But, is it rape?

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But, is it rape?

Katie Leone

The year was 1988 and I was thirteen. At the time I was still living in New York City and going to Louis Armstrong Intermediate school, otherwise known as I.S. 227. I guess writing the school name on top of papers would have taken up to much time and too much space so they gave us the numbers.

Anyway. I was a hefty kid, but I was active too. I didn’t wheeze when I ran and I often enjoyed playing basketball or softball at the local park. Only in New York can you show up to a park and get caught up in a pickup game of softball. Think about it, 18 to 20 kid need to be there in order to play and we played nearly every day.

The event starts off with softball, but it wasn’t at the local park. At my school, there was always a yearly game of softball between the teachers and the students, kind of an annual event or ritual. I decided that I would take my shot at being on the student team as that would be my final year in the school.

Counting my odds, I figured my best bet would be to play catcher. Everyone wanted the glamor positions; shortstop, third base, pitcher, centerfield. I had no problems being behind the plate and rather enjoyed not worrying about making a mistake in the field and getting cut, even though I had a pretty good glove at the time.
Things started with a comment. They often do. I was standing around before batting started and the kids in the field were throwing the ball around. The vice principal who was in charge of putting the student team came over to me.

“Keith,” he said. He called me Keith. Everyone called me Keith back then. It was before Katie. It was even before the nickname Tiny which would come later and in a different state.

“Yes, Mr. Miller,” I said as I watched the field. I hardly ever looked directly at someone when they spoke to me, not having that kind of confidence in myself and figuring he was going to give me bad news.

“I wanted to tell you that I am quite surprised by the effort you gave out here this week.”

“You are?”

I noticed out of the corner of my eye the Mr. Miller nodded. “I sure am. I thought you would be lazy and sluff off, but you really gave a hundred percent effort.”

I didn’t know if this was a lead in to tell me that I was going to be cut or that he was going to make the team so I kept quiet.

“I wanted to talk to you about something and I don’t want you to be upset.”

Conversations that start that way never turn out well. “Okay.”

“You could be quite the athlete if you worked on your weight a little.”

I rolled my eyes like obnoxious thirteen year olds are known to do. I’ve heard the weight thing for quite some time and it wasn’t like I was going out of my way to be fat.

“Look at you. Aren’t you tired of being heavy?”

I shrugged.

“Aren’t you tired of having boobs? I mean look at them. All the girls in school are jealous because you have bigger tits than any of them.”

I was annoyed and it showed. I thought it was a little bit blunt of him to point out my growing chest and calling what I had tits. But he was a vice principal, so I didn’t feel like I had any recourse but to listen to him and keep my mouth shut, especially if I wanted to make the team.

“I didn’t say anything to embarrass you,” Mr. Miller said. “I’m just concerned and want you to take better care of yourself. I made sure that I didn’t say anything in front of the other guys, but I want you to think about it and maybe lay off the candy and soda a little.”

“Thank you,” I said, even though I thought he was out of line and should keep his opinions to himself.

Like that he was done and started lining kids up for batting practice.

It was bad enough that he said something about my weight, and even worse that he mentioned something about my budding breast. I knew I was developing, but it wasn’t like there was anything I could do about it. I was getting curvy and busty and all the wrong things on my body were growing.

But the conversation ended and I thought it was over. He said what he thought he needed to, I got aggravated, and then we played some softball and before long I pushed it out of my mind. That’s the way things were supposed to go for a tough New York Kid.

I remember that night standing in the bathroom and taking my shirt off. I had no hair on my chest, I hadn’t hair anywhere other than my head for that matter, and I looked at my reflection. More precisely I looked at the two conical mounds on my chest that grew outward and were topped with two quarter sized nipples that sometimes would grow erect at inopportune times.

I grabbed them, I squeezed them, I was almost 100 percent certain that they felt nothing like breast. It was just fat, wasn’t it? I frowned. It wasn’t as if touching them gave me enjoyment. I tugged at them, hoping they would just pop off. I pulled the skin just under the base of my breast in an attempt to flatten out the region. Nothing worked and I figured I was stuck with them. My aunt was under the idea that they would go away once I was in full swing of puberty, which seemed to be taking forever to get there.

