Just about every girl growing up dreams of being prom queen.
So did Andrew Viveros, who had his wish become a reality when he was crowned McFatter High School’s prom queen Friday night.
Viveros, who for the past two years has gone by the name Andii, is a transgender who fought to get his name on the prom queen ballot. He is the first transgender to be named prom queen at a public school in the United States.
“I was in shock,” Viveros said. “I was just smiling.”
Viveros received the most votes over 14 girls for the coveted title at the Davie, Fla., technical school. (Read More.)
I mean, look. I know I’m a white woman living in America in 2011, so I’m not particularly oppressed. It’s not like I’m considered property fit only for domestic labor and baby manufacturing—anymore(it’s been like 50 years already, ladies, take a Midol and quit cryin’!)! I can be anything I want to be, such as a nurse or a middle manager or a sexy policewoman or a real housewife! BUT OH MY GOD, SOMETIMES BEING A WOMAN IS SO INFURIATING I WANT TO EXTRACT MY UTERUS WITH A FORK AND THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW.
You know that look-at-us-we-killed- Osama-in-the-brains situation-room photo? Did you notice that there are only two women in there? Two. And we’re 50 percent of the population. I get that President Hillary would have just gotten her menses all over the Oval Office and changed Martin Luther King Jr. Day to Raw Cookie Dough Makes the Crying Stop Day and slashed funding for men’s reproductive health and made football illegal. And when football is illegal, only the terrorists will play football. Fine. I get it, all-you-people-who-are-totally-not-sexist. You are beacons of equality and tolerance, and I would be honored to serve as your sex- ottoman/chicken-nugget-delivery-system. Feminism is dead. Ding-dong.
HOWEVER. On top of all that, am I really expected to swallow the phrase “These are smart, funny women”? Really? As though that’s a sentence worth writing down, let alone reproducing in poster form. Can you imagine a poster proclaiming “Movies with men in them don’t have to suck!” or a critic writing the phrase “These are smart, funny men!” No. Because that WOULDN’T MAKE ANY SENSE, BECAUSE PEOPLE TAKE MEN SERIOUSLY BY DEFAULT. Hold on—I have to go sharpen my fork.
The woman’s story has so many of the same echoes of my own rape, that when I learned of jury’s verdict, I vomited.
“You’re going to have triggers. And what’s never fun is that you can’t anticipate when, where or what.” My friend Jen told me.
Well this verdict was a trigger for me.
While writing things out is usually a good way for me to sort through what’s going on, I’m afraid I have little to sort out.
Terms like “gross injustice” come to mind, but that’s not enough. It’s not enough to say that justice wasn’t done, because I am sitting here feeling as though someone just stabbed me in the stomach, that a deep wound that was finally starting to heal was viciously reopened.
So instead of getting preachy or weepy (I’m weepy on my own time), I’m going to encourage you to rally.
Rally for me.
Rally for the 50 percent of women who, like me, will get raped during the course of their life.
Show the jurors, the uninformed online commentors, the anti-women right wing and, yes, the New York Police Department that this woman is not alone. That I am not alone. That, together, we are so strong. Together we will find justice. Together we will stop this.
And when you start to feel weak, when you start to feel beaten (and I feel pretty beaten), maybe listen to the advice of another wise woman. Look into the eyes of the survivor next to you. Hold their hand. And remember how very strong we are together.
Mr. Colicchio will also be the curator of a rotating collection of five or more food trucks, including lobster rolls from Red Hook Lobster Pound, ice cream sandwiches from CoolHaus, tacos from The Taco Truck, falafel and smoothies from Taim Mobile and cold drinks from the Kelvin Natural Slush Company.