The Day A Middle School Boy Asked My Daughter About Her Boobs
"You handled him exactly right, Anna. You didn't tell him what he wanted to know, because he doesn't have a right to know it. You didn't freak on him and call him names. He's curious, and if you think he's the only boy in your school who'd like to know that, you're wrong."
She rolled her eyes. "I know Mom."
"What you did instead was turn his question back on him. You asked him why he wanted to know. Why it was important for him to know, when there were so many other, better, more interesting things to know about you. You made him realize that his question was disrespectful, and when he realized it, he felt foolish and awkward for having asked it. Maybe he'll think twice before asking another girl a question like that."
"It was just a stupid question, Mom. I didn't want to answer it."
"And you stood up for yourself and refused to have a conversation that made you uncomfortable."
"It was no big deal," She said, shrugging
And I realized that it was utterly wonderful that it was no big deal. That it was just in her nature to say "I don't have to answer that. Not even if I want you to like me."
It was just common sense to refuse to be defined by the sum of her cup size.
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