I figured I wouldn’t give it another thought, took my nightly shower and headed off to bed.

The next day at school was like any other, I suppose. I was in special ed because of “emotional” issues. At first they put me in special ed because I was dyslexic, then they found out I had a genius IQ and didn’t know what to do with me. I was the only kid both in special ed and the gifted program. But, my class consisted of eleven other kids and we all stayed in the same room as teachers came to the class in order to teach us.

The day was going fine. I was looking forward to the end of the day and more softball. A lot of the kids in class were talking about the upcoming school trip to Six Flags Great Adventure, but I wasn’t going so I didn’t join in the conversation. I had put yesterday’s conversation out of my mind and that should have been an end to it.

But it wasn’t. Evidently the conversation between Mr. Miller and myself wasn’t as private as I had thought. Cornelius, a rather large black kid from my class, was playing first base and overheard the whole thing. What’s more, he spread the conversation around to the whole class during lunch while I was at the library. Unbeknownst to me, there was a surprise waiting for me after lunch that I wasn’t quite ready for.

I made it up to the fourth floor where our classroom was and made it to my desk. The teacher wasn’t there yet, but that was normal. I sat in my desk and went to get out my notebook.

Cornelius made his way to my desk and hovered over the side of me. “I heard you had a great set of tits,” he said, his voice carrying louder than I thought it should.

“Shut up,” was my snappy come back.

“Come on, let me see them.”

“Fuck you.”

I noticed that my other classmates were making their way to my desk and surrounding me.

“Come on,” this girl Lisa said. “Let’s see if they’re really bigger than mine.” She made a grab at my shirt, but I batted her hand away.

“Quit it,” I said loudly.

“We just want to see for a second,” this kid Dave said as he tried to grab my shirt from another angle.

All of a sudden I had an entire class of kids attempting to pull up my shirt against my will. I did the best I could to grab the hem and hold it down as they fought me in order to uncover my chest.

“He has tits,” one of the kids shouted out, but at that time I couldn’t discern who. “Let’s see if he has a pussy too.”

Now I was fighting to keep my shirt down and my pants up.

Two excruciatingly long minutes passed by until the teacher, Ms. S., finally showed her tall blonde Scandinavian ass up.

“What’s going on here,” she shouted. “Break it up. Leave him alone.”

She had to physically pull a few of the students off of me before the others got the idea.

I sat there shaking in my seat.

“Keith,” Ms. S. said. “Go to Mr. Miller’s office.”

I looked up at her in confusion.

“Go,” she commanded, evidently not pleased.

I couldn’t believe it. The entire class tried to rip my clothes from my body and I was the one getting in trouble. Of course I know better now what was going on, but at the time I felt as if I was the one being punished.

I made it to the vice principals office and waited as they sought things out. I remember sitting in his office and rocking back and forth while he made several trips out of the room.

“What happened?” Mr. Miller asked me once.

“They tried to pull my shirt off,” I said with my voice trembling.

“Who tried?”

“Everyone.”

And that was the extent of my reporting. I remember him standing outside of his office and the other vice principal coming up to him. “What happened?”

“Oh Keith was just traumatized.”

I remember that. He said it so dismissively. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but I was too shaky. I stayed in his office for two hours, waiting to see what trouble I was in. I wasn’t suspended or anything, I was just sent home. I never mentioned the event to my aunt, or anyone else for that matter, and the class was barred from going to Six Flags, which only made the students hate me more.

So, having breasts growing up wasn’t always sunshine and roses, but I thought I would write this to show people why certain words hit a button with me. I don’t know if some would consider this rape. To have an attempt at people doing something to your body against your will. I don’t. But I am often wrong.

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Comments

Miller Is A Very Lucky Guy

Miller can count himself lucky not to have been sacked for making a comment like that.

And the school ought to have been reprimanded for allowing children into a classroom unsupervised.

For a brief comment on the other issues you raised, see my PM.

