Mace — In case some goofball want’s to f%#* with You …

I have never owned a gun or carried pepper spray. I never kept a pocket knife or shoved a personal safety alarm in my purse. That makes me very lucky — and very stupid.

I feel like my luck is running out, and hopefully my stupidity.

It’s not that I feel threatened on the regular or am often in “dangerous” situations, but that every situation — the theatre, concert venues, the mall, the streets, the grocery — are now veiled in an ethos of foreboding, the siren just waiting to sound. Mass shootings are always top of mind, but now it feels more personal.  

I am afraid to fly, literally and metaphorically.

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So, my son borrowed my car to go to Missouri a month or so ago (the hybrid gets better gas milage). As he drives off, I see the bumper stickers disappear in the distance: Ally, Protect Trans Kids. I didn’t think much of it until he returned home with stories of driving at night and parking remotely just to lessen the chance of “triggering” some response to himself or the car.

So, to stay out of danger, my son is now putting himself IN danger. 

Then, my partner asks me about Mace, if my son would carry it “just in case some goofball decides they want to fuck with him.” And why would they? Why would they?

Because my son is trans. I don’t really see it anymore, and it’s not like he walks around draped in a pink, blue and white flag, but he is also not cowering. He has carried a pocket knife for a while and says that Jimmy Cvetic (RIP) taught him to box — to defend himself. We love Jimmy.