Mexican Feminism

Written 2-1-08

i got whistled at by an eight year old today.

i know because i asked the little shit.

there i was, peacefully walking down the street, when i hear the all-too-familiar cat call whistle from behind me. usually it doesn´t phase me, but for some reason i turn my head and find myself staring into the eyes of two small boys. The one who did the whistling was obvious: his head was held higher, plus there was a look of glowing affection and pride in the other boy´s eyes, admiring his friend´s bravery.

i could barely speak.
and there was this child, looking up at me with this smirk on his face. his father would have been so proud. i snapped, turned back, and towered over this little boy.

"Pardoname??? Cuantos años tienes, niño?"

Blank stare. "Ocho, señora."

("Señora? you little fuck! i am not old enough to be a señora!" i think in my head, now furious...)

"Tu necesitas aprender respeto por mujeres, kiddo. Donde esta tus padres?"

(At this point, his little friend´s mouth is hanging open, having never been talked to like this by some crazy white tourist. I have stunned them into silence. My work is done.)

I excuse them with, "Va a escuela!" and they run off at quite a fast pace.

***The thing with Mexico that I´m having a really hard time with, is all the honking, whistling, and general cat-calling. I did, however, decide that when all the whistling stops, it probably means i need to go on a diet. but for the time being, i have created a new system for myself. everytime i get a whistle or whatever, instead of getting offended, i realize i have been mis-interpreting the signs. what they´re actually saying is "Wow. Thanks for walking down the street today. I recognize that you are a member of the community, and I respect you for that. oh, and your hair looks great today."

the new system has been working out really well.