Me Too, Man!

The ‘Me Too’ movement got traction last October as women and some men took to the streets and joined the increasingly pervasive club of victims—sexual harassment victims, that is. Well, they didn’t actually take to the streets. More precisely, they took to social media.

It’s a worthy cause. People should not be harassed. Those doing the harassing should be outed. They should be shamed. They should go to jail if they broke laws. After all, we all live in the same land, governed by the rule of law!

Even folks in other parts of the world jumped-in on the movement. Governments in Asia, for example, are trying to put a lid on the ‘Me Too’ movement. Why? Because, simply put, you can’t control the masses as easily when they become an angry mob. That’s just how they fly in China.

There really is power in numbers. If you don’t believe that, just ask Larry Nassar. At his sentencing, the judge appeared to add years to his prison sentence for every woman who told her story. If he lives to be 200 years-old, Nassar will still be sitting behind bars where he belongs, eating bologna sandwiches and playing chess with Big Bubba.

Speaking of sexual harassment, I have my own story­—Me Too! It all started when I was a 14-year-old dishwasher in a restaurant. The waitresses slapped or pinched my butt every time they walked past me. “Nice bod, sweetie, or nice butt, honey,” I heard over and over.

By my early twenties, I was a seasoned victim. The women I worked with regularly talked of their most recent sexual exploits in front of me—and I’m talking specifics here—the toys, the men they were with, sex positions, and all the other passionate details.

The butt slappings and remarks about my physique continued long after I was married and had a family. A few times I was directly propositioned. “My husband has a fantasy,” one woman casually said. “He wants to come home and find me making passionate love to another man. Do you want to come over after work?”

We seasoned victims of sexual harassment are members of an ignominious club. I predict it includes just about everyone on earth, to varying degrees. It’s pervasive and it’s ugly. But, I suggest, it simply reflects the culture in which we all work and recreate in our individual pursuits of happiness.

The difference is, some are offended by their victimization and some are not. I admit, my own victimization was irritating, but my irritation never rose to the level of being offended. Why? I really don’t know the answer. Honestly, I don’t. But it might have something to do with gender.

It’s best explained by the words of Nikos Kazantzakis, “I am a man…!”

Signed: Sam King

Jeff Hicks

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