On Franken and Growing by Crossing a Line

It’s four in the morning and I have to write about a scene that keeps playing in my head, ever since the news that Senator Al Franken inappropriately grabbed women when hugging them. This is a #metoo story from the other side.

I attend meetings three to four times a week that end with the group gathering to say the serenity prayer.  It used to be that people held hands, and I loved that connection with strangers, the spacious equality of the circle. In past years, though, it seems all groups gather more closely and put arms around each other. I do not prefer this because I am short—5’2”—and occasionally feel uncomfortably swamped, overwhelmed, and engulfed by tall men next to me.  But unless it’s a group I’m running, I don’t request we hold hands, and even in the groups I lead, I mostly go along with this huggy tradition. No one’s touch has ever seemed inappropriate.

Until one morning at the end of a closing circle, when the young man next to me said very loudly, so loudly it seemed like he yelled, “Did you just touch my butt?”  I was shocked, embarrassed, and ashamed. Did I? Because I’m short and it’s not easy to rest my hands on shoulders a foot higher than mine, I often put my hands at waist level. Did they go lower?

I can’t remember what I said next, if I denied it, apologized, or just left the building.  I was frozen in shame.  Although I never told anyone about this, I’ve run through that moment many times; I must have unintentionally touched this man’s buttocks. Why else would he have said that? I may have even unconsciously applied some pressure as I settled into enjoying our human contact. Inappropriate? For sure.  A pattern? I don’t know. No one else ever objected to alert me if it was.

Ever since that day, when we circle up at the end of a meeting, I have not ever even let my hands rest on the people next to me, men or women. When we scoot in, I bend my arms at right angles and hover an inch away from the bodies next to me.  I don’t ever want to be misinterpreted again, especially in a work setting, when we perform this ritual. Today I am vigilant because I once crossed a line.

Someone recently said, “I’m not very good at predicting consequences. I learn by crossing the line.”  We all laughed. I cross a line when I insert my opinion, speak too harshly, solve someone’s problem, and speak without thinking.  One time, grocery shopping with an acquaintance and her toddler, an interminable outing from my perspective, I did something that severed our relationship. As we stood at the self-checkout, the mother looking away, the toddler reached out to touch the screen. I instinctively pushed her hand away, not a slap but a definite movement away from the baby’s intention, and she shrieked and wailed for the next 15 minutes.  Engulfed in shame, I didn’t tell the mom what I’d done, and we headed home with that little girl refusing to take my hand or walk near me.  I never heard from the woman again.

These little moments stick in my mind because they are the exception to the way I move through the world. Because I’m human I make mistakes, especially in new settings, with people I don’t know well. Maybe the only people who don’t ever cross a line are too timid to step into unknown territory or too obtuse to experience another’s pained response.  How many of us can say we have never moved a child with more force than required, or hugged someone harder than they may have preferred because of our need, our comfort, and our own selfish motives?  I’m more concerned about the people unwilling or unable to take responsibility for their actions, see the harmful consequences, and do the hard inner work to change so it doesn’t happen again.  

There’s a difference between sexual predation and inappropriate hugs. I’ve heard too many stories of horrific abuse suffered by children to have even a degree of tolerance for “bad touch.” But once we’re adults, it’s important for us to say something directly and immediately to whoever has touched us in a way that makes us uncomfortable. If it wasn’t intentional, the person may be shocked and apologize. If they were seeing how far they could go, you’ve just told them.

 Human interaction is messy, and we’ve got to get better at using words to explain our responses.  Often when something is off it’s difficult to name. It takes time to figure out what actually happened and, for me, usually requires a vulnerable conversation with someone I trust to reach clarity.  Rather than a senator who never acknowledges error, I want to be represented by someone willing to learn from his mistakes as we work individually to improve ourselves and collectively to create a safe and just world.