I Am Your Daughter
All of the following experiences are my own, or have occurred to a close family member or friend.
To the thirty-five year old supervisor and father of two who winked every time he passed my desk and sent me a “thinking about you” message, I am your daughter.
To the married coward who filmed my breasts on a metro ride to work, I am your daughter.
To the forty year old plumber working in my apartment who drunk texts me at night, I am your daughter.
To the creep who took advantage of a young college girl headed home for the night in an empty NYC subway station, I am your daughter.
To the sixty year old smoking a cigarette on the corner of the street who told me I looked like Jennifer Aniston and was angry when I responded only with a dejected “thank you”, I am your daughter.
To the eighty year old watching and crudely gesturing at a twenty year old woman walking by in workout shorts, I am your daughter.
To the angry Panera customer who yelled “C*NT!” at me as I walked by his table in a decidedly modest fall outfit, I am your daughter.
Okay, so I’m not really your daughter. But I am someone’s daughter. Which makes me as good as your own. And I know that if I was really your daughter, you would want me to grow into a woman who is strong, confident, and fearless. So that’s what I’ll do. I know that you wouldn’t want me to get bogged down by people like you. So I’ll try not to.