I was 13 and going to the youth center on Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. They were offering some art lessons. The teacher helped me and mostly did a beautiful painting for me to give my mother, I think it was for mother’s day. So I offered to help clean up after the class was over and the other kids had gone home. He was a truly gift artist and as I started cleaning the brushing in the sink I told him how beautiful the painting was and that I didn’t know how to thank him.
He replied that he thought I knew how to thank him. I started to feel uncomfortable, and I didn’t even know why. I laughed because even then, at that tender young age, that’s what I did when I was nervous. He came up close behind me to put some more brushes in the sink. I said “cool, thanks”. He said something like “oh come on now. That’s not how I want you to thank me.” And he stepped closer. I kept cleaning brushes and he pressed himself up behind me so that I could feel his very obvious erection pressing into my backside. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me close to him as he said “Now do you know how I’d like you to thank me?” and his hands tried to pull my skirt upwards.
My parents had always taught me to defend myself. And while I was scared to death of what this guy could possibly do to me, I knew that wasn’t going to let it happen without a fight. I picked the biggest brush in the sink, made sure it was really soaked and flung it back into his face as I said “Yeah I get it, No thanks!” I may have actually hit him with that brush. (The goal was to give him a face full of watery paint and maybe get him in the eyes) In any case it surprised him into letting me go and I ran, out of that kitchen and out of the youth center. I made it home, tore up that painting and threw it in the trash. I never told my parents because I was ashamed. Somehow, I felt it was my fault. Somehow, I felt that I had provoked him. Although I got away from him, I felt dirty and ashamed, until far into adulthood.
People, Not Property 