Ban nothing. Question everything.

Yes

Yes it was RAPE in a form not physical but mental . I too was the fat kid & also the fat Jewish kid in my school so I know how bad it hurts at that age.
RAPE is a 4 letter word
HUGS to little Katie who grew up to be K.T. Leone.

I have been a long time fan of your writings, Richie2

Thirteen

Thirteen isn't a very lucky age.

I was thirteen twenty-seven years before you, in 1961. 1961 was a magical year because it read the same upside down.

My principal was a decent guy, but one day he ripped me in front of my class. He was our homeroom teacher. He went on and on about how I was too excitable. He didn't like it at all that I displayed my emotions.He did everything but come right out and tell me I was acting like a girl. Little did he realize I was acting like a boy, which was a much more convincing and full-time.

In hindsight, and I think of that day much too often since it was over fifty years ago, I'm sure he was homophobic and misunderstood my feminine side.

My guess is we all have our junior high trauma story. Yours is made more horrible in that a person who should have been protecting you instead blamed you for the "crappy" world around you.

Jill

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

Yup, Me Too,

Sort of.... I was fat in the 4th in 5th grades and beyond. We moved to a farther out suburb during 3rd grade, from a neighborhood that, I think, most kids knew that I crossdressed, outside, with the little girl next door, when I was 4 YO.

I always had a big behind. Mom always bought me 'husky' jeans then took the waist in 4 inches.

Dad was trying to get me into sports. I had pretty bad hand-eye-ball coordination, typical, apparently, for an Asperger's kid, but not for other autism. Since I played poorly I was on a team with boys 2 and 3 years younger that I. I would usually get walks or strike out, but one time, I luckily connected with a pitch and, with my weight behind it, hit a home run. I must have made the little kids look at me more or something. A few games later, a bunch of them came up to me, pulled the neck of my tee shirt out, looked down and started yelling "R****'s got tits! R****'s got tits! This happened after a game while I was walking out to my mom's car. After I got home I keep saying "No more little league, I'm not going back there ever again! For once, I got no argument from my parents. Of course, just as usual, they just clammed up and never said anything about the incident again and very little about my involvement in LL baseball.

Hugs and Bright Blessings,
Renee

I'm probably the reason you wrote this

I am sorry for what happened to you.

My opinion is that you were violated, it was at the very least an attempted sexual assault, and it was made worse by having it be dismissed as nothing.

I am also sorry my using that word triggered you.

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Sexual assault more than

Sexual assault more than rape. Male or female, it is still sexual assault, plus other charges could be battery. Assault=verbal, battery=physical; actual grabbing and attempting to disrobe the victim.
The sad part of all this, is that the majority of adults who should be in charge, don't place as much stock of such assaults being done on boys/men; as they do when it is being or has been done to girls/women. This means less of these crimes, if done against males are reported, or investigated as they should be.
Additionally, it would be sexual assault/battery TIMES however many of the other students (male or female) actually tried to pull off Keith's clothing.
If in the that era, there were laws or school district rules in place to cover issues such as this incident, the teachers involved or those who did not take a stand to protect students should have been fired and arrested as well.

Not Rape

Rape is a particular and heinous crime. We should avoid diluting the meaning of the word. English is far too adaptive and words can lose their primary meaning and impact if we don't protect their power. It is simply inappropriate to casually use the word for any other coercive or dominating acts. Rape is rape.

This story certainly describes abusive behavior, including but not limited to: insult, bullying, sexual harassment, and battery.

Let's save the word rape, though, for the actual crime of penetrative rape. To fail to do that is to take power away from those who are victims of that crime.

Well-written

Your story captures that fear and trauma that students who are "different" experience. Tolerance is increasing, but the right-wing reactionaries keep pushing for a "Christian" version of the Taliban where everyone is pushed back into binary roles. Keep writing.

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To Rape or not to Rape

Katie, I empathise with you! I had similar experiences starting in grade 1 and up through grade 10 (mid 70's to mid 80's).

