I am a Person, Not just tits.

feature3When I entered grade 5 my classmates and I were temporarily moved to another school in another town so that the little one we called home could undergo renovations to accommodate the growing number of pupils in our small little rural town.  I would no longer be walking to school every day, I would be taking the bus to Marieville, a place I didn’t know, to teachers I didn’t know, and I’d be thrust into a sea of strangers.

 

My anxiety over the change was evident from the frequent dreams I had when I was there.  There are two I can remember clearly, one where I fell over the rail of the mezzanine of the library and actually hit the ground, and the other where I walked through the assembly hall topless in front of the whole school.  I can recall every detail of that dream, it was a lucid reality.  I remember the crowd in the dream being expressionless, but I remember feeling utterly humiliated at my nakedness in front of my peers.



Yesterday I took my top off in public for what is not the first time, to mark Go Topless day and send a message.  There was no mob, just me; no crowd, just a few passersby who noticed, and a few others so entranced in collecting Pokemon they missed the real life character right in front of them.  I mean, Pokemon are digital rarities with unique powers… tits are just… Tits.




Unlike in the dream from my youth, I now enjoy toplessness in public without humiliation, fear, or remorse.  I have friends who would rather I keep my top on, I know my children appreciate not being present when I reveal the glory of what was once their dairy, I respect their wishes and choose my avenue.  When I take my top off in demonstration, folks always comment on the courage it must take to do so.  I say to you it takes no courage at all…. It takes humility.  It requires fully inhabiting my human condition, and laying it bare.

If you can keep your head when all about you , Are losing theirs and blaming it on you



What takes me courage is the laying bare my psychology for an audience rather than appearing naked, the former makes the latter seem almost ridiculous by comparison, and trivial.  As a child I was always told that words can never hurt me, though in my childhood words assaulted me on a daily basis.  I was never an insider; as an Anglophone in Quebec, my social circle consisted of two other Anglophones in my francophone school and I was forbidden to associate with one of them when it was discovered that she was a Jehovah’s Witness.  Then I learned to communicate in French, excelled at it, and gave them a new reason to hate me.




Then in grade 5 I was moved to the new school, and grew tits.  Nothing, I mean nothing, makes a boy want to talk to you like having a pair.  Unfortunately, it’s also when he stops listening.

Which is maybe why women are the no. 1 proponents of covering them up in public.  If they were everywhere all the time, men wouldn’t hear a thing.

Leave a Reply