I wanted brothers. Two, maybe three, but one alone would have kept me safe from my sister’s abuse, her never-ending rage at my being born.
This necessary brother would be in the middle, between us age-wise, a willing defender. He’d always take my side.
This brother would be taller than I but not smarter. I would teach him how to respect women, to listen to them, to try to get in their heads. This would let him grow up to be the kind of man I married — sensitive and fair. And he’d teach me about men, about how even as boys they’re bodies are stronger.
Brotherless, I had to learn this on my own.
At six, I walk home from school with my best friend. We wear dresses. Schools require it of girls. Allowing us to wear pants comes later, after much pressure. It’s spring. There’s sun on the trees. Two, maybe three boys run up to us and pull up our skirts so they can see our underwear. We yell, kick, beat them with fists, but nothing makes them stop until they’re ready to. Then they’re gone.
Did the push to let girls wear pants have anything to do with boys terrorizing girls in dresses? Boys go on terrorizing girls in pants, though. The terrorizing never seems to stop. I decide to make it stop. I challenge a boy to a fistfight. He’s sort of a wimp, the kind who will go down fast, and I’m mad about everything and decide…