I agree with Pippa K. that rape is an especially heinous crime, considering its definition of "forced, penetrative sexual act or intercourse". Though from my german background the term "rape" (rather "Vergewaltigung" in german) has a more ample meaning. Since the literal translation of the word "Vergewaltigung" would be "abuse of force or violence". The direct dictionary translations for "Vergewaltigung" are "rape" or "violation".

And the crime of rape has not only a physical component (sexual penetration), including the tearing of tissues (worse in the case of anal rape) and the possibility of a pregnancy (for victims of female sex), but also a psychological component that is, more often than not, completely overlooked and exacerbated by the judicial system (and the resulting media circus).

Given that caveat, the "legal" definition given by Janice Lynn is probably a more precise description / definition of the "crime" commited. And I am all in favor of being as precise as possible in our use of language.

As I stated initially, I had similar experiences in school. At that time it was defined as "teasing" and even "character building excercise". Sometimes it was the result of unintended encouragement from the teachers - just like the experience in this story - and other times it was with the direct (and intentional) encouragement from the teachers. And in my first two years of schooling I was even subjected to sexual assault and battery, with the knowledge of the teachers, who did nothing, since I was a "missionary kid" and not a part of the target audience of that particular mission school. So my parents pulled me out of that school and moved to a different location. But one of those teachers married into my extended family and latter became a respected world leader in the "christian denomination" that I grew up in.

Today that kind of behaviour (from the story and also my own experience) would be classified as a minimum as bullying and/or mobbing.

So, Keith in this story experienced not only physical assault and battery with sexual overtones, but also psychological assault and battery where the ultimate instigator (or mastermind) is an authority figure (the vice princiapl). And the well intentioned "advice" does not absolve Mr. Miller of his responsability for the physical and psychological abuse suffered by Keith.

On the other hand, Keith's unwillingness to "tattle" on his assailants is (in hindsight) a clear indicator of rampant bullying and mobbing by his peers with the tacit approval, acceptance, sufferance and/or tolerance of the teachers and school directors.

Katie, recognizing (and stating for the record) what triggers you, is an important step towards psychological healing. Recognising my some of my own triggers has helped me to avoid flying into a rampant rage, though they still trigger a high stress reaction. And it seems to me, that your writing is a form of coping, grieving and healing for you. So please continue to write (and heal).

With warm greetings,
Jessica

Katie, those kids were terrible to you

What they did to you was terrible, and even by the standards for 13 year old New Yorkers in the 1970s, I believe that was extra outrageous. Also, even by the standards of vice principals of that era, that one was worse than useless. They all should have been punished, and those kids should have been ashamed. Probably were, if my guess about human nature is near the mark? The kind of ashamed that in a lot of cases makes people strike out and blame the messenger rather than admit their shame. Especially in they are not mature people. The adult vice principal doesn't even have that pathetic excuse for himself.

Now that it is years later, I hope getting the story out has been cathartic, and most of all, healing. it seems like the universe owes you long overdue happiness and vindication for being so badly wronged.

Oh, if you want an opinion on whether "rape" is the most appropriate word for what happened, I think it is not. Not that the importance of what happened to you is small, but because the enormity of actual, full-blown rape is even more terrible than almost any kind of assault. What they did to you back then sounds a lot like a scaled-down version of Shirley Jackson's 'The Lottery'. I say "scaled down" because her classic short story had a murder. It sounds like a very similar mob dynamic to what is in her story. The bullying you endured is quite terrible enough. Too much so. I am sorry for what they did.

Ann

Mmmm...

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Rape or Bullying

Both Rape & Bullying are traumatic events at any age and especially bad when a large number of others are involved as they were in your case. Thanks for letting us have a little insight into what makes up Katie.

I can relate to your issue at the same age when undergoing group Bullying for being different and a different way. It can haunt you for your whole life if it is locked in and letting it out to share with those around you as you did should help come to terms with the issues involved.
In my case it was locked in for too long and caused me to build walls that took a long time to break through. You have removed a few of those bricks that will help break through any walls that may be holding you back but I doubt there are many left to deal with now that your writings have enabled you to deal with them so well.

Hugs

Charlie O