So many stereotypes, such a waste of my time.

I bought tickets to the AFP show in Detroit last night. I dreaded the inevitable: I had to inform my parents, like a high schooler, that I was going to the concert. The typical cascade of questions and concern covered their beyond-middle-aged faces and I felt myself revert back to a 16 year-old when it was a big deal to go out on a school night. I'd often make the comment, "If I were a boy it wouldn't matter." And I was precisely correct, my mother and father both admitted. Because I am a female, I am guarded by them with much more rigidity than I would be if I were endowed with balls, a penis, and buldging muscles.



Instead of screaming, "That's not fair!" as I have witnessed many of my peers do in their adolescense, I went about outsmarting my parents. I didn't ask permission to stay out late, I did not consult them when I got tattoos or piercings. When I wanted to go on a road trip they would strongly advise me against it, so I would lie to them and drive all over the place. I would, of course, admit to my whereabouts afterward. They were never upset, surpisingly. After a while, they learned to breathe a sigh of relief that I was still alive, unabducted, and in one piece.



I'm aware that this is the case now. I simply tell them what I am doing. I stopped asking a long time ago. But, why is it, at age twenty-three (almost twenty-four) that I am still so bothered by their concern? I know in the past I've done things that have resulted in therapy, scars, and practically restraining orders, but it still makes me completely defiant and indignant each time they say, "I don't think that's a good idea," or, "What in God's name would you want to do that?" as if their approval means something.



But last night, I knew, was about their little daughter going to a concert by herself in big bad Detroit. Don't get me wrong, I understand. I mean, here's a picture of the city we're talking about here:



Okay, so it's a horrible picture, but it's the general image that I would get if my daughter told me she was going to one of the nastiest cities in the country just so that she could see a concert.

But if it were my son? I don't think I would worry as much. This bothers me to no end. I have known situations of sexual abuse and assault in my life both through my own experiences and the experiences of my girlfriends, but I also have known it through some of my male friends. My reaction to my parents' concern is similar to the reaction I had to the damn R.A.D. (Rape and Aggression Defense or something like that) class I took at Dickinson College. There were no males allowed in the class, so, when our instructor asked us to write a short paper on what we thought of our daily punchings, I took the opportunity to state that I found the class completely sexist.


There was the assumption that men were never assaulted, that no male had even been molested or raped, or jumped in the street. It was ridiculous to me. I'm not trying to de-masculate anyone - all you boys can stick to your guns (no pun intended) by all means, but the assumption upon which the class was based on doesn't do anything except enhance stereotypes. It isn't quite fair that a man who has been taken advantage of cannot (and will not) admit to the action itself, let alone any form of trauma that has appeared as a result. The statistics do clearly state that women are more likely to be the victims of rape and aggression, but I also believe that men are less likely to report it.


My humanistic ramblings aside, I get infuriated that my mother and my father feel I am much more vulnerable because of my feminity. And I refuse, as I always have refused, to be scared because of it. I hope to God that none of you girls feel like you have to be afraid because of your gender. It might be rational to do so, but it doesn't change anything.