Confessions of a Boomer

It doesn’t do any good to look back, you say.
But you know, it actually does,
because where we’ve been is where we’re going.
Life is a cycle, not a ride on a bus.

We hear a fair bit today about stranger danger, and certainly, with news coming to us so quickly from far and near, it certainly seems as if our world has gone a little cock-eyed and there’s something to fear in our neighbourhoods.

But I wonder if there’s really more danger, or if we just hear about it more. I was molested as a little girl... more than once. There was a girl in our class who wore very thick glasses. Her mother was blind. Her father was a pervert. There was a swimming pool near the library in our community and one time when we were all swimming there, this little girl’s father stood in one corner of the pool, latching onto any little girl that swam his way. He’d hold her bum against his semi-erection until she would squirm loose. Yes, it happened to me and though I was too young to really understand what he was doing, it made me feel uncomfortable, so I knew it wasn’t right. I put my foot into his groin and kicked away from him, and I didn’t go near him again. But other little girls did. Later on, when I understood the man’s problem, I felt very bad for the other little girls.

Then there was my second piano teacher. The first one was a lovely old fella who simply adored music, but he retired. Mom took me to a local music store to find another teacher. He stood and stared at her breasts the whole time she was arranging my lessons, but she didn’t seem to notice. I was signed up. His advances started with compliments at my playing, then caresses and hugs, and before long, he was openly cupping my barely developing breasts in his hands.
I complained to my mother, but she didn’t believe me. She thought it was a story I’d cooked up with a friend to get out of piano lessons. That didn’t even make sense... I loved piano, up until then anyway. I wouldn’t go back. It was my friend who helped me find release from the indignity. She went with me to the back door of this store, where we’d throw rocks and pop bottles until the irate partner would open the door and look for the culprit. We were hidden. When he went back in, we’d throw more stuff against the door. Then we’d leave, so as not to get caught if he called the police. We did this several times, but it soon paled. I refused any more music lessons. Too bad really. I think I would have done more with it, sooner. Ah, but you can’t lose what you never had, can you?

I think there have always been disturbed, perverted people in our world and sometimes their madness touches us. Ironically, my mother was also molested, by a neighbour. This man went off to war and returned without one of his hands. She always thought that was poetic justice at work. I think the tendency now to teach children at an early age that there are some places other people mustn’t touch is a good thing. More people need to learn to protest loudly when they are abused, in any way. Perhaps the only thing that will discourage molesters and bullies alike is unwanted attention being directed at them. Although, sometimes I think some of these poor people crave any attention.

Later on, when I was working in a college, I encountered a young girl who’d been molested by a teacher. She’d allowed it to happen because she was scared. She thought he’d flunk her if she didn’t give in to him. Later, when his demands just became too much for her to bear, she complained. But it was a bit late. I mean, there comes a point when what’s happening is “consentual” and what they’re doing can be considered a “relationship.” At least, the teacher in question thought so. The fact is, this girl should have stepped into the hallway and screamed her guts out the very first time he persisted in his unwanted advances. These people always seem to know who to pick up... the ones who just aren't sure enough of themselves to protest. So remember that, girls. There is nothing to be gained by giving in to a pervert. It only gets worse. Scream. Scream bloody murder.

I also wonder if our prudish North American society doesn’t bring a lot of this on. Sex crimes are statistically much higher here than in more sexually liberated places, such as Europe. Think about it: if a mom finds out her teen has been at a strip club, she’s shocked! Horrified! Oh the shame! Yet she thinks nothing of her youngster playing video/computer games that are violent to the point of glorifying rage and killing. Why have we created such a bizarre mystique around human sexuality, while at the same time, condoning human violence? (Please, don't tell me the games aren't about humans when the player winds up "in" the game.)
Do we have our priorities straight? Really?

I don’t believe it’s tender love
the makes the world go ‘round.
It’s likely all the guilt we weave
that makes us all revolve ~
but that which causes Earth to spin
a globe in misty blue
is likely all the sorrow and blame
that skewers our lives right through.