Boys Will Be Boys … I’m So Tired of Them

When I first started writing this, it was supposed to be about how freeing it felt to run track. The little cursor blinked away at me, trying to send me a morse code message for me to decode about why I couldn’t write about one of the things I love the most in this world. 

But the reality is, I have a different story to tell. 

It starts in the same place as all good stories do: elementary school. You see, I learned that people could be cruel in so many ways. They hurt me and manipulated me. Boys were being boys.

In third grade, I was whispered about on the playground and the boys of my grade talked about who I wanted to kiss. Then they chased me and my best friend all around during recess. We didn’t run because we were engaging in their fantasies. We ran because we didn’t know what would happen if they caught us. But it’s okay! Boys would be boys and I could run far away from them.

I kept running in fifth grade when I befriended a boy. He became my best friend. We never had any issues because he had a crush on my other best friend. I was both of their wingwoman, but I never really got involved in a meaningful way. But tragedy struck when people began whispering. It was normal when the boys of my class gave my new, male, 10-year-old best friend high-fives for sitting at a table with mostly girls. They patted him on the back and congratulated him. A boy who had a crush on my best friend told us that we just wanted to do sexual stuff to him. But boys will be boys, so I just ran away.

Sixth grade rolled around and people were dating. “She kissed him!,” they said. “She has a nice a**.” Should I have a nice butt too? Would that make them like me? Do I want them to like me? I didn’t know. I just wanted to be pretty like the women in the movies and like the girls who all the boys chased. I know now that being chased around is horrifying. I don’t want to be chased around like that. Boys will be boys, but I don’t want to run away from them anymore. I just want to run at my track meets.

Soon COVID-19 hit. Somewhere in between quarantine beginning three-quarters of the way through sixth grade to arriving back at school three-quarters of the way through seventh grade, I learned what rape was. I learned about rape culture. I watched intense videos of people talking about vulnerability. Being vulnerable to a boy was scary. I didn’t want to be vulnerable, not again. Boys would always be boys and I didn’t know where I had left to run.

Fast forward a year and now I’m in the second-to-last week of eighth grade. I just want it to be over. One of my closest friends was sexually assaulted by one of the ‘popular’ boys in my grade. She, somehow, found the courage to speak out about it. He said it didn’t happen and that she was an attention seeking whore and all of his friends, some of my closest friends in the world, believed him. They believed him because it was easier to lie than to confront what truly happened. They didn’t even bother checking with the survivor. They didn’t bother because if they had talked to her, they would’ve heard something they didn’t want to hear. 

When we reported it to the administration, they didn’t do anything. But how could they ignore it? It was simple: Boys will be boys but I don’t think I have enough energy left to run.

Today, it came out that a boy has been groping girls in my grade! For conversation’s sake, we’ll call him Bob. I could’ve told you that months ago, all of us could have. But Bob isn’t athletic or on any team. He isn’t in that clique. No one cares about him, not like they cared about my close friend’s assaulter. The ‘popular’ boys who had called one of the best people I know a b**ch and an attention-seeking slut for speaking out are now saying they want to punch Bob. 

Why now? 

Is it just because it’s easier? Why are they calling this different from anything else? All of the boys who denied my friend’s story are now posting on their social media about how they disown Bob and support the girls. Where were they? Their silence was deafening but now their fake words are, too, so I’m just left to wonder if they really care at all about Bob or if it’s just for show. 

Is it now just easier to pretend they never saw it happen themselves and to pretend that they didn’t know already? Is it easier to feign surprise? From my spectator’s perspective, it certainly seems much easier for them to play the Male Savior game when they don’t care about the dragon they’re fighting. 

I don’t trust most boys because there are enough bad ones that it’s not worth it. I haven’t found enough of the good ones. The good doesn’t outweigh the bad. The good is corruptible. Boys will be boys and I’m so tired of them.Recently, something innocent happened. A random boy my age called me pretty while I was warming up at the City Championship Track Meet. And I ran away.