Now instead of me, it’s my child
Recently I took my 14 year old daughter on a trip. It was her first trip to the theatre as mother and daughter. As we were walking up to the venue a man around my age, I’m 39, was sat on a step outside one of the pubs on his phone. My daughter was wearing skinny jeans and a vest top, not that it should matter what she had on. We were walking slowly chatting when I noticed he was staring at her, I watched his gaze shift up and down her body. She saw it and I instantly felt her tighten her grip, we were linking arms. I stared at him. He didn’t even notice at first. When he met my gaze he held it, despite the apparent anger rapidly spreading across my face. As we got closer, he sheepishly looked back down at his phone. As we passed by him I carried on staring at him from over my shoulder, knowing he would look up again to look at her back. He did and I shot him the filthiest look. He immediately looked back down at his phone as I loudly proclaimed he was my age and he was disgusting, she was 14. We walked away, but I couldn’t believe it. I could tell a thousand stories from the age of 14 upwards about my self, but my heart and my stomach sank that day. Nothing is different and now instead of me, it’s my child. I have to prepare her for a world where grown men prey on younger women. It makes me feel sick knowing that its time to educate my child that some men are revolting creatures and she must guard against them at all times.