I have two little boys asleep upstairs. They are small enough to still hold my hand in parking lots and say “I love you” unabashedly. They are wild and loud and energetic, yet possess a certain pensive quality that sneaks out when they are reading or daydreaming. They are both daydreamers and thinkers. One is a doer while the other is a tinkerer. They are 9 and 7 years old, these boys of mine. They are young enough to snuggle but old enough to not kiss me goodbye in the carpool line at school. That’s OK. I know they are growing up. And I know they will happily give me kisses when we get home.
I look at these soft, sweet faces that will soon enough be whiskered men looking back at me and wonder what will become of them. What kind of men will they be? I don’t care much about their degrees or salaries. I do care about their character. Will they be gentle and kind and considerate? Every asshole was at one point a sweet, swaddled baby. Every bad apple was once the apple of his mother’s eye. I know this much is true.
So what of those boys in Steubenville, Ohio? Those rapists. Call them what they are; there is no more room for euphemisms when it comes to rape and women’s safety. They are the vilest of the vile. Have you read accounts of the 12-minute video they took of their foul acts? Personally, I don’t have the stomach for it. These boys were once sweet little children asleep with teddy bears nestled under the covers, as my own sons are tonight. What happens to make a boy go from zero to rapist? I don’t much give a shit about those boys’ promising futures and freaking football careers. Maybe these boys should have thought about their futures before they unzipped their pants and violated a girl in the name of animalistic power and hubris. We are so off base to paint these boys as victims. It’s ludicrous and deplorable. They are scum. Their shame and pity pale in comparison to the pain of the young victim. Drunk or sober, scantily clad or duct taped into a Snuggie, no woman asks to be raped. Period. This is incontrovertible.
Why do we put the onus on the girl to say no and dress primly? Here’s a novel idea, how about we teach our sons NOT TO RAPE?!
As a society we continue to victimize the victim instead of squarely place blame on the perpetrator in all cases that involve women — rape, domestic violence, incest, abuse. Where is the outrage, America? Where are the men, the fathers, the brothers voicing their outrage over this twisted paradigm? Where are the voices of the male brethren who agree with me? The power war in America is in bedrooms and boardrooms. Violence against women, and girls, is no laughing matter; it is not the stuff of jokes on the late night talk show circuit or fodder for a hateful social media storm. How horrific that women in the media didn’t even breathe a word for the victim. Where has our compassion gone?
When I think of what I want for my sons, it is compassion that creeps into my heart. I want my own boys to do what’s right and right what’s wrong. I want them to be the boys who hit delete when a compromising text comes through. I want them to stand up without worries of being put down. I want them to take risks to always err on the side of compassion.
I want my sons to grow up as men of character. What I really want is for my sons to not grow up to be assholes.
Well said, my friend. I want the same for my boys. I was also compelled to write about this culture of rape.
Kids don’t go from zero to delinquent in a flash. As a preschool teacher, I saw the families these boys come from. Parents who have kids as accessories. Parents who take their kids to sports and enrichment programs but don’t take the time to teach empathy. Little kids who are floored when an adult tells them “no” grow up believing that they are faultless.
My short-lived teaching career in an affluent school was a living manual of how not to parent.