Twenty Minutes

In two years, I will be sending the teenager off to college.  I will admit to you that I have some fears about this.  I think the teenager is a responsible person although she has procrastinator tendencies, and hopefully she has good ethics and morals and judgment and knows when something is a bad idea and should not be followed through on, but stuff happens and I'm her mom, so I will still worry. 

I will worry about things like whether or not she's eating healthy foods, and getting enough sleep.  I'll worry about her getting into a car accident, or getting the flu two days before a final exam.  I'll worry that she'll mess up her laundry, or fail an important course, or that she'll go out on a boat without wearing a life jacket.  I'll try to back off and let her solve her own problems because that is what becoming an adult is about, but I'll probably also be guilty of depositing an extra $20 in her checking account on occasion to take care of some of those minor problems that a bit of money can solve.

However,  one of the big things that I will worry about happened to a young woman in California back in January of 2015, and I cannot get it out of my head.  If you have paid attention at all, you know about the swimmer and his pathetic six month sentence, and you have probably read the letter the father wrote, trying to excuse his son, saying that he should not be punished so harshly for "twenty minutes of action".  When I read that letter, this is what popped into my head:

My daughter is not someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No one's daughter is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No woman is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No human being is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

That letter was just the most pathetic and disgusting whining bit I have ever read.  Diminishing someone else's entire existence down to "twenty minutes of action"- well, that's repulsive. I can't even write about it without getting really mad.  I have steam coming out of my ears right now  (figuratively, not literally).  

So here is the bind I am in, as the mother of a soon to be junior in high school, a wonderfully independent and intelligent young lady who will, in two years, be off on her own, a young adult away at school: how do I prepare her to be on guard for that person who views her as nothing more than "twenty minutes of action"?

I'll be honest: part of me wants to wrap her up in bubble wrap and not let her leave the threshold of our house.  That won't work, though.  The world beckons and she has every right to be out there spreading her wings.  Teaching vigilance without fear; that might be a difficult thing to do.  I hate, hate, hate that I will need to impart wisdom that in effect will clip those wings a bit: all the standard well-meant guidance that puts the burden on her to not make a single mistake or error in judgment and thus end up as someone's twenty minutes of action. 

It cannot continue to be so.  It must change.

So I am going to say this loud and clear, one more time, so that we all understand. The woman who was so horribly violated is not twenty minutes of action. I am not twenty minutes of action.  My daughter is not twenty minutes of action.  No woman, anywhere, is twenty minutes of action.  My sisters, we deserve better than this.

*****

After reading the father's letter, I read the letter written by the victim. It brought tears to my eyes, and I could hardly finish, but I did, and I am glad.  Unlike the father's letter, it spoke to the heart. It offered strength to every girl and woman out there.  I am in awe of the young woman who wrote it. May she find peace and healing.