Enough is Enough
My babysitter, a guy that my parents had trusted to look after me came over one night. He tried to get me to put my hand under his shirt. I didn’t understand. I was told to listen to him and to do as he said, but something was wrong. I was scared. I said no. He kept trying, bribing me with candy. I had no power. Eventually he gave up. But when we were playing, he tried to pull down my pants. I escaped his grasp. I was 4. I was on the bus to school, minding my own business, and talking to a friend. A classmate sat behind me, something he had never done before, and started heckling my friend and I. He reached out and touched my hair, his fingers slowly moving towards the back of my neck. “Your hair is so greasy. You’re so gross and ugly,” he taunted. My heart dropped unto my stomach. I wanted to cry, to tell my teacher, but my friend looked at me and said, “What? You actually think they’re going to do something about him?” I listened to her. I was 12. Every morning for the first