Then, I would have been able to see my front door … run to it… get away. I did exactly that, too, I was fortunate. The man pulled away and I spent the next hour calming myself down. I never told a soul at that time. I had little grasp about what had actually transpired aside from being scared and little trust in the adults within my own home. I risked taking care of myself rather than be visible. It’s possible that story could have ended with a heartbroken family and missing child. It also wouldn’t be close to my last tale to tell in this series of BS I should never have had to endure

    So, yeah, I do hope Oprah runs for president. Shoot… I hope The Rock runs against her. It will be the first time in my adult life that I believe the candidates will work their hardest to learn the job; make real change. It will also be the first time I may cross party lines to cast a vote because I care what they stand for more than I care about partisanship. That’s why I like them, by the way. They aren’t paid for by politicking lobbyists… The public has willingly paid them all along. They are the people. People who started with nothing and built their lives. In the carefully chosen words of Oprah, “a new day is on the horizon.” One where we are teaching our sons to have respect, self-control, and not subscribe to an unequal future for their counterparts. One where there is no longer a need to say, #metoo.

 Until next time… xo

Ish, accordingly

    

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