I’ve wanted to add my voice to the chorus for days, but needed time to write some stories that feel important to me.
Specifically, as I read all the pleas to the good men (or “good men,” depending on your viewpoint) who do nothing, I want to share a few experiences where male bystanders were in a position to help me, and the difference their willingness or unwillingness made to my processing of each incident.
My first instance of harassment happened the summer between eighth grade and my freshman year of high school. Determined to get a leg up in life, I’d enrolled in Ms. Courtwright’s summer school typing class at Xavier College Prep, an all-women’s high school where I would be starting full time in the fall. After an entire childhood of riding my elementary school’s private bus, this was my first time taking Tico, the nickname for Phoenix’s public bus.