Speak Loudly - My Story of Speaking Up and Having Someone Listen
On Twitter today, I've been reading with much interest the controversy surrounding Laurie Halse Anderson's book SPEAK. A professor is trying to have the books banned from a local high school because he equates rape with soft-porn, and thus, inappropriate in a school setting. Learn more here. If you'd like, follow the #SpeakLoudly chat on Twitter.
Myra McEntire weighs in with a very moving article about Christianity and banning books. Check it out here.
But it wasn't until I read CJ Redwine's post about her experience being a rape survivor, having no one listen when she spoke up, and her feelings about a Christian professor wanting to ban the book, that I decided to share my own experience.
I hesitated posting this because the event I'm about to tell you about does not define me. In fact, I barely think of it any longer. It's just one of those unpleasant experiences in one's past that I've thankfully put behind me. But when I read CJ's story and what she's been through as a result, I realized that could've been me had no one listened. I want to share the power of SPEAKing up and the power of having someone listen.
In high school, I guess I'd classify myself as being in the popular crowd. I was a cheerleader, had lots of friends, loved school, and had a great family.
My mom had a glamorous, hairdresser friend who said a well-respected man from her church was a photographer and needed a model. She wanted to know if I was interested and said he could do my senior portraits. What high school girl doesn't dream of being a model? Of course, I said yes.
I went to her house where she did my hair and make-up, and the man took lots of pictures. It was fun. Then (I can't recall where my mom's friend was or if it even happened at that time) he asked me if I'd like to have lunch and talk some more about modeling. He could take some "on-location" shots at the same time. I said yes, and we met a few days later. He paid for lunch, we walked on the waterfront, and he took pictures of me around all the boats. Again, it was fun. I remember him telling me I was pretty and that I could make big bucks being a model. Oh my gosh, really? I was totally flattered.
After the photo-shoot was over, he asked if I'd be willing to do some photographic experiments for him. It would involve putting white clown-like makeup on any exposed skin (my face, my arms), and he'd shoot w/ black and white film under bright lights. The result would look like a negative--dark black and stark white. (This was in the days before digital photography and Photoshop.) I said sure, I was game. Then, he told me he'd worked with a few other girls at my school and they basically flipped out, couldn't stand the white make up. I assured him that wouldn't bother me.
Because he didn't have studio, he asked if I had a basement at my house where the lighting was dark and he could set up artificial lighting. He asked if it was quiet as it takes a lot of concentration. One thing led to another and soon we were at my house, alone, in my basement.
At first it was fine. He put white make-up on my face and started shooting pictures. But then he asked me to change into an off-the-shoulder dress--one where I couldn't wear a bra. When he started applying makeup to my chest and slipped his hands down inside my dress--slowly stroking, with much more care than when he put it on my face--I remember closing my eyes, hardly believing what was happening. It felt so wrong. Over and over as he touched me, I told myself that this man was a friend of a friend. He was a respected member of a holy-roller church. This couldn't be wrong.
He took pictures (I was clothed) and, thankfully, that was as far as it went. After he left, I remember feeling sick to my stomach. As part of his church, this man used to lecture around the state to other churches about the subliminal messages in rock music when you play it backwards--supposedly Stairway to Heaven has messages from the devil. How could a guy like this be doing something evil? It had to be me and my over-active imagination, right?
But because I had a good relationship with my mom, I waited till she came home and told her what happened. I honestly believed she was going to say it wasn't a big deal and reassure me. Looking at it now, I'm shocked at my naivety and what I thought my mom's reaction would be.
She went ballistic, said he was totally wrong, it was completely inappropriate what he did to me, and that it wasn't my fault. Her reaction totally validated my feelings. I wasn't wrong. I wasn't paranoid. She blamed herself for not being more diligent and asking more questions. When she wanted to call the police, I begged her not to. Nothing really happened, I didn't want to make it a bigger deal. Reluctantly, she agreed, however, she did call him and told him that he was under no circumstances to speak to me ever again and that all the photos were to be destroyed. She still wonders if she did the right thing in not calling the police.
I never saw or heard from him again. I told a few friends about it and one told me he'd done the same things to her older sister too.
In my situation, I spoke up, someone listened, and as a result, the whole situation is just an unpleasant and mostly forgotten memory. Although, I have wondered if my distrust of overly-religious people stems from what happened that day in my basement.
