The first time I was sexually harassed by men while I was on the street, I was seven years old. I was crossing in front of my house when a carload of men drove by and hooted and whistled at me and yelled that I was sexy.
Although young, I knew the implication of their catcalls, and I ran as fast as I could into my house, my head ducked down and my cheeks hot with shame. I felt very embarrassed that I had been noticed by these much older men and had been seen in a sexual way – and I remember distinctly feeling it was because I had done something wrong. I even knew what it was I had done.
I was always an older-looking child. At seven years old, I probably passed for maybe 10 (not that this would be any improvement as far as the carload of men is concerned). I was still very much a kid though, and I loved Michael Jackson and wanted to learn to dance just like him. My mom, in a tragic effort to be ‘cool’, had taken my brand-new, favorite Michael Jackson t-shirt out of my drawer after I just got it, and had cut the sleeves and bottom hem into long strips of fabric on which she had affixed wooden, colored beads.
When she presented it to me as a birthday gift later, I was devastated. We were very poor. The four of us (me, mom, half-brother, mom’s creepy boyfriend) had been living in an actual school bus up until very recently. It had been hard enough to talk her into buying that shirt for me to begin with, and then she had taken it from my drawer and shredded it.
I didn’t like the look of that beaded t-shirt at all, it felt too grown up and attention-needy for me. The effect was more revealing and ‘sexy’ than a normal t-shirt, and was usually worn by girls more than twice my age, or by older hippies like my mom. But I loved Michael Jackson, and I really missed the other t-shirt I never got to wear.
So, that day I gave in and tried out this horribly revised/shredded t-shirt, crossing the street in front of our house when these men drove by and saw me, a tubby, tallish, seven-year old in an awful shirt that was very inappropriate for her, and they whistled, hooted, and yelled, “Hey sexy!!”
I felt that it was very much my fault, because I knew damn well how I looked in that shirt even if my mom was clueless (the reason why is a whole other story of my inappropriate childhood). I didn’t even want to wear that shirt, but I had worn it that day even though I had a bad feeling about it. And look what happened, it was my fault.
It didn’t save me from getting harassed by men again later as a child, teenager, or woman – but I never wore that f***ing t-shirt again.
Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?
Everyone should be taught how to confront street harassment the very moment that it happens. In the moment, without prior preparation, it is very hard to push back or respond in an assertive way because you’re humiliated and off-guard.
– Anonymous
Location: Cedaredge, CO
