Dear Man Who Groped Me,
You don’t know my name, and I don’t know yours. In fact, we don’t know each other all at. But that didn’t stop you from touching my body without my permission.
I don’t know if you thought it was funny when you said “I would have loved to sit behind you in grade school so I could dip your hair in my inkwell”. I don’t know if you thought it was fun when you grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and held it there – my neck twisted and stuck. I’m pretty sure that you did think it was fun when, after finally releasing my hair, you put your arm around me and tickled me, grazing my breast with every tickle. I got this because you were laughing; your nicotine-scented breath blew straight in my face.
I don’t know what made you think that you had permission to touch me.
I do know that you do not get to decide what happens with my body.
You did not have permission. If you had asked, I would have said no. But you didn’t.
I appreciate that you said sorry afterward, that you were so surprised that you had hurt me. I understand that you come from a different generation, that you’re a “dirty old man”, that you used to “get away” with such things (I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be a woman 50 years ago). But that doesn’t make it okay. What you did wasn’t okay.
So, rather than apologizing to me, I would like you to remember me instead – and the next time that you touch anybody I would like you to ask their permission first. If I can stop you from doing the same thing to anybody else, that’s much more valuable than a “sorry”. Then I will accept your apology.
Thank you in advance,