Banning a book that encourages people to SPEAK up, is just wrong, no matter how unpleasant the subject matter.
~Laurie
Myra McEntire weighs in with a very moving article about Christianity and banning books. Check it out here.
But it wasn't until I read CJ Redwine's post about her experience being a rape survivor, having no one listen when she spoke up, and her feelings about a Christian professor wanting to ban the book, that I decided to share my own experience.
I hesitated posting this because the event I'm about to tell you about does not define me. In fact, I barely think of it any longer. It's just one of those unpleasant experiences in one's past that I've thankfully put behind me. But when I read CJ's story and what she's been through as a result, I realized that could've been me had no one listened. I want to share the power of SPEAKing up and the power of having someone listen.
In high school, I guess I'd classify myself as being in the popular crowd. I was a cheerleader, had lots of friends, loved school, and had a great family.
My mom had a glamorous, hairdresser friend who said a well-respected man from her church was a photographer and needed a model. She wanted to know if I was interested and said he could do my senior portraits. What high school girl doesn't dream of being a model? Of course, I said yes.
I went to her house where she did my hair and make-up, and the man took lots of pictures. It was fun. Then (I can't recall where my mom's friend was or if it even happened at that time) he asked me if I'd like to have lunch and talk some more about modeling. He could take some "on-location" shots at the same time. I said yes, and we met a few days later. He paid for lunch, we walked on the waterfront, and he took pictures of me around all the boats. Again, it was fun. I remember him telling me I was pretty and that I could make big bucks being a model. Oh my gosh, really? I was totally flattered.
After the photo-shoot was over, he asked if I'd be willing to do some photographic experiments for him. It would involve putting white clown-like makeup on any exposed skin (my face, my arms), and he'd shoot w/ black and white film under bright lights. The result would look like a negative--dark black and stark white. (This was in the days before digital photography and Photoshop.) I said sure, I was game. Then, he told me he'd worked with a few other girls at my school and they basically flipped out, couldn't stand the white make up. I assured him that wouldn't bother me.
Because he didn't have studio, he asked if I had a basement at my house where the lighting was dark and he could set up artificial lighting. He asked if it was quiet as it takes a lot of concentration. One thing led to another and soon we were at my house, alone, in my basement.
At first it was fine. He put white make-up on my face and started shooting pictures. But then he asked me to change into an off-the-shoulder dress--one where I couldn't wear a bra. When he started applying makeup to my chest and slipped his hands down inside my dress--slowly stroking, with much more care than when he put it on my face--I remember closing my eyes, hardly believing what was happening. It felt so wrong. Over and over as he touched me, I told myself that this man was a friend of a friend. He was a respected member of a holy-roller church. This couldn't be wrong.
He took pictures (I was clothed) and, thankfully, that was as far as it went. After he left, I remember feeling sick to my stomach. As part of his church, this man used to lecture around the state to other churches about the subliminal messages in rock music when you play it backwards--supposedly Stairway to Heaven has messages from the devil. How could a guy like this be doing something evil? It had to be me and my over-active imagination, right?
But because I had a good relationship with my mom, I waited till she came home and told her what happened. I honestly believed she was going to say it wasn't a big deal and reassure me. Looking at it now, I'm shocked at my naivety and what I thought my mom's reaction would be.
She went ballistic, said he was totally wrong, it was completely inappropriate what he did to me, and that it wasn't my fault. Her reaction totally validated my feelings. I wasn't wrong. I wasn't paranoid. She blamed herself for not being more diligent and asking more questions. When she wanted to call the police, I begged her not to. Nothing really happened, I didn't want to make it a bigger deal. Reluctantly, she agreed, however, she did call him and told him that he was under no circumstances to speak to me ever again and that all the photos were to be destroyed. She still wonders if she did the right thing in not calling the police.
I never saw or heard from him again. I told a few friends about it and one told me he'd done the same things to her older sister too.
In my situation, I spoke up, someone listened, and as a result, the whole situation is just an unpleasant and mostly forgotten memory. Although, I have wondered if my distrust of overly-religious people stems from what happened that day in my basement.
Banning a book that encourages people to SPEAK up, is just wrong, no matter how unpleasant the subject matter.
~Laurie
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