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.
My partner talks about the dangers of a knife. You have to be up close to use it. What if you can’t get to it? Or worse, what if you drop it and the attacker uses it against you? Once you’re engaged, anything can happen. He talks about the virtues of avoiding the fight, getting away before there is any physical altercation.
Spray and run.
I can see the value in this, but hate that I am caving into demands for protection, that I am operating from a fear-first place. Now I want to buy 5 cans of mace to keep all the kids safe.
I feel so reactionary … afraid.
And then I start to wonder if I am tapping into the NRA head. Like, I need a way to protect myself. Guns make me feel safe. Don’t take away my guns. Granted, the whole argument is much more complicated than that given gun laws and the lack thereof, but all of a sudden, I feel dirty — like I got something on me.
Fear, it’s powerful. Ugly.
I buy the mace, take a shower.
YAH-HUH — And So it Begins
