Peach tree…

At the end of June,

I was minding my own business,

as usual,

riding my bike home from watching Starshine play keeper,

at her World Cup soccer tournament,

on my 1984 Norco Monteray (original decals),

which I bought with my babysitting money,

back in grade eleven…

And while waiting at the pedestrian crossing,

a guy,

sitting on his crotch rocket,

yelled out,

HEY,

nice tits!

And because I didn’t bat an eye,

or look in his general direction…

Mr. Harley Davidson said it again,

louder,

with this boy-like earnestness,

as if he really wanted me to know that I have,

Nice tits!!!!

I smiled a little smile,

and cycled away,

leaving him in frustrated perplexion,

that he was not able to shake my tree…

There are ways to complement another person on their physical features,

and then there are ways to burn bridges…

Nice tits can be very funny in the right context,

but when said stranger to stranger,

this particular style of commentary is not a complement…

Not at sixteen,

not at thirty-two,

forty-one,

or sixty,

even if you live in Whalley…

If a woman seems like she likes this kind of verbal assault,

there is likely some incongruency going on…

With what you see on the outside,

is not matching up with what is going on on the inside…

I conducted some armchair research,

after this experience…

My neighbour on one side said she heard these kind of comments regularly,

as a teenager…

It never felt good,

in fact,

it felt like violation…

I remember my best childhood friend,

and her breast reduction at nineteen,

because of all the unwanted attention she got,

from men,

including her father and her uncles down at the dock,

sucking back their afternoon gin and tonics…

The failure of fellow human beings,

including those charged with her protection,

to recognize and respond to who she really was…

The beauty of a heart pounding under flesh…

The neighbour on the other side told me that she was buying tickets for opening night of District 9,

and as she walked out on the sidewalk,

along Burrard Street…

a twenty or thirty-something leaned out of a car window,

yelling,

Nice tits!!!

My neighbour told me that she has heard that for most of her life,

and for most of her life it has been unbearable…

FYI:

Even if your set is spectacular,

and you know it,

women at forty-one or sixty do not find this language pleasing,

in fact it is experienced as conquest style unconsciousness…

I’m fairly certain that even when I was a cave woman,

I was not impressed by mates who pulled me around by my hair…

If Nice Tits!!! is your opening line you’re pretty much operating at a Neandrethal frequency…

And even though longhairs,

along with the pirates that roam my neighbourhood on their long boards,

in the middle of the night,

are currently in vogue

they won’t last…

As a mother of two young girls,

who at this time in their life hold their heads high and their hearts so open,

I wonder how long it will take before they start to hide themselves…

I wonder how long it will take before they too start to distort their bodies,

in response to the dominant culture that surrounds them…

How do WE shift reality,

and who takes responsibility for making the changes???

How do we move from NICE TITS to

thank you for making the world a more beautiful place by fully being yourself???

How do we grow ourselves toward a place of innocence,

collectively???

As for the Canucks and nice tits,

if you shake your peaches in a logo tank top you’re certain to catch the camera man,

and the nation’s,

attention…

An x-ray of the soul appears to be waiting in the machine for further development…

A polaroid moving toward the reveal of a bigger picture,

That IS hockey…