rewind- don't call me baby, call me snowflake.

The first time as I walked home, walked home when I was in 6^th grade down the curvy bike path towards my F section home, in my suburb of Rohnert Park, someone started to honk, someone started to yell at me in the four wheel truck motor vehicle. And I was startled. I didn’t know was going on. But little did I know as I begun the brink of adolescence, through my teenage years, and into adulthood, that this thing would never change. Never. The catcalls never have stopped. It didn’t matter if I was a kid, if I didn’t even have boobs or a period. Men began to yell at me. Fucking perverts, I thought. Still do. I used to get really angry. In my head saying is that how you would talk to your mother, your sister, your aunt? Your female in your life that might matter. Matter to you. I remember the first time because I didn’t know what was going on. Anger is now mixed in a cocktail with amusement shaken over the ridiculous.

Now I’m prepared for it to happen. It doesn’t matter if I haven’t showered in days. It doesn’t matter if I am in my PJs. Awfully matched PJs. It doesn’t matter if I am riding my bike and sweaty with my dorky pink helmet, actually the sweat might help with the calling. It doesn’t matter if I’m crying, baby just smile, baby don’t cry your beautiful. Excuse me as I barf. Am I beautiful while I hurl? Probably. It doesn’t matter what I look like, not really. It’s more about power. It’s more about it working one out of million times. I sometimes wonder who would be drawn to the hey baby, hey sexy, hey beautiful, so much they hail over their car and stop for the construction worker or the guy and provide their number, their address, or much more. I think it might be fun to play along and call their bluff but truthfully I’m just too fearful to do it. Part of me thinks it must work or why would they keep trying, trying again and again to no avail. But is it about working or just doing it? Doing it.

So here are some of the highlights over the years:

Animal Noises: Barking

Until last year the only place a man had made an animal noise at me was in Marin County. That made it more interesting that in living in 4 urban cities the only place an animal noise was directed to me was in Marin County. Who would have thought that such harassment would ensue in one of the wealthiest counties in the country? While I was walking my aunt and uncle’s dog, the middle aged man with grayish hair pulled over his bike perfectly helmeted and basketed and said roof, roof, roof, slowly and seductively. Seductively. I couldn’t help but bust up laughing. That being said I told him if he had pegs, I’d be down for a ride. No I wish, I just laughed and walked away. Later I told my aunt who was outraged- that someone in her neighborhood- in her neighborhood would do that. What a travesty. Take notes- there is more.

Animal Noises: Meowing

So then the animal noise happened again. Years later, I was walking down the street in the Mission. The cat calls, the snickers, the clicking noises are pretty frequent in this hood probably because the dudes are actually as taller than me. Probably because of many a reason. As I walked by a man who sat in the storefront window, he said meow, meow, while mimicking a cat's mannerisms and blowing kisses. I felt special. I felt pretty. I felt important. I skipped the rest of the way down Valencia.

Snowflake:

While living near Harlem, I got a lot of attention when walking to work probably because I was the only white girl in the 10 or 20 block radius. My whole life I wanted to be exotic growing up in a predominately white suburb I was the norm and guess what finally I was. Exotic with my white clad skin. Yes! Little did I know what it would entail. Hey snowflake, hey panda, can you be my white panda bear, can you be my snowflake. Hey snowflake, the first time it happened, I looked around, I guess since I was the only white girl it must be me. Me, snowflake. At least it was creative. At least it was more creative than the animal noises or grunts or the sexy baby bullshit.

My Response:

No, I am not here for a modeling convention. No, I can’t smile for you. No, I am not moved by the trivial attempts at your prehistoric noises coming from your mouth. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, I have a husband. Yes, I have a wife. Yes, I have an overprotective father and brother. Anything to make you go away. Go away.

My Unsolicited Advice:

What happened to hello and a smile? So here’s my advice men, men of the world, either make it witty or stick to the standard hello and smile. Don’t’ call me baby, call me snowflake or don’t bother at all. You will go a lot further with that one. Mark my words.

Oh Shit:

My words- still as I stand on this soapbox of femininity, I wonder what would happen to this woman (me) decorated in degrees and pretty enough to be yelled at if as I walk on the catwalk of life it was cloaked in silence. Would the silence be deafening? Would I long for the noises of the populace as I stroll along welcoming me along the way? Is that cheer enough to make me believe I am pretty enough, I am desired enough, I am wanted? Maybe it is easier to complain when men harass you. Maybe it would be harder if I was invisible. And no one could see me. As I melted on the ground falling lightly away spreading into a tiny speck of water. A snowflake forgotten or maybe never seen at all.