Why is he doing this to me?

“I was sitting in one of my classes last spring doing my work even though the teacher was out of the room. A particular guy friend, we’ll call him Joe, called my name. I turned around and he mumbled something that I could not make out. After he finished speaking, the whole back of the classroom burst into laughter. I thought to myself “What are they talking about? What did he say about me?” I turned around and kept working anyway.
He called me again. I turned around and I heard him say a shocking comment about my breasts: if I were a baseball player, I would knock those big breasts out of the ballpark. My initial reaction was laughter because I was embarrassed. I couldn’t show the class how degraded and hurt I felt. I asked him to stop, but he continued repeating nasty comments about my breasts. When our teacher returned, I asked her to step in and end this madness. She laughed and told me my shirts were too tight and inappropriate for school.
I quickly finished out the day anxiously waiting for dismissal. I talked to a couple of friends who happened to be standing there as I was walking out the door. I told them about the incident and they simply laughed it off. They agreed with my teacher about my clothing (mainly my shirts).
As I walked home, I wondered if this teacher and those friends had lost their minds. How dare she tell me it’s my fault or even the shirt’s fault that I am getting this unwanted attention? My clothes are not inappropriate for school or anywhere else! I dress casually and sometimes like a bum. I usually wear a pair of jeans, a shirt or sweater and some comfortable sneakers. I have always been comfortable with my breast size not because I wanted to be but because I had to be. People always blow their size way out of proportion, especially at school, because most girls are very small or flat-chested. My clothes don’t need to be baggy because I’m not ashamed about my body. Nor am I so proud that I wear skin-tight clothing. Why should I have to shop at Lane Bryant’s (which is too large for me anyway) in order for people to keep their comments to themselves?

I had to do something
When I arrived home two minutes later, I began to contradict everything I had thought about on the way home from school. I started thinking that if more than one person says my shirts are too tight, then maybe they’re right. I was so angry and confused that I began to cry. I pulled myself together so I wouldn’t continue to be a softie. I grabbed the duct tape out of the drawer. I was going to tape down my breasts. That way I would be like the majority of the girls at my school.
Shortly after I attempted to tape myself down, my mom came home. I then asked (begged) her to finish helping me tape down my breasts. My mom quickly embraced me and asked me to tell her the story from the beginning. After hearing the story, she suggested that she talk to him for me. I quickly told her no. I couldn’t let her fight my battles. That would be what a softie does. She then suggested I file a complaint tomorrow at school. I agreed to the idea at the time.
I never believed the sexual harassment suits that were plastered all across the television screen (for example Paula Jones and Bill Clinton). I believe that she was a liar and a vindictive person. Women like this who complain about sexual harassment are softies: weak women who blow a few compliments out of proportion.
I believe I have developed these ideas from hanging out with boys too long and seeing girls/women through their eyes. I’ve always hung out with boys until I hit puberty. So the way they talk or the subjects they talk about do not upset or offend me. When they talk about girls in general, saying things like “She looks good” or “she has a nice rack,” I laugh. I think it’s funny and I tell them they are pathetic. But when this experience hit, my strong views on sexual harassment were shattered.
The next day at school I realized that if I filed a complaint, I would soon become one of those softies I despise, like Paula Jones. I had to show everyone, but really myself, that I was strong and that I could handle this with dignity and confidence. I could and would handle this problem on my own, or so I thought.

I thought Joe was my friend
Besides, Joe and I have been okay friends since the sixth grade (we’re now in the eleventh). We never were such great friends that we hung out together but we always spoke and were friendly towards each other. However, I never thought he would disrespect or belittle me. I felt I couldn’t file a complaint because I didn’t want him to get in trouble and to have that complaint follow him on his record forever.
His teasing about my body ended but then he began making up false sexual rumors about me. I was in homeroom and a male classmate repeated the rumor I had heard. When I asked who told him that, he said “Joe.” This stretched on for about another two months. My threats and warnings for him to stop did not phase him.
A friend came up to me one day and told me that Joe told her one of his nasty rumors. She said that she could see that I was hurting and that she wasn’t going to stand by and allow it to continue. She gave me an ultimatum: if I didn’t complain, she was going to complain for me. I realized I should do something about it. That day I went to file one.
Filing the complaint was more nerve-racking than the harassment itself. I didn’t know where to go or who to talk to in order to file a complaint because I never paid attention when the administrators at school talked about these things. So I went to the attendance office to ask. How embarrassing! I said the word “sexual harassment complaint” and their mouths fell open. After a couple of minutes I was directed to the counseling office.
I explained the situation verbally to my counselor. He comforted me by telling me about how women have come so far and women should be respected and people don’t deserve this at school. I was shaking because I didn’t want to be sitting there: if you’re in the counselor’s office, it usually means you’re in trouble or in need of direction. I felt I wasn’t in need of direction because I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me. I wasn’t the problem. After the counselor finished talking, I had to submit a written version of everything I had discussed with him.
After I left, Joe was summoned. I guess he too had to explain his side of the incidents and submit a written explanation. I do know that he missed one of his final exams because of this. I felt horrible, but I soon got over it because I had warned him that I would file a complaint if he didn’t stop.
The next day, we were both summoned into the counselor’s office again. I noticed his written statement was a lot longer than mine. I felt very awkward at this point. While in the presence of the counselor, Joe turned to me and said how sorry he was and then said how grateful he was that I turned him in. I was thinking “what, had he lost his mind too?” I felt relieved when I looked into his eyes and I could see how sincere he was. I accepted his apology because I wanted this to be over and because I didn’t want to have an enemy that I had to watch out for. The counselor then asked if I wanted to have him suspended or to file a complete complaint. I denied both options because I felt it wasn’t necessary.
School is okay now. I still wear the same clothes, see the same people. Nothing much has changed except the friendship between Joe and I. Our friendship has improved. We speak to each other and we are friendly, even helping each other with homework and giving each other advise on certain things. Everything is alright and I certainly don’t have to watch out for another enemy.
Don’t concentrate on my breast size or the rumors. You should concentrate on my struggle to regain my self-worth. I realized that the way I was “handling” the situation (i.e. ignoring or covering it up and threatening him) was not working. I realized I needed someone else with more authority to bring closure to this nightmare. Don’t feel sorry or sad about what happened. Use my experience to recognize the importance of people’s personal space. And respect it!”

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