When I was a teenager I was obsessed with growing boobs. Boobs were magical. They were the ticket to a better life. Back when I was navigating angsty teen relations in the hallowed halls of a public high school, it seemed like boobs were the answer to everything.
I was in a desperate hurry to grow breasts.
Boys would finally see me. I’d become popular. At the very least if I grew some chest appendages I’d finally be able to stop shopping in the kid section of the local department store.
I needed boobs.
Or so I thought.
And then one morning, it happened. Suddenly it seemed, but there they were. Boobs.
Nothing changed. Except everything changed. I had a young female body with an attractive face, long blonde hair and a naive innocence swirling around me.
I was boy bait.
I was man bait.
I have a teenaged daughter now. She turned 15 this past September. She’s a shorter version of myself 20 years ago. She’s thin. Blonde. Attractive.
She’s flat chested.
And I know she laments her lack of boobs.
But I don’t.
For every time she wishes she would grow some boobs, I’m here wishing her body slows down and takes its time.
There is something about the all mighty breast that can turn the all mighty male into a boob.
And I am not ready for my daughter to have to experience that.
I’m not ready for her to be bait.
I’m okay with all the boys in her grade wanting to be her buddy but not her boyfriend because she doesn’t have breasts yet. I’m okay with those boys asking her for advice on how to date her bigger breasted friends, okay with them ignoring the flat chested beauty in front of them.
I’m okay with my daughter not being the subject to cat calls from men, illicit stares from male adults, with her becoming the momentary focus of their sexualized fantasies as she walks past them.
Men have objectified me as a female for as long as I can remember. Not by all men, of course not. Not even by most men.
But it’s the ones who do it that I’ll always remember. It’s the comments I’ll always hear. The looks I’ll never forget. The perverts who are forever burned in my memory.
I’m in no hurry for my daughter to experience this aspect of being a female in our society.
I’m in no hurry for her to grow boobs.
I’m in no hurry for her to grow up at all.
Big thanks to Alice at Finslippy for starting this conversation.